Fox's Glade midnight, somewhere

it's not long before a noise reaches his ears, and his ears twitch, one side of his mouth drawing up wryly. perhaps this forest isn't as deserted as he'd thought. he turns toward the sound of something very large and very clumsy approaching, but he only takes a few steps before the stranger comes into sight — apparently as surprised as he is.
he flinches and takes several steps back at the outburst, ears pinned to his skull. he fixes piercing argent eyes on the stranger, both a challenge and a question. the golden mayfair can't make any sense of what the man is saying — he thinks perhaps he's here to hurt him, to take more from him. he won't allow it. never again.