“So,” he finally says, crumpling a wrapper and throwing it into one of the bags. They’re parked on the side of the road overlooking a field about five miles away, the windows down, one of Louis’ mixtapes playing classic Bowie while birds twitter outside, hopping along the low fence...
making them almost entirely misunderstood, only ever attacking humans when feeling threatened (or when trying to help someone, such as when they rip apart some gang members for trying to rape a teenage girl), rather than keeping them as savagely unpredictable wild creatures makes the moral issue...