A little huff of… something escapes Cassius as Doctor Hugh chases a few more of their observers away, their tails tucked between their legs. It lingers in the ghosting curl of his mouth. Fades at Doctor Hugh’s next question.

If they're attacking the crew, Cassius -

“...forgive me, Doctor Hugh,” he says, a slight crease to his brow, the squirming under his shell going tight. “I… have not explained properly, it seems. I have led you to believe that my Hunter is a danger to everyone upon this vessel. That is not the case. Not entirely.”

His skin rolls as he turns, takes a step, but thinks better of it.

“My Hunter does not hunt rabbits -” a pause, a slight tilt of the head “- those without blood on their hands.” He looks to Doctor Hugh, as if seeing his face will help the words weave from his lips. “My Hunter hunts those with claws of their own. Teeth. The monsters that hide themselves among the unaware. They – hunt those who would hurt others.”

His hands fold together, an uneasy hum to him. He knows that Doctor Hugh will not like what he has to say next.

“And it is not if, Doctor Hugh. They must. The Song is cruel in its demands.” His eyes drop to the maggot still wound around Doctor Hugh’s thumb (greedy in the way he does not move it himself. Even the faint feel of Doctor Hugh’s heat is better than none). “...the maggot will work. The Hunter will be drawn to its scent – just.”

A breathless sound. “Do not flee from them, Doctor Hugh. The chase is a dangerous thing.”