[ One of the last things he'd ever do here is snitch. Amos barely glances at her hand before committing to eye contact. He's aware; he doesn't actually know what her purpose is; he's not going to say a thing about it unless she does first.
Intimidate us, he can at least understand. For a second, his gaze is flat and unimpressed. But when she suggests that there's substance behind all of this, his eyes widen. A rush of something he doesn't recognize — fear — floods his system, and then he's looking away. Out at the rest of the camp, sure. Maybe he's even keeping watch. But it's not an idea he wants to think about, and that's his real reason for looking away, practical implications of it be damned. ]
I don't know. [ His voice drops a degree, quiet. He doesn't, not officially, but instinctually... ] I just know I don't want to find out what it is. It's not going to be anything good.
no subject
Intimidate us, he can at least understand. For a second, his gaze is flat and unimpressed. But when she suggests that there's substance behind all of this, his eyes widen. A rush of something he doesn't recognize — fear — floods his system, and then he's looking away. Out at the rest of the camp, sure. Maybe he's even keeping watch. But it's not an idea he wants to think about, and that's his real reason for looking away, practical implications of it be damned. ]
I don't know. [ His voice drops a degree, quiet. He doesn't, not officially, but instinctually... ] I just know I don't want to find out what it is. It's not going to be anything good.