Otter Creek striking a pose, smiling in photos without any reason with people that ill never know

Even with his eyes pressed shut, Daighre knew she was watching him.
 
He could feel her eyes on him, watching him, studying him, from where she sat, mere feet away. Pretending to sleep—playing dead—wasn’t working. Not that he expected it to.
 
He opened his eyes and found hers.
 
A rabbit laid nearby, dead, and its body still warm.
 
He ignored it.
 
(Fucking psychopath probably did something to it.)
 
‘Having second thoughts about our agreement?’
 
He sneered, tilted his head back to look down at her from over the bridge of his muzzle, the corner of his upper lip raised and peeled back, rows of white teeth on display. His hackles bristled.
 
“No.” No, he wasn’t having second thoughts about their agreement. He already knew his answer. And that answer was, he wasn’t her fucking bitch, and like fuck would he let her boss him around. He wasn’t a fucking thing to own and play with. And if she didn’t understand that?
 
Well, she must have been more fucked up than he already thought.