[ Against his will, his fingers inch towards her — finding not her fur, but the blood in it. His eyes fixated on the mark of violence against her little body, and somewhere in his mind she'll be able to feel the flat, toneless skip of a voice too old for his body: Typical.

Of course someone, or something, would hurt a stray animal. Something weaker and smaller than them — Folk sure liked to play around with Yuca's little form, taunting him with his adult strength and power. His size and ferocity the sole advantage in his favor. ]

What do you want, then? You don't seem like someone who cares.

[ He's talking to a cat.

Fuck's sake, even after innumerable lives, this is a novelty. ]

Are you injured? Tch. Need me to put you out of your misery, maybe?