The Sunspire The sound of their tongues being bitten is all I hear.

His expression did not shift. In the shadows cast by the trees the boy's brown eyes were black and empty, his face well masked, his body arched and ready to defend itself.

Sivugat thought the man looked old when he drew close enough. The silver in his coat was remarkably fine. The hard look upon his face could have meant many things but Sivugat saw dead eyes and sunken cheeks.

Ain't a saint, Sivugat declared.

The boy stalked higher and felt the mud sucking at his toes as he pulled each step free, watching the old man intently. Leaves stuck to his wet legs, tangled in his tail.

A closer rumble this time, as he prowled on stiff legs.