Grim—very.
NORTH.
The Loch's like ink. I could dip my pen in it.
SEWARD.
We are about to have thunder.
NORTH.
Weather-wise wizard—we are. That mutter was thunder. In five seconds you will hear some more. One—two—three—four—there; that was a growl. I call that good growling—sulky, sullen, savage growling, that makes the heart of Silence quake.
SEWARD.
And mine.
NORTH.