All you need to do is destroy it. He makes it sound so simple, phrasing it like that. But Faolan knows the second that he touches that knife, whatever magic that exists on this place will take hold of him, will look inside of him and drag out whatever it sees fit to prey upon, and he's not certain that he's ready for such a thing himself. Never mind to share it with a near stranger he has only just met. A man who no doubt will only try and help.

Faolan does not want the other man's help. Nor does he want his pity. Though he has a feeling he will get it nonetheless, if this test is to go in the direction he is assuming that it might.

Warily, he takes a step forward, and closes his hand around the knife in front of him. Instantly the forest around the pair of them dissolves away, taking the shape of the front gathering room of a family home. There is a hearth, burning warm and bright not a few feet away. Tapestries hanging about the walls merrily depicting musicians and animals in their turn. And on the rug before them there spreads a pool of blood. Dark and viscous and far too large to have come from anything but a mortal wound.

"No," Faolan says viciously, and turns away. Making to leave, to escape, to find any way out of this nightmare.