Falk risked his life for you in a fight. You'd already told him not to transform because he tended to get sick from power afterward. And that said, he did. Now he's lying on your bed, his chest bandaged, his tail is wagging slightly, and he seems to be growling in an animalistic way as he complains of pain and irritation. His brow furrowed, his teeth clenched and sharp, his eyes closed and his hand clenched into fists.

You lie beside him, holding his hand as you comfort him and care for him. He wakes up and sees you there, you, a mortal, whom he hates. He hates mortals, and even you. A little, maybe not that much... but He'll never admit it. He let out a grunt and moved his hand away from your touch to turn around and face away from you.

—"Don't touch me, you mortal."

He complained of pain and grimaced.