The beast that lies beneath the surface in Jericho is hidden well. Fjallraven's pathetic attempts at life seem to have a way of drawing out either the worst or the best in wolves around her. For some they see a weaker creature and their prey instincts jump to the fore. The way they wish to salivate over her skinny figure and dot out her life force, well, it is to be expected when she puts on airs of a weakling. Then there were wolves like Reich who had a deep seated kindness to them that was emphasized by the way he had taken her in, cared for her when no one else would. She does not question why Jericho has taken it upon himself to help her or wishes to hunt to sate the rumbling hunger of her belly. That has never been her way to question. Questions led to punishment, at least the kind that bothered her mother, and being away from that woman had made her a bit more open with her words though she is cautious still of many things.

As she shadows his movements the male comes to a sudden stop and her maw presses into his hips with a slight oomph for emphasis before she backpedals with her head low and eyes peeking up at him in case he should come after her with fangs. That is why her mother always made her stay two steps behind and one step to the side but she had forgotten such protocol in her haste to leave the caverns. She didn't want to lose him in the dark then she'd be alone and even more unsafe than if she huddled in the grotto all night.

He doesn't seem bothered though and continues into the silvery light of the moon answering her questions while her tail wags happily at his answers. He might think his words harbored some evil tone, a reminder of the darkness inside of him, but Fjallraven was just thrilled to have someone to answer her questions. She was filed with them and not nearly as scared to ask them as she once had been. She blinks owlishly at him when he turns his face towards her to reveal his scarred face but she doesn't flinch like she had before. Jericho has proven his kindness, she thinks, and she only offers him another bright smile and quick nod.

"I don't think I've eaten a racoon." Then again she didn't really know. Sometimes the food she was left with was just flesh and bones with no fur attached. Jericho is in the zone, his body bent down to sniff at the earth and Fjallraven mocks his movements, pressing her nose too close to the ground so that she inhales a good amount of dirt and begins to snort, paws pressing at her nose to scrape it off. Then she looks at him again, overlarge ears and eyes focused on what he says before she hears the noise alerting her to the fact that the critters are raiding the berry bush nearby. A bush she had completely missed but could now smell judging by the vicious rattle of her stomach once more.

She nods to him with an eager look on her face and something akin to the same adoration that she holds for Reich. Jericho is now one of her guardians, a savior. She perches herself on her belly as he does and readies herself. If he doesn't tell her to stay back she plans on darting at his side so she can see how he hunts and she can learn, maybe, how to kill a racoon.