Deepwood Weald Everything not lost.

Marruz narrowed his eyes when his brother omit a true response. His tone oozed upon the air like molasses to his ears. It was true what the fellow youth said: the Melonii were by now settled and acquaintanced with the Weald. Still, in his head it was a debatable matter. 

The darkling now took his own chance to spurn a response. His brother, however, did not wait long to let his vocals fill the gap. As usual, it was a command that met Marruz's ears. Something glinted in his indigo orb as he stood there, watching his own relation waltze right in. One would think this was his kingdom.

Marruz suppressed a small chuckle at the words of Mithas. It was a wry feeling, but it seemed to fit the wintry chill. "One would think you were the leader, the way you're acting," he couldn't help the ensuing gleam, nor the mockery in his tone. "Why don't you call them yourself, mighty Mithas?"