Mal walked along, deliberately keeping from favoring any injury though his tail he kept near his body and away from her mouth. Just in case. He wasn't so proud as he used to be, but he was proud enough to keep from letting her speak down to him. Even though he should. Their code dictated he lay down and offer her his belly, but that went against his nature. So he'd taken her up on the offer of battle. She didn't owe him that respect, but it showed that despite her big talk, she knew who the elders were and, vargulf or not, he was to be respected.
"Hovoril si, že predtým som chuť mäsa kŕmenie mláďat. Práve tam, kde si myslíte, že to prišlo z?" Now that didn't mean that all meals came from slaughtered hounds, but every now and then it happened. At least it did when Malcoda was a pup. When you trained hounds not to care, to be cold and cynical then it made sense that they wouldn't care. Meat was meat. Of course, if Ziv didn't recognize this, then the pups they were training were even softer than Malcoda's fur.