operation little birdie

The male continued forward, just barely keeping his pace slow enough for the vulpine to keep up. As she came up beside him, he tossed her a glance from the corner of his eye, but other than that he did nothing to truly acknowledge her presence. Just as long as he could feel her close by, hear he steps, that was enough to reassure him that she hadn't taken off running. He snorted at her remark and gave a slow shake of his head in absolute disbelief. His head turned in order to stare down at her, unaware of how such a look might appear when viewed from a lower angle. It probably made him look annoyed or intimidating, which was not his intention. “Not some criminal? Are you so sure about that? Foxes are scavengers, in case you forgot. You're a criminal by default.” It was unfair of him to view her in such a way, which he knew, but he wasn't about to correct himself in front of her.

“In a way, possibly...” Kove didn't particularly enjoy admitting to that, but he'd be lying to both her and himself if he'd said anything different. They were similar, very much so, even. Wolves and foxes shared more in common than many would ever admit to. He'd learned that long ago, in all honesty, but something drew him to push it to the back of his mind, to view the smaller mammals as enemies. It was probably his father's constant complaining and overreacting when he was younger that caused him to react in such a way, but he didn't think that far into it. No use in digging up old memories just to humor a narrow-faced animal. His head bobbed slightly, though the motion most likely went unseen as it fell within the same time as the girl took the opportunity to move out ahead of him. The Inuit man kept his copper gaze on her, still, not daring to let her out of his sight. “It is rather weird,” he noted, but did not bother to elaborate on his thoughts towards the matter.