Ankyra Sound bite the lightning and tell me how it tastes

Her answer causes a twinge of an upturn in his lips, humoured by the youthful trait of curiosity which slightly reminded him of a younger self. “I suppose,” He shrugs. He has never kept count. At some point they had all converged into one singular being stored into his memory, a faceless victim that held no distinguishable quality of significance. “I’ve killed those who weren’t enemies.” He says in a thoughtful tone, recalling vividly the experiences of sinking his teeth into those who were relatively innocent, but had simply been there -- wrong place, wrong time. “And yourself? Have you killed?” Intensely cold optics seek to bore into her own, though he knew the answer was likely no. He shifts to stand, stretching his limbs once more to shake off what snow had befallen his pelt since laying down. In doing does the cold wind rush across the large, hairless spot across his neck and he shivers silently, a quiet reminder of his mortality.