"I am Arathinien An-Gelethen," and with the words Anvar feels his stomach tense. His hand grips the dagger hilt behind his back, suddenly damp with sweat. A mix of fear and revulsion and determination rises within as he starts to bring his arm around - until it is halted by a grip like iron. Anvar jumps in fright, glancing sideways - and feels a weird wash of relief when he sees his uncle behind him.