[ The laugh slowly fades away into breathy huffs, punctuated by Howl's shaking shoulders. The rounded bush of feathers making up most of his head turns as Howl looks away, somehow expressing dismissiveness towards his question. Share? Why? Childe's yammering annoys him. Especially now, when all of Howl's good humor and charisma is buried under several harsh and painful layers of physical transformation, and further locked away by the wounds all over his body. They drip dark red ooze onto the ground, which puddles and clings around shed feathers. Howl is in no state to want to listen to this violent man run his stupid, annoying mouth, oblivious to everyone else around him and the horrible failure they've all committed. ]
...A fox can't catch a rabbit a hundred percent of the time. [ Somehow, the voice that comes out sounds even more labored and gravelly than it did just a few seconds ago. ] Didn't you tell me that once, Tartaglia?
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...A fox can't catch a rabbit a hundred percent of the time. [ Somehow, the voice that comes out sounds even more labored and gravelly than it did just a few seconds ago. ] Didn't you tell me that once, Tartaglia?