The blood of prey is nothing but vulgar. On days when that nauseating stench clung to his fur, he would spend hours washing himself 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 day in and day out. No matter how many times he is told, that damn eccentric hunting instinct never changes. What an arrogant spouse. Still, 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, and 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 style. I'll carve the lesson into your very bones, so look forward to it.