Ankyra Sound they're lining up the prisoners and the guards are taking aim

Her tone is flat and demanding, but he believes himself to be Mister Slick.  He wonders what causes her to bristle so naturally, what has carved her to be the woman that she is.  He scarcely knows her, if he even knows her at all, but when he compares her to Quail in his mind there is a different kind of interest.  He had wanted Quail because she lived up to her namesake.  She quailed before him, and she defaulted to submission.  She was easy to break.

This woman?  Nothing.  Passing through.  The wind ruffles the jagged edge of his withers, and his tongue sweeps across his muzzle.  I'm hungry.  Do you have an issue with me hunting here?