The older male is gone, hopefully for good, and the girl that befriends the dead is immensely pleased. With both herself, and her new friend, who beckons her call and joins her in her new place, with her remaining friends lain out before them. Crystalline blue irises with their swirls of an almost ultraviolet crimson watch him as he looms above her for several lingering moments, watching her, wondering about her, for she can see it in his face. She does not pick him apart, merely observes, watches the muscles twitch and flex and they would. When he reclines before her, a few thumps of her black tail is given against the ground they rest upon, as he asks her his question. With one ear perked up and toward him and the other turned outward, Achlys adds to such an affect by innocently tilting her skull. Never before had someone asked her such things; most just grumbled insults at her, told her to go away, or called her disgusting or something of the like. Hardly a soul had ever cared to ask her why, except for this strapping young boy.

With a gracefully awkward smile upon her rather petite features, the girl is giving several nods to the boy before she speaks. The way her words are are simply the way she has always put them together, strewn into one another by thoughts that pass her by. "They show me what it is to die; what will happen to us when we die, but yet I cannot find where their minds are. They teach me." She sincerely hopes it is enough for him, but if it is not, she will do her very best to explain it better for him. Achlys was eager to tell him, if anything, for she had never known what it was to have someone interested in her. Cared for, or protected, was also unusual and foreign to her. And so when he speaks of his family, the concern obvious in him, she wonders at it. There is no filter in the black and white girls world, and so her voice chims forth, full of curioisty and wonder for her new friend. "Who is your family, and why do you worry for them?"

The girl might have misinerpreted worry for concern, or worry for whatever he might be feeling, but she could not know who he was. She could not know his Mother or his Father, just what sort of wolves they were- just as she did not know her Father or her Mother very well for that matter. She knew she was a demon, but that did not say much. She did not feel much a demon, just a wolf who liked dead things. She did not want her friend to worry, and so, briefly, she presses her cool, dry nose against his cheek in hopes that it might be a thing comforting to him. She has never had to comfort before, so she does not know very well. Young voice follows not soon after, sincerity at its finest present within her tones. "We will be safe, and we shall learn together." Because she will make it so.