Vargath carries out the search as diligently as he can, though his mind is distracted. He's frustrated. He slams doors and drawers as he sweeps through the house, likely distracting those he's with. "ᛞᚱᛁᚲᚲ ᚾᚨᛏᛏᛖᚾ, ᚠᚱᛁᛊᚲ ᛊᛃᛖᛚᛖᚾ" A voice bubbles inside him as he leans over a counter, palms splayed to support himself. It was right, he wasn't helping right now. He needed to recentre. With a quiet word of apology he excuses himself into the night out the front door, drinking in the cool air to chill his fury. Or try to at least. It was still there, roiling just beneath the skin, in every twitch of his fingers, every tense of his legs, every furrow of his brow.