He spends the evening in the dwindling light from the fire until the ashes are cold, then slips outside and up to the roof, and that's where he stays, on watch until he hears her stirring. Then he stands and takes a standing leap into the trees, supposedly to hunt, but mainly because every scrap of last night's conversation is still fresh in his mind, and he doesn't know anything more what he should be thinking of it. He still can't figure her, and in a way he wishes Edward was around to clue him in a little.

He's still near enough to smell the little splash of blood, but he isn't near hungry enough to need to investigate it. Hearing his name, however, is enough to bring him sprinting back through the branches to land lightly on the ground outside, though he walks inside at an ordinary speed. The blood scent is stronger here, almost enough to mask her, and he frowns inquisitively as he steps into the kitchen.

Is that...he sniffs once, sharply, eyes fixed on the table. Is that squirrel blood in a coffee mug? Had she gone and hunted something for him? "What's all this?"