Her posture was distinctly immature. She was a young female, but young didn’t always mean that their mental capacity reflected their years. This one was mismatched. Perhaps she was poorly socialized when she’d been younger, but whatever the case, her wide eyes and head tilt full of innocent curiosity shifted Grimoire’s wrathful mind towards a scientific one. The emerald eyed female had obviously been taught the she was correct, and no ounce of guilt shivered in her fur. As the observed each other, Grimoire understood that her company was a tight laced predator; her eyes were sharp and observant. Something she saw about Grimoire clearly disgusted her, judging from the wrinkling of her nose as if she’d caught a rancid smell. As if this toddler could be one to judge though; she was rank with death. Grimoire’s mother had become addicted to that scent, having lived in the decaying bone yards of Iromar. Grimoire, however, was neither upset by it, nor terribly fond of it. It was a natural scent and one she caught on the winds frequently.

The excited exclamation of murder was an interesting reaction, and Grimoire was able to establish her previous pondering of the female being improperly socialized. Her vocabulary was limited and her speech pattern as she continued was uncommon and broken. Damn her; Grimoire found it almost endearing. Would her speech become stuttering under extreme stress, Grimoire wondered? Grimoire remained quiet as she watched the female, and muttered agreement when it was necessary.

“Murderer?!”

Grimoire nodded to her, ”A wolf-killer.”

“Am Murderer?!”

Grimoire nodded to her, ”Yes.”

“Am Raum. Am Murderer.”

Grimoire watched her posture become more formal as she found pride with the word. Fascinating. What was the basis for this behavior? To most wolves, the word “murderer” carried negative connotation. She seemed immediately taken with the title. Grimoire considered her introduction and the reaffirmation of the word. Raum. Murderer. Ooh. Synonyms perhaps? A devilish upward twitch of Grimoire’s lip showed her mild understanding of how this little psychopath’s brain functioned. Like the young wolf Segin, she was also an egoistic thinker. Everything - the world - revolved around her and her wishes. There was a potential way to claim her, then, if she wasn’t too far established in that she controlled everything. If Grimoire could make a bad circumstance her fault, then perhaps she could create learned helplessness; a condition hard to cure, and easy to manipulate?

Grimoire waited patiently for the words she could see wavering in her companion’s emerald eyes.

“Yes, yes… Hhhhmmmmm. And you? You?”

”I am Grimoire. I am also a murderer,” her voice purred, dripping with salty truth.

Who? No one that mattered to anyone here in Moladion, except for perhaps Nakki, mommy-dearest. Grimoire mimicked Raum’s peculiar head tilt, to maybe make her companion feel as though they were of a similar mold. Grimoire observed the occurrences of this particular perspective, noting how her right ear and eye were working harder for information about Raum while her left eye became lazy, and her left her twitched at the sounds off to the left. Why was this Raum’s preferred investigatory view point? Grimoire made no conclusions about Raum doing this; she simply was gathering information.

Grimoire decided upon a final question for her quarry, ”Alone, Raum?”