He can feel a soreness spreading in his paw where the woman’s teeth were a moment before. Had she drawn blood? Mohegan wasn’t going to bother looking. The scowl that colors his expression is near permanent these days. She’d grabbed him a lot harder than play. Something felt off to the berserker, and he didn’t quite know what. The girl was bigger than he was. No, something was… something was amiss here.

”I don’t hit girls.” The words are flat, a careful monotone. He’s already looking past the girl. Don’t engage. Don’t bother engaging. Not now, not ever. Mohegan regards the girl with a sort of dull numbness that has colored everything he’s done, everything he’s felt since… well, you know since when. He doesn’t hit girls, not even his sister. God… damn, his sister. That’s a sore spot he’d do well to stay away from.

He sees now, the social ineptness of the girl. Mohegan relates to that, and in that relation, he takes caution. Little does this woman know, he’s always pissy. Things haven’t been quite right in Mohegan’s head since everything went to shit, and he doesn’t care. That’s what having everything you love either taken away, or walk away, does to you. He takes a step back, watching the female with careful eyes. Iviora. Weird name. The berserker shrugs it off. “Hunting for dinner.” He would blame the sass on his poor hearing, if pressed. Still, Mohegan was frustrated with the interruption.