Swiftcurrent Creek that gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand

Cygnet prickled when she heard the man's howl. Bones crunched in her teeth, and the weasel's body, already limp from being shaken violently, gave a gentle twitch. With a rumbling growl, she shook her head again, staggering sideways with the force of her own movements. 

She'd caught the creature digging at one of her caches; the chase had been tiring, but worth it in the end. The stash was safe, and the weasel would be added to it. 

She buried it hastily, her hackles lifting as she continued to growl to herself, over-stimulated by the waves of feelings she could not identify. Relief? Annoyance? Worry? She couldn't separate one from the other and thus, simply felt completely frazzled. She had no idea how she might feel when she clapped eyes on the man, but she loped toward the border with her docked tail lifted regardless, and when she set eyes on him, she stopped- and uttered a loud, gruff bark. She stomped one foot against the ground, and would bare her teeth if he took one more step along the borders.