Otter Creek I pack up my things

That vexing, pious voice called to him.
His fur bristled, his golden gaze turning sharply upon the girl.
"This is my home. I protect the woods." You've already failed them.
His nails dug into the soft ground, turning on the girl. He stalked to her, tail curled.

"Why do you care?" His eyes held mirth, his lips twitching to curl up. But he wanted her to talk and hear her tell him that he was hated. He wanted to know for certain they all hated him.
He could be a protector, but he could also be Sithis.