"There will always be dead," the young man agrees, and simply speaking the word 'dead' seems enough to inspire a low smolder in his black eyes. There is no question the black dog is a creature of darkness, birthed from the feared Father and Mother of Monsters; that his companion for the evening is the matron of shadows seems to suit him as he watches them entreat her silently only to be shooed off again to dark places. He pauses long enough to watch them go and then turns to her again, mist curling from the corners of his gleaming eyes. "My master and mistress have much responsibility. Their numbers increase up above and so does the harvest down below in kind. Their work is thankless, but I know of their efforts and serve them all the more faithfully for it.

"You would do them grate honor to greet them. They have long gone unacknowledged." The thought gets that lip of his to curl again, though her touch would easily soothe it away once more.