"I am not a tool through which you may feel better about yourself, having guided this poor, lost creature to some sort of worthwhile End."

They have advanced, it seems, several paces' worth of ground. And they adjust their stance, shoulders rigid, because if they advanced, if they crossed this space, it must have been for some - some purpose. Intimidation, perhaps.

Yes.

Completely.

A bright, glistening, dangerous arch to their lips, and then - then they lean away, back.

"I hope that I have made myself clear."