Altar of Twilight I was angry with my foe

Kavos, even in his vast ignorance, was not just some stupid boy. Feral and uneducated, perhaps, but not stupid. He canted his head at the oil-dressed guardian, and his ears pressed forward tightly. His gold eyes became smaller as he narrowed them in an effort to understand— as if he could see what she meant; hear what she meant if he hunted for it— but she had asked more than he could answer for.

Whys were beyond his present comprehension. So far as he was concerned, he did things because he could.

Fortunately, before he could even fathom a response, she was dismissing the question altogether and informing him that his first trespass had been an unusual instance. Under normal circumstances, he'd be dead. Kavos knew what it was to kill something; he knew only that he didn't want it for himself.

Her next question too, seemed far more existential than he was capable of imagining. He knew the word name, but she had not asked him that. She'd asked— in a very weird way, mind you— if he was somebody named Who. I am not Who, he said flatly, his pale unibrow descending in mild affront.