Raven's Watch you only understand the language of the sword

He watched as the other, this Kynareth, tried to appease them. A lowered head, a shift of his usually curly tail; it’s not an entirely unwelcome sight to see but with the words that follow, it’s meaningless. It does not change the curl of his lips or coax him into relaxing. There was something off about this drengr that does not sit well with Solpallur—he knows there is confidence and then there is megalomania, and this creature screams of the latter. And if he is truly a drengr, then he was formidable and the latter was perhaps justly learned or earned. Whichever did not matter.

It is his smile that is the most unsettling, and not his words.

Under the right circumstances, they were a threat to each other.

“Farðu þá,” Solpallur tells him, “byrjað.” Get his drink from where he pleases and disappear from whence he came. His gaze shifted to Stjornuati then, as though to command him: “Ekki segja honum neitt.” It would sound unfriendly and it was, truly, but his brother would see between the lines.