They were spared from waiting in the fog. Before he began to recall disaster and ruin, before failure and loss crawled on the edges of his eyes, the Elephant lord arrived, pressing nothing but brief acknowledgments (and the fact that Johnny was renowned well outside their borders). “Tembovu,” the beast proffered back with a singular nod, carefully orchestrating the next set of vocals ricocheting through his mind. Before the Reaper had any opportunity to preside over the nature of their meeting, he was forced to watch more and more come out of the woodwork (an elephant first), and the infidel’s gaze narrowed briefly in obvious scrutiny and perusal as they quickly gathered. Soon there was a painted femme with a child at her side, and a stag thereafter who reminded him of moons and lunar balances (and fitting; to be heralded under the same Goddess in these damned woods), already acquainted with Johnny.
 
The notion to depart and flee from the swift gathering was instantaneous. He didn’t know a single one of them. No matter how he tried to beckon his way through open lands, through wild fields, through unknown territories, he still didn’t know a damn thing about basic interactions with those foreign (and he almost preferred a conversation with Gaucho now, because at least they always knew where they stood with one another). Stubbornly, he clenched his jaw and refused to look in Johnny’s direction for assistance.
 
Pride and defiance and the craving to become better (stronger, more capable) for his herd (who didn’t seem to care, who fought over petty, ridiculous things, who strives to make every meeting all the more stupid), won him over in the end.
 
Tightly controlled, he gave a nod to each newcomer, even the little one, a curt introduction, “Deimos, Lord of the Basin,” then directed his nonchalant, chilling gaze to their King. He’d entered their haunting world for a reason, and despite all the temptation to leave, to go back into the hollowed void of his mountains, his intentions were clear, cut, and direct. “Johnny and I have come to discuss potential crafting trades.” The dark slate of his stare wandered over to the other members of their party, pondering if they had the ability to shape, chisel, and sculpt, or if they were mere audience members, invited to the stage. “We need glass to complete our greenhouse. Would you require any of our materials?” There was a small, lighter part of him that hoped he’d be of some use to his empire besides a sword, a cutlass, for them to shout upon – the notion of returning with proper wares for their future could amend the difficulties they all faced lately.