A human cannot hide their mental state from a god. It doesn't matter his eyes are shut; they were always shut and unseeing, so in memory and so in the reconstruction. Monzun can tell his playing dead as plainly as if it were written above his head.

"Rezo Greywords," they say ponderously, words pouring over his mind like warm spring rain.

Their Creature pulls away a little, only to pluck him from their Hand and into her furry paws entirely. She is quite gentle, thousands of people, even children, having been held the same.