Fox's Glade there will be ghosts in the dark and voices in the air

One would only assume that a master in the art of such crafts could be the only thing to have found its way so close to the dark young Prince. Still, once his gaze locked to her own, the limber thief was latched rigidly to the earth. The stretch of his dark legs was extended by full, leaving him no room to spring from his place and vault into the brush. The sharp lash of her tongue was like a hot iron, and Tadec curled his dark lips to reveal jagged fangs. The hairs that were adorned in fiery copper stood rigidly and danced like flames along his shoulders and back. It had taken her some short while, but Ecael had found him, and the half-blooded creature was alive with fearful regret; he had done nothing to conceal himself from that land.
 
“Elil,” he hissed to her with an astonished expression. The discomfit that had latched hold of him upon seeing her was still wickedly persistent. Tadec longed to shed his dark coat and wash away with the melting snow. Oh, how the azure of her gaze did scorn him. The fire-licked thief shook his head and huffed through his nose. “What doing, Ecael?” he asked of her in the common Hedgerow.
 
“Dayn veth zyhl ma?”