"Death? I should hope not." the cat laughs, a rolling chuckle that falls from her tongue gracefully. Hope not indeed, but black cats were bad luck. There is a long silent that settles between them, but Blaire is patient, and she waits. Bright, haunting eyes never leaving the frame of what might soon be a ghost. She remains casual; continuing to clean and preen her fur as if bored with him only offering the occasional glance as she works on the details of her face and in between her toes where the ice is stuck.
But finally, her patience pays off.
"Protection, should you need it," he sounds so bitter as he admits it. "If I were not so tired I might have—" her ears only draw forward, giving him a hard stare. Which brings out a quick defense. "I doubt I'm the only one." ❝ Why do you need to defend yourself? Would you feel bad? ❞ she's genuinely curious about this, but adds on.
❝ And actually ─ you are, here at least. But I've also mostly kept to myself. ❞ her interactions with the native wolf population wasn't so big, but it was becoming more commonplace. ❝ How do I know you won't turn on me the moment you're feeling well enough again? ❞ this was the more important matter.
notes
which means if it hasn't happened in a thread ─ it hasn't happened!