Deepwood Weald Mythical Mithril

Marruz's demeanor did not change at her sharp response. It was clear that he had touched a sore spot for the woman, so he was willing to forego risking further damage.

His eyes flickered impassively; lips drawing a thin, nonchalant line beneath a lone, indigo amethyst. He moved his head disinterestedly toward the rock — detached his gaze with a long sigh that shovelled crystals of ice within his lungs. It seemed that he was far from the subject, though internally there was only an intensified curiosity. He shovelled that down, too. Began to hum the song again.

"Are there other songs, then?" His tone was less congenial now, if ever it had truly been. It seemed to suggest, can I know this, either, or are all your secrets accompanying you to the grave?