Deepwood Weald Mythical Mithril

Marruz had hardly noticed her impromptu supplication. He found that the name was more than suitable for the tune, and he repeated it several times in his head before returning a meditative nod. The tall shadow had grown somewhat since their recent encounter, and his shoulders had broadened to the point that when he morphed completely out of the darkness, he was all the more rangy.

The passing of day into night; light into dark. How wonderful to the youth, who could think of nothing else he pleasured more. It seemed he was listening to the culmination of his childhood, and it was comforting in that macabre kind of way.

"Of course I do," his voice was of a lower note now - and deeper in pitch - though the variance was only slight. It would take time for the lanky boy to reach the apogee of his maturity. "Where did you learn it?"