He snarls at the magic. It reminds him too much of that stinging light that protected this creature before. He throws a rock in the direction of the creature, not aiming to hit him but just to scare him off of ever doing that again. He doesn't like light, even when it's natural. Prey comes with fire or lights sometimes and he hates it.

He paces around in the darkness for a bit, calming down before thinking about the other symbols the creature drew. One of them is completely foreign to him, but the other.

That's his. It was him. He always sort of thought that that shape defined him, was what he was supposed to call himself. He carved it into bones sometimes.

He looks around now in his den for a good example, eventually finding a skull with the symbol scratched into it. He tosses it into the light and it rolls toward the creature.