The Sentinels there's a black crow sitting across from me

At her inquiry, the great wraith created a chuckle that rumbled in the back of his throat. There was a knowing glint in the sharp dual-color of his gaze. The girl might have thought that it was an obvious realization, knowing that the other boys were forces to be reckoned with, but it was rare that anyone would have come to that conclusion so swiftly. Most were too enamored by the easy charm of Rannveig or the sharp wit of Velen to think what kind of trouble they could cause. Ford was more pleased that she had managed it on her own.

“Mmm, let's just say that their charm is a good mask,” he offered her, tipping his muzzle in the girl's direction with a swift wink of his dark optic. He had seen the wrath of both, and he knew that they were as different as they appeared, and vastly different from him. Still, he would never wish to test the fury of a Mayfair-Cairn; he knew the destruction that it could cause and all that would fall after it. He only hoped that Dalia would learn the same thing.

As if the thought had come to him suddenly, the skeletal brute fixed her with a hard stare. His eyes worked against her features, boring into her with as much will as he had in his spirit. Ford had been told that his stare carried dark magicks; he was a persuader of even the most obstinate stones. “Do you miss your family?” the great warhound inquired carefully. The baritone of his voice lingered in the air with the tail end of his question, and he wondered if it would be too much to ask of her.