Permafrost Hollows but you're just a black hole

at the use of the word toys, kvasir — just barely — avoids rolling his eyes. the poisonous flora that the silencer has managed to collect, sparse as it is, are tools. living things to be nurtured, perhaps. but not toys. not unless one wanted to find their throats thick with saliva mixed with blood. weapons. never toys. a flick of his tail is given; insulted at the misnomer. i wouldn't give those to your acolotyes, o great titan, a twitch of his lips is given; sardonic. enjoying this despite the consequences it may bring him. not unless you want plague and death to spread in your claim. kvasir, too much of his father perhaps, cannot help but giddily poke the hornets nest. ...perhaps it is already too late. a jerk of his muzzle is given, directed towards the spillage of plants that the conqueror stands possessively over.