It's only then that Locus releases his hold on his throat, letting him lower to the ground. He'll have the blood to sustain him, to bind him, soon enough. And then they will pursue the others, until they're all safe.

One massive hand lifts, resting atop York's head where it rests crooked to the side, and the rumble that comes from his throat is still garbled, still rough and grating, but it's clearly no longer a threat.

It is welcoming.