Her mother taught her that prey is prey. Two-leg or four makes no difference. Only now she’s noticed some differences. That two-leg ork who moaned incessantly about the son killed in Philadelphia; that slag in the white coat who didn’t want her to escape, but couldn’t quite bring himself to shoot her; and, that magician who neutralized a pair of guards and then told her where to find her cub. All that is making it hard for her to go on believing that all two-legs are the vicious betrayers she’s always assumed them to be. The magician especially.