That she doesn't know the story already is answer enough, and Owen's grimace is for her luck in missing the bloody affair, might even miss the funeral to the south. He'd been about sixteen, seventeen when he'd had to fend entirely for himself; it isn't a habit he's shaken, even in company. He doesn't expect her to take anything but the information from him tonight.

"Big antlered thing, twice the size of a man. Headlight eyes, shedding this nasty black skin. Had some smaller ones come off the mountain with it after an earthquake." Crossing his arms, he relaxes into something a little more neutral, arm leaned against a beam of the porch. "Haven't seen one in a few days, but--worth having a locked door between you and whatever's out there." And, his presence might imply, strangers walking by in the dead of night, who either don't know to mind their business or don't want to.