He watched her performance, and some part of him instinctively recognized it was respect. He had seen others do the same to higher ranks, though he himself was ignorant of such trends. Lack of socialization had turned him into a brute, crushing any hope of normalcy from his life the moment he was treated differently because of his fur. That was changing, though. He was finding the right path because his fur was changing, and the scars on his arm told him this as well as the can tah, which even now whispered things he heard but did not respond to.
The girl looked at his kill. While there was no physical hunger in her eyes, he recognized the same shade he saw in his nephew and in King. A hunger for something greater then what they knew. Larkspur did not feel his face begin to smile, long before she asked a question that seemed too young for her intelligent face. The Jager flicked one ear. “No,” he said shortly. His pupils shrank for a moment, focusing inward, listening to a voice he alone heard, and then widened as if the answer had been provided to him. “Killin' ain’t that hard at all,” he added. He spoke this indifferently, as if the weight of life was something he did not understand.
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