"Long time…silver eyed one…"
The whispers are as thick and raspy as the fog that surrounds him, the trace of enchantments as dark and bitter as enchantments may go stings like a lash of a whip. The old souls recognize his, appeals to him with their resentful intentions barely concealed. Seo bites his lower lip against that stirring sense of ill-will, appalled that the souls would think the violence appeals to him. They count too much on the blood thirst of the old gods, he thinks begrudgingly, leading Bi on a hastened trot along the forest lined path.
