The blood of prey is nothing but vulgar. On days when that foul-smelling liquid gets on his fur, he spends hours washing it off in the stream. He even changed his hunting style because of it—a clean, precise method that strikes the opponent's weak point to end them in a single breath. He has stuck to that method all this time, yet his foolish spouse goes around covered in blood every single day. No matter how many times he tells him, that damn eccentric hunting instinct never changes. What an arrogant spouse. Even so, he couldn't just leave his blood-soaked partner alone. Rasp, rasp. Every time his broad feline tongue licked through the fur, the scent of blood spread through his mouth. The fishy, thick, disgusting taste unique to herbivore blood coated his tongue. Damn it, he could never get used to this taste. If you come back covered in blood again, I'll personally correct your hunting methods. I'll carve the lesson into your bones, so you'd better look forward to it.