Duck Lake know what you want

The ducks were being torn and devoured in a rather crude way, and he was finding himself amused by her voracious appetite. Was she starved? Clearly she was hungry, and if she was not, she definitely fooled him. His own auds caught the name as she cast it, a smidge of dignity edging the title with a sheen. Cry was not aware of what tradition or heritage had crafted her calling, but it was smooth name, alluring, but with a sharp start. A name well descriptive of most he was intertwined with. Crisp beginnings, only to mellow out to a smooth delicacy.

If such an interpretation came from his mind set, what was her own judgement of names? Would she be as many others before her, and make mock of him, his one and only calling card what the world underestimated him to be until he held their throats in a vice within ivory daggers? Or would she prove herself unique, desiring to delve into the reasoning of the name's birth? Maybe she would be like his usual considerational self would, and simply not care.

In a way, her being so proud of her own title had really cast something dark on the void walker, his own name bringing him spurn of self-realization: What was there to be proud of in being named Cry? Nothing. Nothing was to be proud of when it came to him...And that was how he preferred it. For the shadow prince, emotions such as pride, glee, self appreciation, postive vibes, and the other uplifting side of 'feeling' was a spectrum of life he wanted nothing to do with. Emotions had a funny way of ruining your mind when you needed it to be as sharp as it could be. Bias was crafted from emotions, and he saw himself just in his own egocentric way. Selfish, a bit. But relentless in his unending circuit of discipline. So with discipline, he murmured out his name.

"Cry."

Watching her scarf down her mean in a more hampered than eased manner, he stated with more of a factual tone than an opinionated one, "It would help you greatly if you just slit the belly with a claw and peel back the skin. Saves you from potentially inhaling feathers."

As much as the dark guardian had taken to murdering small game, birds hadn't evaded his scythe. Their demise only increased when he had found out the trick, increasing the efficiency in with not only killing them to eat them, but skinning them to leave to dry in the heat of the sun. Patridges were a favored meal of his, though it was a secret for him, and him alone. So with the combined learned ability, he had an easier time evading the choking hazard.