The gargoyle has not experienced many emotions during her life.

She knows curiosity, intrigue, which led her to finding Ker's egg and to examining the gory innards of this fawn. She knows bloodlust, as she stabbed the wolf and enjoyed it. As much as she doesn't like to admit it, she knows fear, as only a stone would fail to feel such an emotion in the face of Father and his harpies. She knows pain, as her face was shredded by eagle-claws. She knows affection - is it love? - for her family, and she knows respect, for Father's power.

But, until now, she hasn't known dislike. Today, she feels it for the first time, towards this boy, this insulting thing. How dare he? Does he not know who she is?

Ker screeches her agreement. It is not a pleasant sound.

Oizys' tail swings hard around her hocks, whilst her ears disappear into the tufts of her mane and her cold eyes darken dangerously. Her heightened emotions, her racing heartbeat, make the Cough threaten to show itself again, but this time she forces it down with considerable irritated effort. Not now. His words grate, and now she knows frustration, too. Frustration that she has no comeback, that she isn't yet smart enough to articulate anything in response, anything that will make him hurt, too.

One day. One day.

"Fuck you." That's all she can summon, and she doesn't even know what it means - only that it's bad. Why do you defend your mother like this? he questions, and the gargoyle's ruined face contorts into a frown. "Why don't you?" It is unthinkable for the girl not to stand up for Mother, Father or Sister. The way she sees it, if someone insults them, they insult her, as she shares their strong blood, their genetic code. That is not acceptable, and so she defends them - it is unthinkable for her to not. So why doesn't he?

She takes a step closer, launching her ears forwards and arching her strong young neck. She stands tall in the face of this...this thing, this boy. Ker, her fill eaten, scratches and claws her way up Oizys' back and waddles up between her withers so she can glower up at the colt too. Normally, something grey, ugly and fluffy would not be intimidating in the slightest, but the eaglet's face and viciously hooked beak are coloured crimson with the blood from her feast. It is not a pretty sight.

"I bet it's 'cos your Mother doesn't even want you." It is a wild guess, the only thing she can think of that may wound him - she ignores his other words, seeing them as beneath her.