Asmund's adrenaline-filled stance relaxed as the Valle eyed him. Oleander's lips pursed at first. The other youth had not been wrong to assume the worst. For all he knew, Oleander and Anatole could have been murdered by that thing... stabbed in the hearts, pierced in the undersides, bitten to death, and left like a pile of sticks to bleed...
"Not bad," his tone was nonchalant after he cleared his throat. "Would've scared me off if I wasn't s'posed to be here. Not bad at all..."
OLEANDER VALLE
that I'll never be a saint, no way