Oliver didn't smile in that crazed, exaggerated way like the other dog - there were hardly any teeth bared to infuriate it. Just a plain Duchenne smile. Alpha noted it down noncommittally. The only part of that it could imitate was the half-squint of eyes, but it doubted that was convincing in any way. It was hard to fake a smile.

The crow-dog's voice was almost out of its own range of hearing, it was so quiet. Alpha grimaced (as much as its stiff face could, of course) and gritted its teeth. Everything looped back to the Trial; the first step into this downward spiral. The orthoclase'd acknowledged as much, because how out-of-character was it for it to mourn what could have been? After a single bit of contact shared between them? A spar nonetheless.

Here, Oliver was rubbing the wound raw. His wound? Their wound? The Black Dog guardian that'd gone in was strikingly similar to him. He hadn't survived either. Rage burbled up like a malignant disease, suddenly reminded of all the insignificant pieces of flesh and rock that'd managed to crawl through the dark by deciding to be the few outliers to selflessness. Quills rose, but for once it didn't hesitate to ask, "doesn't it make you angry?"

Like that was a normal response to grief. A healthy coping mechanism.

He had a lot to work on in a short amount of time.

Alpha grimaced - if it was being made unhappy by something, what was it? He couldn't answer that for it. There was no way he had an answer for it. Oliver was notably not happy, now, and he didn't have to explain the cues for it to pick them up: distantly mournful. It exhaled, growling lowly and pacing around the hybrid. How much time was it supposed to take for it to not be so bitter? Hollowly angry?

Somehow, it didn't even flinch at the sudden conjuration of pumpkin and its offering. The orthoclase sniffed before leaning in to snap it up in its jaws. It made a horrifying crru-crack! as it gave underneath Alpha's jaws. Every chunk that hadn't fallen out of its mouth on the initial bite was spat out. Too gooey and slimy, but a nice stress ball in the moment.

Had a wound heal wrong? Oliver was looking right at it. Feelings weren't tangible. They couldn't be hurt or broken. ... no - could... they... ? How -

"I hope that makes sense." "It doesn't," Alpha grunted before another thought even passed through its overworked conscious: talk about just anything... It kept its voice low, slowing in its pacing again, "is it -" What'd been the word that stag used? "... sosh-uh -" The word trailed off into a throaty hiss. The orthoclase paced another few steps, and took a second stab at it, "like socializing?"

The crow-dog didn't respond right away; instead, he moved towards a tree and propped himself up on it. It swelled beneath his grip, fibers crackling and popping as their growth was accelerated. Very akin to the sound of bones breaking. Alpha shifted just a bit, caution sending a wave of prickling through its quills. Settled into its new Place of Standing, it curled its claws into the sod again. This flush of anger suppressed by weariness'd pass soon enough. It had control over itself until it crested the threshold. Best not to get there again.

"... socializing can mean lots of things. Just... hanging out with friends," (I don't have those.) "or talking," (I think I don't like to.) "or meeting strangers." (Once, then I never see them again.) "This is more... for you." Oh -

Just like that, the orthoclase coiled up tight again. It stiffly raised and held its head up, quills pricking. Pride came in from distant memory again, and his helping a friend out of obligation or to feel good or something as its thoughts went. Then, a snarling flurry of feral copies of some black-winged beast and James's voice whinnying above it, begging for its aid. It hadn't offered it. It wasn't stupid - or foolhardy? - enough to rush into what was so clearly an inescapably dangerous situation.

In conclusion, from prior and unrelated incidents, Oliver had an ulterior motive for helping or not helping it.

He kept talking about the Trial, his father - and Alpha decided then and there that he wasn't helping it.

Its entire body bristled, and it lurched back into motion to cross the new distance between them (ignoring the cat-scratch tree he'd made just for it.) A mere foot again, the monstrous hybrid lifted an arm with the intent of snaring Oliver between the relatively short, blunt spikes along its forearm and pinning him to the ground. Alpha growled incoherently regardless of landing the pin, teeth baring in that trademark grin.

