disquiet

Caiaphas regarded the ashen male's trophy somewhat distantly, noting it seemed entirely mute. Perhaps the fear of the unknown had kept the dark whelp silent -- or perhaps, she understood the importance of quietude. Caiaphas' gaze flickered over Kierkegaard as he motioned for the youth's paw -- there was a swell of pride in her chest as she correlated his actions: inwardly, the boastful wretch preened herself for being the first to view Kierkegaard's newest acquisition.

She had not forgotten the darkness of the matter, though this did not vanquish the faint look of amusement on her countenance. The questions "who's pup is this?", "where did you get it?" were not even considered in the slightest -- the only thing Caiaphas could think of was how delightfully interesting. With a mild hum she pulled forth to the pup, inspecting her carefully -- and then without comment turned back to the grotto at a fast lope to collect her wares.