Handy was glad to see the young bird, although he might not have appeared so. From Klipwing’s perspective, the entire conversation took place in a dark room. His lord had been this formless pile of shadows in one corner, barely illuminated by the candlelight from the hall outside, whose only discerning features were two glowing pinpricks of light from his eyes and speaking in a hoarse, broken voice that sounded like Death itself. Then again, if you worked for Handy, one just had to get used to accidental horror, so he bore it well.