Whatever went on between her father and uncle was beyond the girl, for they had never shown outright aggression to each other. Subtleties in conversation (that was in tone, though she did not know the word as it applied to such a thing) were something she had just begun to grasp. The world included a spectrum of tones she had yet to see, in words and gestures she clung to desperately. Knowledge would be power. She craved that above all else, having seen the possibilities that could come with it. One day she would become mighty, by hook or by crook.
Sirius’ posture did not indicate he wished to play, and while there was the impulse do so, she further recognized this was a critical moment. He was testing her. Maybe that meant she was growing up. She desperately wished to be an adult, sick of her awkward puppy body and being so much smaller than everyone else. Mostly the sheep. She hated having to look up to those stupid things. Yet his praise filled her with pride, pleased he noticed how terribly clever she was. “I taught myself. I watched Itzcitla, and did what he did.” Now that her game had been interrupted, she had no further use for the corpse and ignored it.
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