Stavanger Bay rather have been killed by that beast than be saved by a half-breed

Friendship was not something he had been taught. It was not something he could understand to any extent. What she sought from him would be one-sided, but as an ally he would be devoted in a different way to her; a brother-at-arms, a defender, a warrior. He knew nothing else. Tetsubo naturally sorted individuals in to categories based on their usefulness; it was why he tended to avoid Doe lest he needed her attention for his wounds, and why he did not see fit to meet the rest of the wolves of the depths. They held no value to him. Skellige was valuable above all else because he was the master — he controlled the beast, the weapon. Without him Tetsubo would lead an aimless existence.

He could not be a friend. But he could be a tool, and a useful one.

Still, the beast did not think of these things as the two played together. He continued to duck and weave, or snap, or bludgeon with his shoulder, and with each blow he became more aggressive and more brutal. The game was already quite a harsh thing, but it became more and more like a real spar, and then like a fight, and Tetsubo could not prevent this; he only knew how to draw blood and to kill, not to dance and make false swipes or careful, peaceful nips. If she could not handle it then he would know, and then she would become obsolete to him. More importantly, she would show her true colors, her strengths and weaknesses, and Tetsubo would know if she was worthy to serve Skellige.