Azagor rubbed his forefinger over his ridge. She thought to scare him? Him, a Zyrgin warrior? She stared down at him, so serious. He doubted she ever smiled like other humans. He liked that about her. Humans looked odd when they smiled.
Azagor wiggled the twig in his shoulder, trying to alert her to her duties. Instead of harboring fantasies of contacting the resistance, she should want to tend to his wound. Sponge down his body and be so impressed with his superior warrior's physique that she would want to be his breeder.
"Who would you sell me to, little human?" He smiled at her with lots of teeth, and she scurried back until only the top of her head was visible. Satisfaction coursed through him. It was time she learned her warrior would only allow her so much. He was beginning to rethink his plan to appear weak and wounded, like the human males in Natalie's movies.
"The resistance," she squeaked.