Deepwood Weald to cut away the mountains i've made

Marruz was amazed by the odd tune that met his ears. Indeed, the fact that any audible response had even been offered was enough to cast a sharp, curious gleam across his usually impassive orbs. He wondered, in that bleak moment of surprise, just how long it had been since the brute had uttered even a sound. 

His features visibly softened — a remarkable feat for the boy and an unusual one at that. He narrowed his eyes, furrowed his brow. Something about him twitched for a millisecond, and then there was the shadow once more. Just a shadow.

Marruz parted his maw in a capricious manner, uncertain how to proceed but not willing to let it be known to outer beings. The ravine between forehead and eyebrow deepened in yet a harder furrow. And then, he smiled. The boy actually smiled. For once, his handsome endowment met a position it could fulfill. It was odd in that it was so natural for the darkling; it was so effortless. And somewhere deep within that smile, there was genuity for once. Somehow, he just couldn't help himself. The brick wall had broken, it seemed, for a moment. He had not smiled in too long. He hated it.

"Good."