Timir hesitated a moment before letting the magic flicker and fail. A soft rush of air, like a sigh, passed by them both as the atmosphere equalized.
He paid attention, though. Did his best to understand what Master Vargas was teaching him--to file the information away.
At the description of walking in silence, muffling his steps, he tried it himself. It didn't sound hard. It sounded like he just had to concentrate on the noise around his feet, really. The... air, there? Timir hesitated, lifting a gnarl-clawed foot and studying it, before trying to cast his magic toward it. He then took a tentative step.
It still made noise, and he spent a few moments trying to get it right before giving up. He turned his attention back to Vargas's lesson, listening in silence.
Vargas could tell that V-Chaos-Nineteen was trying to cast magic. From what he could tell, it wasn't working. He hummed in brief thought, thinking critically over how best to approach this. And after a moment, those thoughts were voiced aloud as he considered.
Vargas stood, backing away a few paces, and waited for Nineteen to be ready.
Oh, he didn't like that.
The idea of the larger predator--ally or not--prowling around him unseen with the intention of attacking him? He found himself bristling, his maw parting to expose his fangs. He took a few steps backward even as he closed his eyes, almost scrambling to make some space.
Then he reached for his magic, this time with more urgency than before. It was no longer tentative, but... worried. Not quite desperate.
Once again emotion seemed to be his driving force. When Vargas moved, the magicka flared, and the incredibly confusing sensation of seeing with his ears struck Timir full force. He spun almost violently, nearly falling on his hind end, as he turned to follow Vargas's movements.
It was like... sound was dulled, in places. Every little breath of air, every shift and stir of atmosphere, had a sound if he were good enough to hear it. And right, now, for the first time, he was. It was overwhelming: the lack of echo where there was open space. The dull whisper of the lightest wind where a boulder blocked its path. The shift of it around Master Vargas's admittedly huge form as he moved, and the faintest scratch of claws on stone.
Even Timir's own breath, coming a little too fast, was deafening to him and he did his best to calm it. It was like... a sound-picture of the world around him. Not visual, and it was so, so hard to interpret even now, but following Vargas's movements? That was almost easy.
Those steps, so soft and light, were a roaring in Timir's ears. The Leviathan's entire shape was a hiss where there should have been a void.
It was almost... wondrous.
He very nearly spoke, but that would have defeated the purpose of this training. The sound he'd nearly made was instead limited to the faintest puff of an exhale as Vargas stopped himself.
Then he turned, moving as quietly as he could, and stalked the other way, circling.
So far as he could tell, Timir was not cheating in any way. The Valkhound's eyes were squeezed shut--and his breath was coming a little fast, but held as though he were trying to stay quiet. Vargas judged, then, that he really was using sound to navigate. He half-nodded to himself, stopped the movement (in case it could be heard) and tried to creep closer.
He used his own magic as he did so, summoning up a very quiet whispering: a nonsensical, garbled speech "hshashSHShashashas"ing from somewhere behind Timir. If it could distract V-Chaos-Nineteen, if he turned away from Vargas, Vargas would take the chance to pounce.
Timir half-spun, the mane along his spine rising in alarm, as the susurration started behind him. His ears flicked wildly as he tried to process what was happening, and his eyes nearly sprang open before he remembered to keep them shut.
He managed to snag his concentration on his magic before it slid away, and just as quickly as his reflexes had started to point him toward the whispers, he had flipped back around to Vargas. Despite the closed eyes, there was a grim look of almost betrayal on his face. The Leviathan was tricking him! ...Or trying to, anyway. He could tell that there was nothing there, at the whispers. He assumed it was the same magic he used, or something like it; that Vargas was repeating fake sounds again to lure him as he'd done at the start.
Timir rotated, head low, 'staring' (eyes closed) balefully at the shape of the Master that circled him.
At first, Vargas was intensely focused on his task. But when Timir continued to pivot, facing him firmly, he wondered briefly how further to test this. He could just keep on for a few moments--get Nineteen the practice he needed. But another thought occurred to him, then.
Mischief wasn't normally his... thing. But some small bit of him was still the Overseer who had worked so long under Nemean, and when the thought struck him, he knew he couldn't let it go.
The honking at his feet started subtly but quickly picked up volume. Each step was slightly different, a squeak or a BLONK or a whistling blast as if of escaping air. And maybe it was cruel, but Vargas himself did not laugh, or say a word. He sort of wanted to see what Timir would make of this, first.
Vargas might have found it funny, but Timir--not in a position of authority but vulnerability--did not. He was made nervous, confused, by the cacophony of sounds emitting from... near the Master's feet? Was it some kind of trick, a trap? A distraction? He backed away, careful, hesitating.
There was the faintest tremor in his voice. Was this a lesson he was failing to learn, somehow..?
Vargas grunted, and stopped circling, letting the honking magic fade.
He considered.
Timir blinked his eyes open, letting the magic fall away. He'd never held a spell up for so long, and he found that it was distinctly draining, almost exhausting. It was a relief to release it, like finally lying down after hours of trekking on hard stone.
To hear he now had to perform another task entirely was... well, he felt a sinking in his gut. But faint pride sparked in him, too; he wasn't about to whine that he was too tired. Instead he nodded, and wondered if he should still warn Vargas he was tired, if only for practical reasons. But he found that the Leviathan was already slinking up among the cliffs and ridges, sliding into the shadows.
...How long was he supposed to wait? Was he allowed to just... watch Vargas go? Timir hesitated, and then sat down, deciding to give him a couple of minutes. Better to rest, first, anyway.
Vargas strode up the steep incline, reaching for the shadows to cloak him. It was almost eerie to watch the massive shape simply melt away into the darkness, his glowing quills winking out like stars covered by encroaching clouds.
He moved as silently as he could, winding his way up past jagged boulders and ancient, shattered chrysalises, at last choosing to settle between a few large outcrops of black rock. He kept that cloak of shadows wrapped around himself, and braced lightly, listening for Timir's approach.