Mavolus skulked out from the brush, his biolight glowing bright again, always an extreme and complimenting contrast to his purple-black flesh. He walked towards the camp with both the pride and caution of a 'warrior-scholar', as the Zinogre would call him. He circled around them, coming to rest behind Isis and Springlatch. He watched the Zinogre with his cold, calculating eyes as they and Isis spoke.