Slipping free of the den was easy, though it was not as if Jinx had forbid him from venturing out of it or anything of the sort. In reality, she likely knew when he snuck out (as if his absence wasn’t obvious enough) and either she did not care, or simply had no intentions of stopping him was unclear. It was simply more fun to pretend that he had actually succeeded in sneaking out, as opposed to the idea that she had let him. There was hardly anything fun in being allowed to do something. Half the fun was in defying what was permitted in the first place, or so Ira felt. The idea of harvesting an avian for himself, though the means of how exactly he proposed to obtain an avian of either the crow, raven, or hawk species was inherently unknown to Ira, it still lingered in the crevices of his child’s mind, romancing him with the idea of fixing it/raising it, taming it, and making it his, henceforth possessing it. As a reliable companion, or tool, Ira was not yet sure. It mattered little he supposed, until he came across an avian such as he was looking for (which could take years, realistically), there was no true need to spend time contemplating over such designs.
The morning was chilly, as was every morning, but it was a chill the insolent child had been accustomed too. He had eaten, as he did most mornings, skeptically. Sniffing at the food Jinx offered him, before ripping small mouthfuls off, never to appear too eager to consume it. Though she had taken Ira in for her own purposes, and thus far had not killed him (neither had he yet to get sick off of the food she offered) he still did not entirely trust her. The reluctance to accept the meat given to him was his way of expressing it subtly. Admire her? Yes. Trust her? Trust was not something so easily given, even by the child. Trust was too easily broken and thus such a fragile thing. In some ways, trust was the only form of ‘affection’ he would ever be willing to give; even so he was reluctant to give it away at all. It was better this way, Ira convinced himself, easier.
The morning was cloudy, concealing the sun’s warming rays that he liked to feel brush across the silken, silver tendrils of fur that lined his spine, but it appeared he would have to make due without it this day. Pause was given as a wide yawn overtook him, causing his teeth to snap together with a small click noise. Needle sharp as they were now, they would become fierce weapons of pain and death as he grew - of such there was little doubt. Shaking off the last traces of sleep, he bounded away from the den he and the Mambo shared, thinking that he needed more items to covet into his little corner. Bones, rocks, anything that the child could find of interest to him.