Deepwood Weald to cut away the mountains i've made

How odd. That was all Marruz could think of the behemoth; all his thoughts could lump together amidst the seizing sensation that he was yet to become but a grain of himself — smushed til only a strand of fur remained. Indigo eye searched the fellow callously, both veiled and deadly astute. It appeared to the boy that this relative identified with the peculiarities of the Melonii, what with being mute and all. 

The notion irritated him greatly. There passed a moment in which, shadowed by the man and his lethargically tilting cranium, the youth could only emit a long, weary sigh. He watched the man all the while, and there was never evidence of the curiosity that simmered just beneath his stolid frame.

"What?" Marruz couldn't help but snap, though his timbre, less feral now, had softened. His grey glove prickled hotly against the cool earth beneath. "Is it the marking? The eye?" For this had become an experiment, and Marruz decided he would venture to discover the different modes of this newfound packmate. The first step would be to make sure his words were not just mush. And in his mind, he figured, surely the man could just nod.