Overture Downs Survival is my middle name

It was foretold, at one point or another, that the witch and him would encounter more souls. Everything was carefully crafted into one, but Calloon felt that this was not the best planning the Wise had ever done. His friend's displeasure for the female had been clear, and he knew why. He, too, did not like to be cooped up somewhere for long periods of time. He had done enough of that in the dungeons - the dark dungeons that were engraved in his tender, young mind like dark grey sluggish creatures sucking up his potential. His doe-eyes flickered from the witch to the female, golden rings following every movement, until more came to join their little gathering. He pressed his ears further down, as if he wanted to make a cape to drape over himself to hide.

The question was returned, which earned a deeper glance from the ghostly boy as he tried to make eye contact - slowly going down the row of strangers before settling on the dark male. His white brows lifted, as clouds that had released their final raindrops. He looked strong - steady, as a tree. The mute tipped his head in question. Had their presence angered him? Why did he not say so?

His head swivelled to his friend as his given name - Gods bless anyone who gave him a name - came from between her lips, explaining their situation. She thought he wanted to join these souls? Panic and confusion shot over his features as he whined and moved himself further behind the witch. He did not know them - he was scared of them, in a way, not because they were unfriendly - but because of what they could do with him. He was like an alien in these lands, though abducting anyone he would never. He chuffed softly. He opened and closed his mouth a few times again - trying to show that he had been looking for food as he made the delighted throat sounds. With a flick of his tail, he tried to pull the attention to his show of emotions and silent explanations.