"I never met a dokklafar who'd give me a straight answer, even with a sword at their throat..."
Before Agarth can finish his thought, the Sparrow pulls up her dagger, and pushes the blade against her throat, oh so very gently.
Agarth's eyes widen; there's fear in them, worry.
"Woah there, I didn't..."
"I promise you I am way more confused about all this than you," she says, and sheathes the blade again. Her neck is unscathed, still covered in tuatha blood, but undamaged.
"Good gods, Sparrow... point taken, I suppose. My apologies."
"I've tossed you around a fair bit, trying to understand what you are, as if you weren't trying to do the very same. I would say I'm sorry, but I'm alive, so I don't know..."
He lowers his eyes, takes a step back and spenda a few seconds contemplating the stone that once contained the Codex of Fate.
Sparrow leaves him be for a minute, as she knows well the vertigo of being born again. Las t time they spoke, Agarth had been harsh, but he had been on the verge of death and after burials, and he had apologised for this in the caves of Dellach.
The old warrior coughs to get her attention, and the expression he bears is now different. There is no longer mistrust, interest, mild annoyance. There is something else in his eyes, something new; reverence, awe, and a lick of sympathy.
"I want to help you, Sparrow. Wherever you go next, I want to be of use."
