Work Text:
The big one walks up to the fence line and bows her head to him sometimes, tilted to the side so she can keep one eye on him.
It’s something he’s seen birds do. He had a mate once who hunted with hawks, and they would shake out their feathers and duck their heads to beg help with preening. Hammond's scientists tweaked away the feathers but maybe not the instinct.
She would rip his arm off if he tried, but he’s tempted sometimes to run his fingers over those beautiful scales.
He’ll be sorry when he has to kill her.