Overture Downs your mother's throat clicks and my spirit swims right to the hook

To say he was horrified when the killdeer connected with her pretty white fur and traced gore all down her shoulder was an understatement. Aventus liked blood, was aroused by it, even, but he discovered with an alarming urgency that he did not like it on her. Red was the banner of Ursus, something his upbringing forced him to be comfortable with, but that stark carmine hue didn't suit Phaedra. He didn't know her, but he knew she was soft summer sky blues and delicate buttercup yellows, with a dash of bold emerald, perhaps.

His paws came to a screeching halt the very moment he miscalculated his throw, the very moment it collided with her, the very moment her eyes narrowed and her lips parted. Aventus stopped so abruptly that his hind end lurched with the force of it, his own silver eyes blown wide.

What she said wounded and frustrated him more than it should have. Disgusting?! You did not want to kill it, he realized in a rumble, dropping his gaze to the killdeer and absentmindedly licking his jowls. It was an injured bird, easy prey and easy sport, but Phaedra was made of better things than Aventus. He would kill for the hell of it, and she was a more natural sort of predator, and intrigued by the bird's behaviour where Aventus would never stop to consider it. That had to be it.

The boy drew his brows down, perturbed, when she spoke next. I'm not stupid, he protested, offended. He advanced several steps then, pausing only half a breath before brashly punting the killdeer back at her. Red was not her colour, but if she was going to be so rude when he offered her a gift, then he could be petty, too.