He doesn't need to breathe. But he doesn't need to walk or sit or do any of the other things that make him appear human either. It just comes naturally to him.

And that gaze makes him draw a deep breath.

Shadows shift around him, and he raises his sword in silent salute. The blade turns out sharply, and descends again. Before the tip hits the soil, it dissolves into mist. Another breath, and he's taken up a less martial garb.

Black trousers, black vest, white shirt with the cuffs rolled to below the elbow. His hair is still long, and his eyes still hidden by dark wire-rimmed spectacles.

"My apologies."

His voice is gravelled with disuse, and he takes a moment to compose himself.

"How long has it been?"