Deepwood Weald 'cause you'll never find the answers

Marruz noticed the woman's snarl. Part of him hoped she would take the impulse; indulge her wonting fangs. It would have made the boy feel all the more better as he stood there, intentionally violating the unwritten laws of social conduct. 

The boy's height was imposed by the thick tufting of his sable cloak. He drew his snout so close that he almost felt her lashes on his nose. The muscles of his jaw clenched and unclenched. And the air — it felt so suffocating.

Within an instant, the turmoil relented. His shoulders lowered and his lungs began stuffing themselves with uncomfortably frozen oxygen. Marruz did not retreat, however. He only closed his eyes.

"Ziry iksos tetan," he murmured, half to himself if not for the intimate space. It is finished. He repeated the words of his mother often — he could not forgive himself if he did not. And it helped to pacify the hatred; the ire that further stained his black heart.