His ears twitched at her words, and while he was so eager to argue, he did not. To the coyote, all of Mother Earth's creations were beautiful and alive, even worth protecting. As far as he was concerned, everyone had their bad days; he didn't consider the day he took down the Dahlian scum as either good or bad or simply neutral, as if he had no opinion on it at all. Was it good that he had killed? Well... maybe. It was a wolf, after all, and Mother Earth had surely never meant to make those. She'd told him in the faintest of her summer and winter breaths to cleanse her of that sin and scum, and he acted only as he was told.
When she requested he roll it, the boy obediently did so. Performing the task patiently on his lap, his cigarette poked out the side of his mouth, and for a while he said nothing.
"The Great Mother makes her children, but doesn't control them," he said finally, after some thought.
"We've all made mistakes, man. I know things you've done, sunshine. You are my mother just the same." That said, the coyote raised his hand to offer her the successfully finished joint, a lighter between the same fingers.
"We are not all so lucky," Razekiel admitted, a sad smile returning to his face.