Passion
The beorc that fear the laguz have never truly understood their own word: passion.
And those who treat them as equals realize that having a beast's form and instincts only serves to distinguish this race as the most openhearted in Tellius.
A lion and a cat run with all their hearts through the forest, powerful muscles obliterating brush that bars their path or unmatched senses leading them to avoid it all together. The mighty roar of the greater beast is no less a part of the night than the field insects chirping to the river of stars and it travels through the cat pleasurably, drawing a heartfelt reply as the two pass in and out of the moon's gleaming eyes.
In breaking from the lines of trees into an overgrown expanse of grass, they turn and collide, engaging in a battle of endearment as two brothers might wrestle in the name of companionship. Red fur smothers blue and tawny claws rake struggling feline limbs before the cat sinks its teeth into the bushy neck of its fellow and gains the upper ground in a lithe twist of its impossibly smaller body. The attacks are made in earnest but no blood is drawn, no injuries severely made and the lion roars, though fiercely, in a cry of elation at simply being alive.
The cat's tail flicks and lashes, warning of its sudden pounce upon the scarlet back of it's friend who rolls to meet paws with paws and launches the assailant backwards, then proceeding to stand and crush the feline victoriously, returning its nips and clawed swipes until both beasts tire of the clearly decided match and commence reparations.
Pink, rough tongues flick repeatedly across ruffled fur, smoothing it with careful and loving patience as the lion dismounts its defeated ally and lies on its massive side, pawing the cat gently. Their purrs flutter against one another warmly as the licks subside to nuzzling and only occasional passes of the tongue. Velvet noses rub eagerly across rising and falling flanks and obligingly flattened ears and tails swish methodically in the tall grass around them.
The moon is still high when exhaustion reveals the pair to be men, holding one another's hands loosely and still brushing their cheeks against the other even on the brink of unconsciousness. No utterance is needed as they slip into sleep for no sounds could better convey their feelings than what has just passed.
The beorc have three single words to describe the entirety of emotion the laguz pour out through their actions.
It therefore takes very little consideration to determine, regardless of knowledge of the term, which people is better acquainted with the word passion.