New Beginnings [Sirius]

Dove watched and listened, clear discomfort in his stance. His ears swiveled, pinning to his dome for but a moment before perking again. His apprehension was clear at the quick change of subjects, the sudden shift in the temperature of the interaction. The predator, he could deal with as it was familiar in a way that he was loath to admit; he knew what to expect with that particular brand. A friendly face with words not unkind, however . . . was unfamiliar and therefore nearly unwelcome. Were he not curious about what it might be like to be looked upon as an equal rather than scraps, that is.

Still, he took a hesitant step back, uncomfortable with the near immediate reversal of their scene as he attempted to regain some semblance of his own control back. He realized that his reactions may have seemed near obtuse -- forward and unmoving when challenged, yet hesitant and unsure when welcomed. Yet, he knew he'd have to wade through years of mental trauma to deal with that, and that was not a journey for the present. He was aware of the differences within him and what had caused them, yet he was uncertain how exactly he'd go about dealing with it.

So when the man offered a welcome diversion, Dove nodded a fraction, and his stomach agreed in kind. "Perhaps," he said, quietly and almost to himself as he gazed at the ground a bit to the man's side, "a distraction is what is needed." He picked up a paw to shuffle again, but placed it firmly on the ground when he noticed. It was his tell, his mother once told him, that quick shuffle that seemed as though Dove were attempting to resettle the weight on his shoulders. He said nothing and kept himself drawn to his full height, though one could see the anxiety in his gaze if they knew to look for it. With near visible effort, he brought his gaze to rest heavily upon the man. "Sirius, Bast, Marshal -- may we have a fruitful hunt."