"My species makes the same sounds." They were higher pitched, much higher pitched but in purpose they were the same. Tommy knew it even if the words made little sense.

He is unphased by the madness around him, of broken things. Though Antheans didn't smash things he could understand the need. "My nephew's mate was killed recently by a cowardly enemy. He still wails some nights."

Tommy saw the witch bringing to bear her full power on an obviously weaker person as the way of a coward, as was the forced use if someone else to do what she should herself.

He stops, the projected presence staring and he frowned deeply. "I still have my own children to mourn. They died years ago."