He started, then laughed, and put his shoulder to hers in response. He was glad to have been asked; knew, despite his unease with the concept of scavenging for his food—not squeamish, nor moral, but as a matter of pride, never again will I have to be a beast so as not to starve—that she wasn't intentionally scratching her claws against it.

"You talk like I'm cleaner than a virgin's bedsheets. I might be a pup to you, but...ah, fuck it, let's go. What I catch is yours, in case your ancient legs won't carry you quick as you want them to."