( When the beady white eye of the Beastmaster's attention turns, his animals stir with him, shifting imperceptibly, catching Viktor in full, unflinching view. )

A... boy. Eight summers to him. Nine springs.

( His hands drift beside his body, waving the air and settling at a certain height by his hip, before his palms spread out flat to signal: ) This tall.

( Neither too well grown, nor middling for the age described. An average child, thriving. But the Beastmaster's voice has shed much of its rust, to speak of him: )

They took him... to the House of Ravens. Where they take men for the burning.