Fenris thinks somehow he has misheard, and assumes the grizzled man before him is a Templar hunter of mages. Immediately, his guarded posture relaxes somewhat, and he turns the knife in his hand again, considering.

"I'm no apostate, hunter," he said, as if in agreement. "Though I was traveling with one before we were brought here. And if you mean to move against her, I warn you, I will rip the heart from your breast and ram the muscle of it down your own throat." He paused a beat, searching the taller, broader man's features before taking a shallow sip of his wine.

There was, perhaps, a sense that he meant this threat quite literally.