I see the injuries upon her more clearly, my pupils dilating ever so slightly with my glittering orange slashed violet eyes. She has a face most brutal, not a delicate thing of beauty, that is for sure. It is a bit more rough, a bit more...knowing that the airheads that tend to populate Diveen. Yet she speaks, a language most vile and impure, and yet I have noticed most speak this common tongue with their mouths full of dirt. She comments on being an enemy of Diveen, but does it look like I care? I do not smell of Diveen, and there is not even the slightest hint of Diveen in me. I know Latin is not only a language of Angels. She makes wild assumptions about me, and she is...uneducated in doing so.

I slash my tail in silence as my eyes narrow at her. It seems as if she waiting for something from me, but I am not the kind to simply give when others wish it. This world is my world, and I do as I please. I only allow my lip to twitch into the slightest of smirks as I hold my powerful gaze. Like my mother, I give her nothing in many ways other than the narrowing of my eyes and the touch of a smirk on my lips. I give more than my mother, certainly, in my facial features, but I do it for a reason.

She asks me my goals in life, and it is a question that she does not want the answer to. My goals are not things that I can exactly say in words, especially not in the common tongue, as I do not think the common tongue gives to express well...anything properly. Yet she seems like a fighter, one who may appreciate my appetite.

"Blood," I say simply, words dripping my tongue laced heavily in a Latin accent. I allow my eyes to wander to her wounds, to see then react as she moves. I had always ripped my toys apart, chewed them and tore them to pieces. I was always interested with the innards of things, and yet I would enjoy to see something slowly rip apart, see how the body reacts to injury. She seems to be a toy that likes to be torn up, to play around with her own mortality.

Perhaps I do wish for a taste of her as she asks me to clean her. She is a new subject, a new thing to watch as others tear her a new one. I do need to see her wounds up close, to examine them and perhaps track her around to see what happens over time. What small injuries can kill, and what can wolves get over? It is something I must know. My white form dirtied steps forth, ears flicking as I come in closer to the wound on her back. I show not weakness, no cowardice and yet little aggression as I come to her back. My nose reaches out to sniff, and if she does not react with fangs, my tongue will reach out to lick- just a little taste.

"You fight- not to kill?" I inquire with my deep vocals. I cannot seem to stop myself from killing once my teeth catch hold. There is a dangerous spark to my tone touched with Latin, as I wonder why it is she lets those who touch her as so live. I cannot say I would let anyone live, if they injured me like this. Perhaps there is another logic to this wolf, perhaps I can come to understand it and her nature. Perhaps it will come useful in the future, as my tongue aims to rake across her wound.