As the heat had permeated the daytime, stifling and oppressive, Bloodhound had been spending less and less time out during the day, spending their evenings in the cool shade of their home. They took this time to take care of their injured crow friend, to play and talk with the crows that had begun to make the upper floor of their house, their home. The crows didn't offer... anything in the way of conversation, but seemed to enjoy their voice, their presence. Because it of course meant food.

They had spent most of the night hunting, having gathered enough for themself and their crow friends. They took the time to feed, still getting used to the taste of raw flesh. They had eaten it on occasion as a child, when they couldn't light a fire, when the rain drowned out the night. Foolish, then. Natural, now.

Necessary. It wasn't something they took pleasure in, but they would not let a life spent go to waste.

They had made their way back into town, back home, when they heard the gentle, distant sound of.... music? Something so human and familiar... it drew them in, closer and closer, until they could hear it coming from a specific home, somewhere behind the front door.

And it all smelled very much, like the scientist they knew.

They wondered, perhaps they should leave him with this private moment, let him have this. They knew that he wasn't taking this sudden change well, that living as a human was a luxury, compared to living as a wolf. But yet... they were here, at his door. Listening into his home like a voyeur. It was disrespectful, really. They turned to leave, but then, they could hear the Doctor's voice singing along, as the words picked up.

How many times had he listened to this song, they wonder, thinking of the man they knew, all scientific practices and an unquenchable thirst to observe death. How his corrosive compounds could fill a room and burn away skin and tissue and fill your lungs, how he would watch intently from the window, how he was fascinated with his own deaths in the ring. Feeling it, living it.

And yet... that same man, or rather, one parallel to him, was here singing.

They can hear something scream, as well, a feral, fearful sound, even accompanied by the music. They slowly reach out to scratch their dull claws against the door, as Caustic's singing becomes a very wolf-like howl, all drawn out words. It stops quickly, the Doctor cutting himself off.

Bloodhound is... taken back somewhat. Surprised at him, for letting that slip. Surprised at themself, for not walking away earlier. For witnessing.... whatever this was. It was very obviously supposed to be a private moment. And yet... their instincts want them to respond. To howl back, to pack bond, with the wolf beyond the door.

They slowly step back from the door. Their blood is racing, coursing through them, instincts drumming on their throat. They make a few aborted sounds, all whuffs and grunts, the noises forcing themselves out of their maw as they try to breathe, to sigh. What a strange experience. The Allfather must be looking down upon them and laughing, what wolf stifles a howl? Were they forsaking him, by not making use of this gift?

Instinct gets the better of them, and they howl in return, a long, echoing sound, something new and harsh to their lungs. They had always thought wolfsong sounded... mournful. Haunting. The darker the woods, the deeper the cold, the more dreadful it was.

The howl is punctuated by a coughing fit, and wheezing, as they try to catch their breath.