He takes note of the owlbear cub first. Puppy? No, not a wolf cub, more like a bird with fur and claws. He likes it, though it's so small he'd be afraid he'd hurt it in play. In any case, the sight of it puts a positive tilt to his ears and makes him feel less growly at its companion.

Maybe some small part of his hindbrain is thinking about him, when he was a cub, and Hela. She has a good answer, anyway. "Cram down the throat," he echoes, and barks out laughter. It's not a possibility, sadly, but it's a funny thought. He's not sure what throat they'd belong down at this point. Maybe even his Mistress', and he could never.

"Everyone is dead, but I like the thought."