Perhaps it had been her recklessness that had inspired him. It was the way that she talked with such bravado, unashamed in her intentions and meaning or perhaps it had been the way she was able to recover, to grow and to become something new. He could not say, did not know, likely never would and yet, he had always assumed he had been born of death in order to remain as such. Now, though, he had been shown that living was an option - he did not need to remain in silence forever and nor did he need to remain as nothing more than a shadow of a shadow. If he could learn to want then he could learn to be something else. At least, he had started to think so. At least, he had started to think that he might one day believe it.
It was just as strange to believe that she was excited to see him. Her tail waved and her eyes were alight and yet, his head still fell into its characteristic tilt, seemingly hesitant to believe the facade entirely. Out of habit, he doubted it. How could a wolf like her be truly pleased to see something like him? Still, he accepted it. His own tail issued its own slow wave, his head lowered in response to the way hers thrusted up.
Her lips draw out his name then and he rose instantly, his eyes having met hers with a curiosity undeserved by many others. He searched them, always prying, and found only honesty as she questioned him. "Empress." She was that now, after all. And he, her Chancellor - or Something. He does not forget. But to live in such a place? His eyes drifted behind her, half expecting Halcyon to appear from the grass like a ghost and yet, there is nothing but the sound of the breeze behind her.
"Would such a thing please you?" His voice had always been a hollow thing, baritone and flat and yet, there is the hint of something in it - a desire to please, perhaps, a question deeper than the mere inflection of inquiry. Six syllables and yet the question runs deeper than any grotto might.
He fell into silence then as he often did. His eyes remained unwavering from her own. His face was passive, unmoved and unwilling to do so despite the pleasantness of her excitement; though such a thing might have made him feel warmer, as if touched by the sun, it was not enough to stir him from the darkness of his existence entirely. With every question, more simply arose and with every answer, he craved more. His tongue failed him time and time again, a chasm between his mind and mouth that he could seldom bridge. Only when his throat seemed to spasm, a sudden jerk of his body that forced him to blink, did the words come out - "Why this place?"
Why? He lived a life of why. Why be alive? Why die? Why live here? There? Anywhere? Why did Liquid Amber go into the shadows? Why did she not fear that which she did not know? Why did he? Why? Why wasn't she content in Glorall? Why did he feel as if he might simply take Iromar for her, give it to her like one might offer the starved a bone? And why, most of all, did he feel as if she would not take it from him even if he did?