Ravensblood Forest blood flutes

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armand's ears quivered as the man inquired into his manner of torment. he was unsure of how to answer — what was it this man wished to know? "it is of my own making; in my mind," the boy decided to offer, gently insistent in the hope that the leader of the beauteous woodlands would give him leave to speak no more upon himself. armand fought the urge to shift with the chaos of his churning nerves; he visualized that he too was a sapling that gave down his roots into the earth and held him fast. olive remained at his side, and for this was the child grateful as the eternity of the man's pressuring eyes began to drag the sphere of armand's tolerance into the ground.
the leader spoke old words in a tongue that the boy did not readily recognize. overall was the intention of family, and that armand uphold the ideals of wolves he did not know. he would not be readily welcomed into the fold and coddled; rather, he would be held outside the fringe of this family and given tasks to complete. the boy's face had become impassive during the directed ramble of the leader; his features were marked with a cool neutrality, and he nodded often, to convey he heard and understood.
when at long last the question was put to him, armand lifted his eyes to the smouldering gaze of the great man. "i have many skills, signor, but ... several of them are not fit for your uses. i am fleet and cunning. use me how you will." it was outside of the child's desire to lie to this man, to give voice to abilities he did not have. armand knew himself to be intelligent and fast of foot; thus it was the leader's right to utilize armand at his leisure.
when he had fallen silent, the boy suddenly realized that neither olive nor this man before him had given a name to the handsome, cold face who directed him so.[/tr][/td][/table]