He has always found a fascination in life and the absence thereof. He cannot say what exactly it is that draws him to it, merely that it does - he had told his grandmother, Ava, after all, that is had just been... something to do. Like playing, or basking in the warm sun on a cool day. It was just a part of what he had come to know as life. Perhaps it was the combination of the two that lures him towards the unusually marked girl; she is very much alive and, like him, she is surrounded by death in those moments. It keeps his attention piqued and unfaltering even when she becomes so suddenly aware of his presence.

She nods, though he does not return the gesture. Instead, he tip toes forward on anxious paws. His tongue rolls across the top of his muzzle as the smell of blood continues to stick to the air. Her small gesture, however, has given him unspoken permission to approach and so he does, though he does not know how to go about such a thing. His movements are an unusual combination of excitable and yet, oddly reserved. He keeps parts of himself away, after all, already aware that his curiosities may be considered in appropriate. When she moves suddenly, though, he does little more than merely allow her to have her way with him. In fact, he finds it almost flustering to have such closeness with another creature - her warmth, her scent, her energy. It is suddenly upon him as he allows himself to flop onto his side, hitting the stone below with a slap.

He pushes up against her paw as she holds it to his throat. He can feel its weight press against his flesh, causing a sudden strangeness in his breathing. Slowly, he lowers back down, feeling release for a moment before he tries once more - it is unusual, after all, this feeling. Finally, though, he is distracted from his small experiment by her words - words he does not entirely understand. His face stares up at her though, seemingly impartial to it all before his ear twitches with decisiveness.

"Screaming is for prey."

He seldom speaks and so, his words are spoken with a discerning lack of tonal change. They are merely said and then, like that, forgotten. What an Illias is or is not does not concern him, and her intentions are even of less concern. All he knows is that he can truly smell the blood on her breathe now, and it makes his stomach stir with a loud, savage growl of desire.

As she moves for his ear, he cannot help himself. With her so close, his heart pounds with exhilaration. With the same careless speed of her, he lurches for her muzzle, or wherever he may be able to reach - so long as it is close to the blood that he can smell. He can practically feel the red hot pulse of her next to him as she chews into the flesh of his ear. He can feel it sting and yet, he merely takes to focusing on each particular feeling. He can feel the individual teeth. He can feel his ear begin to warm beneath her breath. He can only hope that he can grab at her own skin, testing its pliability and feeling what living feels like in his mouth. He has only ever been able to truly experience the dead that his mother surrounds herself with and so, today is a good day to experience those that are alive.