Bramblepoint the graveyard, the turnaround, it changed in you somehow

"Skwol," he recriprocated. He did not insist that she eat the bird — it was simply not his custom to do so on trivial matters. Instead he took the bird in his mouth, as gingerly as he had carried it to her, and out of respect for her compassion, he turned away for a moment to consume it. It was difficult to eat such a small thing as neatly and as appreciably as he ate larger game (one savoring bite at a time). The best he could do was take it in a single swallow, after a couple quick snaps to position it properly and break its carcass. He turned back to Indra just as his tongue made its final pass around his mouth to gather any stray feathers. There were none. His snout was clean.

His warm gaze was contemplative as he looked to the red girl again. He wondered if she came from a similar background to him but he had his doubts. If she had, he reasoned she would have given him her more proper name; but that was a thought he had to swallow as quickly and as wholly as he swallowed the bird, less the mood of his memories appear on his face.

"Not everyone looks so kindly on prey," he commented with a small smile as he settled to his haunches, hoping she was receptive to company for a while.