( His ears both angle back, the whine in his throat pointedly exaggerated when he sits his fuzzy rear end down on the ground and stares at Clara. This is where the wrong scents make sense, by being nonsense. Senseless killing has always bothered him, if he'd even thought it would be sincere when stated as such from Clara. Who'd spoken with that child in his own broken misunderstandings that night on the tower, as the fire flickered and fluttered and darkness seeped in close, lapping at their feet.
Now there's a different darkness still linked to the old, looking to swallow any number of them whole. He whines even louder, staring her down. Love, what in the world do you think you're doing with that sword? Your balance's all wrong for your frame. )
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Now there's a different darkness still linked to the old, looking to swallow any number of them whole. He whines even louder, staring her down. Love, what in the world do you think you're doing with that sword? Your balance's all wrong for your frame. )