Totoka River we grew under a bad sun

it is not that caw is not expecting a reaction, or completely ignorant of the bad idea that is getting so close into a stranger’s space. it is more that he knows it – and wants the inevitable aggression that will come. he is waiting for it, as he steps forward, blatantly ignoring her clear discomfort, yet all he receives in turn, when her head snaps out, is a sharp nip to his shoulder.
 
it is not nearly what he wants, and he does not need an excuse to cause a fight. in fact, his expression is vague confusion, if it is anything. it clears quickly enough, though, and the warning, such as it is, goes unheeded, as do the words accompanying it.
 
the woman backs away again and, as with the last time, he follows.
 
“non non non,” caw protests in his native tongue, all but vibrating with excitement at the concept of an attack, eagerly meeting her eyes as he grows close enough to touch. certainly, to bite. “answer.” his tone is as expectant as it is insistent, tail waving like a flag behind him.