Silver Moraine Monty Hall Door Mathematics

Darkmoon had never been accused by a weasel before of 'chasing off its food', and he was dumbfounded. He was so confused by the whole scenario that he had no reply to its accusations and antagonistic behaviour. It continued to spit out vitriole as it tunnelled further undergound, although he could not make out the exact words said; by the tone, however, he could only guess it was not particularly nice. He could not even scoff at the absurdity of it all, as pebbles continue to rain down around him, preventing him from doing much other than cowering. A great look.
    A particularly large pebble - or, rather, a stone - connected with his face, and he let out a loud yelp in pain. The tissue around his left eye stung where the assault had occurred, and he whimpered at his poor luck. Flinching, he finally walked out of the way of the splash zone of rock, and breathed a sigh of relief as he found himself in the clear. He walked closer to the weasel, struggling not slip on the loose stones of the boulderfield. "Now, you," he said, as he strode forward, "I don't know what you're playing at, but last I checked, I'm a wolf and you're only a runt of a weasel." He growled then, trying to appear menacing before this creature, "That means I have the advantage over you." Whether it would fall for his bluff or not was yet to be seen. Darkmoon was, after all, almost entirely inept as a hunter.