Larksong Grotto ☾ tléix'

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But he does not fight. Does not charge, nor attack, nor even move. His voice does not rise to a shout, but cracks from disuse. He steps back to give her room, even, and the moondancer raises her brows.
Yes, she answered carefully. ...Hungry, she copies the way he says it, knowing the meaning, but not entirely confident in the way in which she speaks it. Tail flicks behind her. Uncertain, now, at this sudden kindness, but not ungrateful. She took a single step closer, letting her gaze filter over him. Unabashed. Unashamed. The moondancer regarded him with careful study.
Ultimately, her eyes softened with approval, and she allowed herself to close a portion of the space between them. Still, she ensured that he, too, was accepting of such approach. Would not grow too close, lest he snap. She saw the potential of such within him. A danger that intrigued her, in some way.
In lilting melody, she spoke again: You have... kill? Giving him her own tilt of her head. Eyes fell, once more, upon his scars. There was no judgement in her eyes, but rather, a clear curiosity.