Alpha crouched low and close to the crow-dog and hissed, "you knew he was going in." Where's the filter? "You knew he would die." Hooked talons carved deep gouges into the grass. "I didn't." It growled. "I didn't tell he - rrh" It made a noxious gurgling as it cut itsellf off. "I didn't tell it. It came on he - it's own and died." A nasty little thought came to mind (a sort of we've got his stone and you can't have it, idiot) but it didn't act on it. "I have nothing to do with it. It had nothing to do with me." They couldn't find her stone, but they recovered an oilslicked heart and the halberd it once carried in its hands. Every other piece'd been left behind, and it hadn't had the chance to go into Hydra in search of sentiment. She hadn't been anything to it but its stone-giver.

They couldn't even find her, but this dog whose child knew? Easily located. The orthoclase was too pissed to think, too tired to fight.

It exhaled sharply, and eased up on its arm, giving Oliver the room to squirm free - if he was even beneath its arm. A weary sigh rocked through its frame. Before speaking, Alpha made sure it was hovering close enough for the little hybrid to see its teeth and smell its breath, nearly rotten with meat and grapefruit-smell. It ground out in deep, guttural grunt, "if you say anything to anyone, I'll rip you to shreds." Judging from the sound of sod being broken up, that was a promise. It tossed the clump of grass back where it'd been, and started to leave. "I have work to do," it grunted dully.

How something someone so keen on putting his tail between his legs had survived so long in these Caves was beyond the orthoclase. He barely even squirmed beneath its arm, just laid there and looked only vaguely worried and hurt. Alpha gnashed its teeth. It hadn't even slammed as hard as it could have, with sore arms and shoulders. But, ah - "I said I wouldn't tell anybody." No need to make threats. It nearly scoffed.

Instead, the Overseer stated in a bassy rumble, "I have no reason to believe you." Brutal, straightforward honesty; it had no reason but blind faith, and it was a predator too reliant on sight to trust the turn of a corner. It padded further away, toxic eyes set dead-ahead on exit until Oliver spoke again.

It came to a halt, a hind leg lifted mid-stride. The limb came back down again. Who was she? Mother, sparring partner, happenstance. A one-time thing. Close enough that others noticed. It was obvious enough and apparently already known. Alpha glanced over its shoulder, murmuring, "my stone-giver."

Beat. It twisted further over its shoulder, gazing at the crow-dog wearily. "I don't have time to 'talk about it'." Even if it'd wanted to - which it consciously and patently didn't. Not this time. In classic Alpha fashion, the monstrous hybrid'd put an (unwarranted) offer for help up on the shelf and leave it to gather dust. It was completely subconscious: a sort of hiding and running from confronting the monsters that clung to its shadow and every dark nook near it, sharpening their incisors and drawing claws across the earth.

If the solution wasn't instantaneous, it wasn't worth trying (right now, ever, whenever.) Its Master was bound to be getting impatient, already, it needed to rest and take its turn paying close mind to the chrysalises, et cetera et cetera always with the et ceteras.

Its eyes meandered down to the pumpkin, but it didn't even give the squash a halfhearted shove before turning back to leave.

Alpha grunted. It didn't need to be liked, surrounded - now or later. The strongest made it furthest. All it had to do was the bare minimum to keep others ambivalent towards it. Announcing its intentions before giving chase was the only lesson it'd truly picked up from Pride before stagnating into this little trainwreck wearing its hide.

The orthoclase grunted again. It never wanted to talk. There wasn't a point to it when every little bit of repressed emotion could be transmuted into rage and exhausting incoherence. That burned hotter and faster, and left it duller than this low simmer did. There wasn't ever any time to throw all of the fuel onto the flame, though - and enough time to let it reduce to ashes. One would think it'd have realized how unsustainable and inefficient that was by now.

Maybe, it would come back someday. Maybe, it'd never think of this place again except as just another part of Canis's landscape - no matter how much the greenery stood out. Whatever the case, it paused for just a moment, glanced over its shoulder, and skulked away. No promises. No assurances. Nothing. Just uncertain, weary silence in forced-smooth quills and overly long, stiff strides.