Puzzlement rippled through the Leviathan, his toxic gaze cutting from his children to the strangers. The one looked like every other white wolf he'd seen passing through, and there'd been three or four only recently. The other, though, was interesting; large, pale, draconic in its nature. It reminded him somewhat of Asimona, but ursine, and he studied it briefly.

He then looked over the scene again--the damage and the like--and grunted. The little one was blunt in her answer, Khavur as well, but apparently no why was coming, and so he paced forward.

"Well, don't," he said bluntly. "Don't move." And then, belatedly, as he reached a forearm to snap away some of the shards keeping Jotun in place; his eyes traced the wounds on its haunch. "And why are you fighting? -Is it a spar?" Training was good, but--"If you are going to train, warn me first. We have much to do!" With two shards picked away, Vargas went for a third; the hand slipped, slamming straight down, six-thumbs first, around a shard. The glass impaled itself through his palm and he let out a sharply-pained hiss, surprised; a grimace crossed his rigid features. For a moment the hulking monster simply stood there, staring dumbly at the forelimb he'd impaled upon the glass.

He cleared his throat.

"If you are guarding the tunnel, and they were attempting to pass through--there is nothing beyond this tunnel but death for you. It is the cave of Trials and this one," and here Vargas nodded sharply at Jotun, "would not last a moment. A hot place, and a dry one."

A wince and he jerked his hand up, trickles of toxic-green blood brightly staining the shard he'd left behind. He lifted this limb, going back on his haunches to cradle the damaged hand in the other, rubbing it; and he looked up.

"So which was this? Training, or was someone doing something foolish?" The way the eyes narrowed and the voice lowered into a rumble suggested that doing the latter was not a particularly good idea, in the Master's mind.

Chaos-Two's quiet approach went unnoticed, until the slight tingle of prokaryotic magic flickered through the open wound. Vargas glanced down in some surprise--a surprise amplified tenfold when the child patted his hand and if he were the emotional type, well, wasn't that adorable? But he was left baffled, if genuinely grateful. After all, he was always the sort to reward those in his employ (so to speak) who aided one another. "Very good, Chaos-Two, thank you. Where did you learn that?" and it was as if he were speaking to an equal--genuinely interested, not the patronizing tone of a patient, indulgent adult.

His attention went to the wolf cub, then. Just a spar, she said, just training, and toxic eyes cut to Khavur. "Please do, yes," he rumbled, appeased. Then he looked back to Comet. "And know, little one, that those here are not all fully-trained, themselves. If you wish to train I can always supervise you, and offer what I know," he added: a genuine offer, despite the fact that neither Comet nor Jotun were of the Sentinels or the like. There was no reason not to strengthen everyone in the cave, anyone who asked it--they were all in here together.

"Carry on, if you want, or do not, but do not actually cause harm to one another," he added gruffly--there was no reason for these so young to be permanently damaged before reaching full potential. Such tests were never fully accurate.