Bearclaw Valley woodland spirit

though his writer couldn't be more amused and delighted by the girl's age-defined ineptitude, stigmata personally couldn't have felt more attacked. she was the epitome of hard-headed naivety and it was difficult for the embittered warhound to tolerate. "fine," he scowled, using every muscle possible not to roll his eyes at her. he decided against either trying to lead her off again or abandoning her on the spot, and instead the hound slid to the ground, watching the child moodily as he let his hip fall sideways and settled down onto an elbow.

there. now she could run off and it wouldn't be his problem. the only thing to betray his impatience was his tail, and the way it flopped every few seconds to a new spot behind him.