He seems to find amusement in her chuckling at himself, lips lifted once more to bare teeth in a grin near foxish in its calibre, rather than that of a wolf, though the general good nature of the exchange remains the same as he mimics the way she holds herself, as if he seems determined to show her this image of herself cast in black and long fur as opposed to the stark white of her own. She is a tall thing, a pretty thing- though not near so tall as he himself will be, nor so heavy, though perhaps she is just as fine as himself. For surely Lonhro is the finest of any so far to come from a line so wretched and blood so tainted. She speaks and his ears come forward, breaking his mimicked posture of herself as if her words hold a wondrous sound he so desires to capture and those eyes of emerald green fixate upon her own. Shadow she says. Yes- this he likes. He is like a shadow, a shadow so dar, always present and yet so rarely ever noticed. It is this single attribute that has surely seen him made so successful in his pursuits so far. He is a Master of Secrets- or soon to be, one whom keeps and trades such wondrous things like a pedlar of old. Silly Lonhro, foolish Lonhro, like his Father Lonhro. They do not know, but they will see, all will see- for they have all made this mistake….almost all.

“Yes….Lonhro is like shadow.”

He nods, confirming his agreement with such a statement as his tail waves once more in appreciation of it all the same before her own form tilts and turns, as if she seeks to look upon him from every angle. How curious she is, how strange, how likeable. Yes. This one he likes as he liked the other who came before, the other whom had traded him a secret. He does not like many, no, he tolerates them, yes, because he must and little else. He remembers though, those that he does not like. For all his strange manner he does not forget, for such is a trait of this bloodline alone it would seem- an inability to forget and the blackened male is no exception- young though he is. He lingers before her, waiting, though he knows already why she has come. Clever Lonhro. He knows much, though he wishes to hear it, desires for it to be asked of him and she does, her head dipping in politeness- a gesture he mimics and offers in turn. He grins still though, clearly pleased to be asked, pleased she had come at all to visit him. He has so few visitors. Perhaps if Father did not eat them. He snorts slightly, pushing aside such thoughts for now as his gaze meets those of the female before him now, the one who does not know what surely she should know.

“Blood for…..blood.”

He repeats them once more now, assuring she hears them even as they are spoken within his own broken manner of speaking. His vocabulary grows day by day and yet still he struggles with words, as if they elude him somehow.

“They are…… your words.”

Green eyes remain firmly upon her own, seeking recognition perhaps, to see if she understands and yet still it would seem she does not- though he did not expect her too, a simper of sorts tracing across those features so dark, so handsome, so finely crafted in obsidian as his long, long fur blows within the breeze.

“Lonhro……thinks….girl is….pretty….lovely…..white. Lonhro thinks…..girl is…..Angel.”

There is, always, the chance that he is wrong, because he cannot prove this. He can only guess. She is white, tall, pretty, lovely- all things that seem to mark the Angel line he has learned much of these past two years. She does not hold the Red Mark so many seem to and yet already he has learned that not all seem to carry it. He is watchful of Those That Come after all, he knows, he is intelligent and his guess is educated now as he seeks assurance he is correct before continuing.

“Blood….for blood is…words of Angels….Heyel…..Lonhro knows…..sometimes Prince speaks….clever Lonhro listens. I think….girl is Angel……but you….do not know……your own words. Shame. So…..why does….girl run from her…family?”

His gaze continues to rest upon her, unblinking now, assured he is correct, though in truth his words so cryptic are merely cleverly gathered assumptions, corrections and pieces of information placed together to offer a truly educated guess- though he need not reveal his less then magical manner of obtaining them. It is rare for Tobias to speak and yet Tobias is one of the few of the Old Land left, one whom knows much and remembers more though whom rarely speaks. What words he has uttered seized upon by his son now to present them to the white female before him- his voice smooth, calm as he watches each reaction upon her closely.

“These are…..powerful words I think….good and…bad….gone for long time….but……they will…come back. You should…..know them.”

Angel or not, she should know them, he is sure.

“What is…your name? Lonhro will….keep it secret….do not worry.”