Blackfeather Woods You ain't seen nothing yet

Laughter.
his head whipped around,  to land on his sister. his concern, the most fear he had ever felt in his short life, was being laughed at. had he fingers, he might have flipped a certain one in the direction of his sister, and yet he had to settle for a death glare.

he was the judge of souls. he was the Guardian of the wood. and his sister was laughing at him. seldom did he feel angered, yet his siblings tended to make him feel so. he curled back his lips, exposing his tiny teeth (well, whatever ones remained) and shot her a glare.