Herbert blinked twice. “Does it need a name?” There was no small amount of venom in his voice as he practically hissed at Dimitri. The creature was his hope; if bones could be reanimated, then a fresh corpse should be no trouble, given he could figure out the method. The last thing he needed was anyone to become attached to it. A name was the first step in that direction, a gateway, to humanisation and a sense of identity. It was out of necessity that Herbert had to remain cold, for he knew not yet what had to be done. 

Realising how this might offend the brewer after shows of hospitality, Herbert coughed and studied the ground by his feet rather too meticulously before speaking. White mottled the black leather and one shoelace had come undone, but Herbert doubted he had enough control over his fingers to retie it. 

“Sorry.” Was all he could manage; he had no feasible excuse prepared for the way he acted, and just hoped it was totted up to the stress of the current situation. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, then rubbed the same hand down his face. Sincerity, that’s what he needed to muster, so he tried again, even forcing a thin smile upon his face. However, he could not bring himself to make eye contact. “Sorry, my nerves are frayed, call it what you will, I am sure it is open to suggestions.” 

Heavy flakes fell onto his eyelashes as he turned back to the castle, and chills ran down his spine. The drink was sounding too good to be true. Some of Herbert’s spirits returned after his embarrassment, but his voice was noticeably quieter, and flatter: morose. “Maybe we could enjoy it together sometime.” Not wanting to question the man, who seemed adamant of the potency of his brews, Herbert allowed himself to envision a drink with such properties.

After only a few brief steps forward, Herbert whirled when the larger man began calling out. Clearly, he thought someone was there, and must have had greater hearing than Herbert, or a less occupied mind, as he had thought it to be merely the wind; it was far too tremulous of a sound. With folded arms, Herbert waited, tapping his foot, whilst the bone creature poked its head out, as if looking for the newcomer. Falling sheets of snow lashed into frenzy by the wind meant that vision was rather limited, but there was a tiny shape approaching. Whilst not visible imposing, Herbert grew tense, and was prepared to run and abandon the drunk if it turned towards the worst.