habits have teeth and words have knives

Deimos kept looking at Loren, which probably wasn’t that surprising. The summoner had changed since the general had last seen the Launceleyn. The most apparent difference was in his appearance: he was as gaunt as ever, but instead of covering it up, he was accentuating it with dark and form-fitting clothes that showed off his lean muscles and sharp edges. But the most shocking change was in his eyes. They were cold, and hard, lacking even an ounce of sympathy or empathy or kindness. Indeed, Loren looked like the other man’s shadow, dark except for the pale skin of the Launceleyn's face and the icy blue of his eyes. Even his blonde hair was covered by the hood of his cloak. As Deimos knocked, the summoner took up position behind the general’s shoulder and off to one side. A chilling smile lurked on the Loren's lips, and his magic sang, begging to be released. The smile, he allowed. The magic, however, he kept a tight grip on; he was in control, now, in a way that he’d never been before. Time to see what Roana would do. Loren was ready for anything. LOREN Not quite an open book