It had been some time since Buchanan had brought Banner feathers for her collection and that alone drove him into the velveteen darkness of the early morning. The air was cold, it writhed from his nostrils in white tendrils of steam drawn by the moon's glow as it hung heavy and pale in the sky. It was clear, no clouds to obstruct the sky littered with thousands of stars. For a brief moment on his hunt, his silvern gaze lifted to the sky to admire it's beauty. Buchanan was no stargazer but he found that it was nice to be able to appreciate life in a way that he never had before. Before Banner and before Marauder's Keep. A shrill call nearby had snapped his attention away from the skyline, his ears cupping forth, alert as his eyes scanned the trees around him, his muscles tensing beneath his scarred flesh as he switched into a mode most familiar to him. It was instantaneous for him. To take back on the skin of the assassin Of course he hunted for philanthropic reasons now, and turned away from the killing of his own species. It would never leave him, though. Just as The Officer would never completely vanish from his thoughts, from his memory. His past would always haunt him no matter how wonderful and bright his future may have been.

He heard it again and this time the large owl fluttered to an outcropping of rock a few feet from him. Buchanan sunk low, taking in the white and cream colored owl's heart shaped face as white as the moon. It was a magnificent beast and Buchanan was sure that Banner could find some good feathers from it for her collection. He drew in a deep breath, focusing upon the owl as if he were configuring the scope of a sniper rifle, pinpointing choice locations on it's body for attack, judging his margins of error. There weren't many. If it took off in flight Buchanan's chances of success would be near impossible.

Slowly, Buchanan stalked forward and as the bird's head swiveled away from him the ex-assassin lunged for it. The owl was quick, flapping it's wings, it's talon's striking against Buchanan's cheek, cutting into his flesh. The sharp, white hot sting of pain barely phased him. He'd known a lot worse physical pain in his life. If anything, it only added to the thrill of the hunt. Buchanan's jaws snapped upon the bird's wing and it's cry broke the silence of the night as he wrestled the writhing bird down to the ground. Immobile, Buchanan made quick work of the bird, frowning at the damaged wing and mussed feathers when it laid limp at his paws. There was a whole other wing, it's back, tail and belly feathers to choose from but it definitely hadn't been his most graceful kill. The only thing that mattered was if there were feathers in good condition for Banner, as for the food portion of the owl it didn't much matter what condition it's feathers were in.

His ears perked atop his skull as a (sharp) bark sounded through the sudden silence of the night, and his ears fell back against his skull when it sunk in a few seconds later that it was Banner. He'd know her voice anywhere, after all. A myriad of emotions went through the dark wraith then as he looked down at his less than graceful kill and the consideration that Banner was on her way and had likely been roused by all the noise. An assassin made quick, efficient, unnoticed kills. Did that ...mean he was getting rusty? The consideration, no doubt a product of The Officer's conditioning, sent a paralyzing wave of fear through him. He was losing his touch. He was losing his touch and he was going to be punished for it. No, no. Buchanan took a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself, to keep back the flashback that threatened to draw him into the past. The Officer wasn't alive anymore. Though Buchanan bore no mark for it he had killed him. There would be no punishment for a sloppy kill; but oh! the fear was debilitating as it wracked down his spine.

The trickle of blood down his cheek was warm where it seeped into his fur. He hadn't even came out of it unscathed. It was ...the kill of a child not a man full grown whose only purpose had been to kill. Silver eyes averted to the frost covered ground at his paws as his wife came into his view. An equal mixture of shame and embarrassment flooded through him. He couldn't look at her. Didn't dare look at the broken corpse of the barn owl he'd caught for her. It was a disgrace to his skills and a disgrace to offer to her in such a state. “I'm sorry.” He offered her simply, quietly. Though whether he was apologizing for giving her the wrong impression, for the noise, or for the broken state of the owl he wasn't sure. Perhaps all three.

She rushed towards him, presumably having noticed the cut upon his cheek from the bird's talons. For the briefest of moments and a rapid intake of breath he had to remind himself that she meant him no harm and it was out of her genuine concern for him. Though her concern capitalized upon his humiliation and he felt embarrassment burn hotter beneath the skin of his cheeks, the wound giving a dull throb of pain as he grumbled unintelligible words under his breath. “I'm fine,” He huffed softly, reaching out with the intent to touch his muzzle to her cheek. “I've suffered worse.” He attempted to brush it off with humor that poked at himself, his docked tail giving a slight twitch behind him. As far as physical pain went there would likely be nothing that could top the agony of having his tail severed. “It fought back.” Not that Buchanan hadn't expected it to. Anything with any regard for it's life was liable to fight back or flee. The owl had chosen the first.

His cheeks flushed hotter (and never was he more grateful for fur then he was in that moment) when he felt her tongue swipe across his wound. He wanted to assure her it was just a little scratch but he didn't want to seem ungrateful to her concern, either, so despite the humiliation that bubbled within him he allowed her to clean it. She pulled back, seemingly confused and he gestured flippantly to the mangled corpse near him. “I hope you can salvage some feathers from it,” He murmured quietly to her. “And-and I'm sorry if I woke you.” He was surprised the noise hadn't woken the dead, as it were. As far as presentation of his kill: they were usually a lot better.