@notpetals from here!
Neither Yor's words, nor his very presence, is reassuring. In fact, the latter sends a nasty shiver down Taron's spine as he closes the distance between them - although he does not back away, he's most certainly thinking about it. The mage's poor vision means that the hulking figure is little more than a blur of solidity and sharp angles, details impossible to pick out, interrupted only by the sudden glint of green as Taron turns his head and the crystalline facets of his vision catch the light just so.
It's very effective. Taron does feel small, half-smothered, intimidated. Even if there is little to be learned from the inexpressive, glassy sheen of his eyes, the discomfited way he shifts on the spot is easy to see.
"I-" What? What was there to say to a tirade like that, anyway? Something that isn't a treat and yet feels so very much like one, somehow? An indictment of humanity from one Taron isn't rightly sure counts as human himself? But Taron has to say something, so... "That's not... I mean. It's an outlier."
Much as Taron claims not to face death all the time - he does. It's just in a different form: those of contagion, of plague, of deadly magical disease that he chases through the world like a dog unable to realise it will never catch the damn rabbit. Death is a pervasive thing, to him. It's just not so... violent.
"It hasn't happened, besides." Not this time.