It is always difficult to tell at first: a fool or merely a child with ambition? Or something else? It is always so hard to decide. If he is but a fool with ears too good and lips too loose? Then, he ought to lose both. After all, I am so very close to him. So very able to pull him apart. I have never stopped to consider whether or not Achlys or her young might appreciate the body of one of our own kind - perhaps now is a good time to do so. He is large for his age, after all. Enough for them to play with. It is in his best interest, then, as he speaks, pulling my attention away from the thought. Instead, it brings a brow up in curiosity. He speaks of healing? Healing the infection that is weakness? I cannot help but sneer with a single exhale of amused laughter.

I do not speak anything more of the matter, though. Instead, I continue to watch him ever so closely. He has seen something and he has been brazen enough to seek out what he has seen. There is no coincidence, I am sure, that he has come here. This is, after all, not some unusual formation of stone or unique bend of the river: this is but a field as empty as ever. Empty, plain, just like any other part of a field. And yet here he is.

I am half tempted to take his tongue right then and there as he speaks. My eyes narrow onto him. He speaks freely of that night - he was there, watching. It is a mistake on my behalf to not have cleared the area beforehand. I cannot help but bite down on my teeth for a moment.

"Yet you do not flock to that male," I interject without effort, sneering once more in amusement, though my eyes remain as hard and cold as stone.

He continues though and I feel one of my ears instinctively twist forward. This information in particular stirs another low growl within my chest. And yet, it is no longer an anger directed at the boy. Instead, my eyes drift behind him - I know Diveen is somwhere out there in the oncoming darkness.

"And what is it you plan to do with what you know?"

My eyes return to his and slowly, I peel back and away from him. On slow, rigged steps, I begin to move around him, circling close to him. I stare into him as I do so, waiting to see if he twitches with uncertainty or lies. This is the defining moment for him. He will decide his own fate now. After all, he has played his cards: he has told me what he knows, and if he were to fall here and now, that information could die with me. And yet, he speaks of Achilles. A potent foe. And so, which side of the boundary marker does this boy stand on?