Moonspear fireflies downright

So… no. That seemed a definite no in his eyes.

“But I wanna go now,” he said. It was almost whining, only his frustration eked through. “I wanna help.” This time, it was more combative in its essence; Altair had found a new struggle to deal with, and it was tied firmly to the fact that his elder brothers had left him behind. It wasn’t like he didn’t get to see them still, but now it was infrequent. It was on their terms more so than his own, and he did not like it.

In a thoughtful, darker fit that churned through his mind, he almost didn’t like her either. Too serious, she was every bit of charcoal leftover from a fire that burned too mildly to reduce it all to cinder and dust. Altair sized her up with another look, his eyes searching hers to find that it was just as blank to him as the rest of her. He had a lot to learn still about reading people, and choosing the sullen guard of Moonspear was not a task for a beginner.

“Don’t you ever smile?” He knew it came off flippant. “You always look like… you’re… you’re—” the word wouldn’t come just yet, but then it did, “—unhappy or something. Maybe not unhappy, but you know, cold.” He squinted at her, a lame mimicry of how he pictured her face to be, scrunched up and glaring. “You aren’t like my mom or my aunts.”