This woman, he notes, talks a lot; her words fall from her mouth like the very water beneath them, and so, she fast begins to unravel before him. Her words echo with the very same sentiment his sister utters often and so, it echoes with his own words. Yet, he continues to merely watch her passively. His silence remains as steadfast as his body, unwavering in the turret she releases upon him. His only acknowledge is a flicker of his dark ear once more, his head tilting again to its opposite axis. He knows wolves like her, he concludes, and as such, he knows how wolves like her operate. Iromar was new but this was not.

He knows now, though, that he can bring forth a response from her. He knows he can break her silence and distance and so, he is shameless in his efforts to continue to push. "A river cannot die," he offers finally, his eyes fixating on hers though his posture remains a nonthreat, his tail limp and idle and his muscles relaxed beneath his dark fur. Rivers may shrink and change but they do not die and so, he offers, that is the difference between she and it; it has no throat nor heart to stamp out. He remains amused though by this twist of events, entertained by the prospect and allure of danger. He is used to the self-made kind and so, the allure of this foreign thing is one that keeps him steady in his closeness, allowing him to remain put as she closes the space between them.

She closes in and he decidedly lifts his head, meeting her eyes with an almost bored expression. He is fast learning how the other predators within Moladion operates and, as he has labelled her as such, he wonders how long he will push before she breaks. He has been taught, after all, that an unhinged temper is a weakness. He does not know it perhaps and yet, he stands face to face with an opposing force to him; she sees weakness in other ways and she seeks it in other ways, too. He is content with subtlety and gentleness and yet, she is unashamed in her efforts to find it. Elohim knows, though, that there is none to find beyond the anatomical failings of their species; it is a weakness that levels their playing field and creates equals of them all.

She is close now, speaking once more, and his eyes roam to her mouth as it moves; he watches her lips and teeth part and touch, breathing in her breath and the warmth of her body as it lingers close to his own. He feels the heat of her blood and the sensation of her fur touching his; it intrigues him and yet, he finds he has lost Kairos in these moments. He has not found her in the form of another. This one is different - it almost makes him sigh and yet, he merely lets out his own chuckle as she snaps her jaws mere inches from him. His chuckle is a grumble of a thing, hoarse and seldom used but it is earnest.

"Why?" It is all her answers with, a disservice to her requests as he slides back and away from her, his movements fluid as his head ducks low. The word is strained and heavy with inquisition, a demand for her to offer him some kind of reason to do as she insists. Who he is? What his mind ponders? It makes his tail flicker but nonetheless, he skirts back a short distance, luring her forward.