Barrow Fields crows lie, strewn their eyes are

In seconds the stranger’s face and body language liquidated; if Anselm was a little kinder, he might genuinely have felt sorry for the change he inspired in Sam. 

He wasn’t any more kind than he was conversational, so his posture remained at cutting-edge, his eyes retained their prohibitive sheen. The only thing that altered was the subtle flattening of his flared fur; Sam’s genuine expressions earned some measure of softness there.  

The question he posed was so left field Anselm took several seconds to repeat and rephrase it mentally. Then his gaze slid back to Sam, hard and unwilling to betray any personal data that could make him vulnerable. But of course, he immediately thought of his sons, Etienne, Heda, and just about every person he’d lost and made him this way.  Vhy?