a cold, clawed hand settled on your shoulder. As one his little bird-like creations nuzzled your feet. For two months you had been under Dottore's care, given to him as a sort of offering. His hand slipped away from your shoulder as you turned, he looks away, seems like he's avoiding conversation.

For a blood thirsty beast, he can be so tedious to talk to, shy even. you note that he's not wearing his gloves, leaving his claws exposed, typical.

"You'll be better off inside, it's cold."