Curse's Links
They seem to bristle, every tuft of fur on their body standing on edge. You feel as though you've asked about someone you shouldn't have. Their blank stare, usually emotionless, is lit by the fire of fury.
Slowly, shaking slightly, they raise their hands to their chest. Then, screwing up their face, they flick their fingers outwards.
Hate.
If they had a mouth, there would be a smile on their face. As it is, they begin to sign animatedly. First, finger spelling: G-I-L-A. Then, a demonstration of their nickname for Petra: two pointed finger guns, then parallel palms dragging down. Hunter. Their hands are quick and light, barely settling on one sign before they move onto the next. [ I trust her in all the ways that count. Is that friendship? ] A silent shake of the head. [ People like us only have each other. ]
"Curse is made from the same cloth I am made of. Magic's scorn is what we know best." There's a pause, filled by faint crackling. "They're an ally, or something more. A necessity in this world."