[Connor keeps a steady step, stopping when she stops, continuing when she continues. Too used to following the lead of a human until unleashed upon a crime scene, in which he flits to and fro to complete his objective, unbound by restriction for blessedly passing moments — a strange thing when he’s the one expected to lead, instead. Plotting an aimless path beneath the bough of rustling branches as the forest opens up to them proper.]

She’s nothing like me. [A quick correction, fingers flexing, and he clasps them behind his back.] She’s a deviant, but beyond that — she’s stubborn, uncooperative, and brash. And she’s been avoiding me, though all I hope to do is to question her in the event that we’re to return home in a… timely manner.