"Are you sure he will submit?" Xanor asked, his voice a low gravel, his gaze fixed on the sharp, proud line of Shadow Eyes' back. The vast, lonely hill stretched out beneath them, hundreds of kilometers from the distant, squat peaks of the Ogre's nation. The wind, a biting, high-altitude whisper, whipped around their cloaks.
"He won't... not willingly," Shadow Eyes conceded, a hint of something cold and amused in her tone. She didn't turn:
"But if he sees the Horror, truly sees what he can unleash, he will run. He will grovel and beg on his knees for his people's sake."
"Ok... I have another question." Xanor shifted his weight, his curiosity momentarily overshadowing the grand strategy.
"Is it my appearance?" Shadow Eyes finally looked over her shoulder, her irises a startling, unearthly violet, and her face perfectly, unnervingly symmetrical.
"Yes," he confirmed, meeting her unsettling gaze.
