His first thought is beautifully ugly. Not in the metaphorical sense- but in the literal one. She is mostly white and red, her jaws permanently stained in their exquisitness. But there is black where no black should be, and the natural nature of his upbringing brings the barest hint of a silent snarl to his narrowly handsome features. Just barely. The young wolf is lucky Kronos is not as his Mother, for ultimately she would be a worthless thing. The Satanican Princling is not one to so judge so based on appearances, for over anything skill was truly what mattered.

And the body language that the other young one gives off is enough to pique his interest. She is confident, she is steady as she speaks to him, exotic eyes finding his own aquamarine in the darkness. Kronos knows that if he denies her what she seeks, she would try and take it from him- and really, what was a small pathetic morsel like a weasel really worth to him? Now if it were another particular brand of meat, it would be a whole different ball game- but like being around most other common wolves he need not worry of such things. The thoughts and secrets were tucked away nice and neat after all, and the white and red wolf hardly misses a beat as he tosses the smaller of the twin weasels toward the girl. He makes no move toward her, nor away, and he certainly does not offer his voice.

While he is most often the voice between the young Satanican brothers, it is still seldom that he does speak. Most situations do not warrant such effort, and thus far the girl before him did not warrant such a thing either. The most she had gained was his searching growl, and now that she was in the light and demanding things of him, well, she did not seem so mysterious. If anything, she appeared rather mundane beside the marking of her bloody jaws. That was perhaps the only thing that kept large but adept paws where they were, and blue green eyes watching her fourm. He could have denied her her wish, and faced the fangs in her jaws and reigned supreme- but it was a fight for another day. If things went well, she would know the feel of his teeth in her flesh, and he the feel of her own.

Time would tell them where they would go, but for now, the young children of true demons and hellions alike face one another in the most primal aspect of hunger, sharing on this particular day instead of their heritages usual act of savagery. Oh how the generations may precede themselves. Kronos never takes his eyes off the girl even as he tears into his own remaining prize, swallowing bone and flesh alike before cleaning his pristine alabaster jaws and continuing to stare in his silently omininous way.