[ Hyperaware of Ivor's movements, Brandon takes in all he can from his seemingly focused, lowered gaze. One nice thing about beasts, or so his newly formed hypothesis goes, is that they don't use body language to lie the same way humans do. At least, he would very much like if that were the case.

And on top of this selfish pleasantry that is this private interaction with Ivor, there is some interesting information to go with it. Not big secrets, as Brandon himself admitted of what he's sharing, because of course, it makes sense the witches don't share their knowledge, but useful to hear from an inside perspective. He lets a low hah of his own out at Ivor's question, without derision. ]

Layers and layers to that answer, I think.

[ His fingers move again: one glyph, then another which sits atop it until they settle together, something about it akin to a key clicking in a lock, though nothing opens. ]

Magi are rarely born to magi. So we don't form familial clans, as such. We argue and kill each other and splinter readily. But perhaps that's not so different.

[ The mild irony invites whatever comment or elaboration Ivor might feel inclined to offer, but doesn't press for it. The glyph sinks slowly into the darkness of the newly cleansed messenger, making its wings unfold slowly and go limp. ]