What was the point of even trying to talk to this woman?

A series of angry barks we're heard mutely through the window. Just around the corner of the castle lived the dwindling flock of chickens. The guard dog was a good alarm, but not sufficient to keep his birds safe.

Andrew pulled off his gloves throwing them onto the coffee table. He was going to stop this once and for all. Cracking his nuckles he stocked out of the room. His hands were covered in intersecting circles of the same brown colored markings. His hands were all the weapons he'd need.

He found his dog's shackles raised standing over a hole dug under the fence. The pair of foxes were already in the coop wreaking havoc, but they didn't have a way out. Andrew crouched down , adjusted the padding over his wound for the umpteenth time, and opened the human sized door. Both foxes saw their opportunity and dashed for the exit a bird in each mouth. Andrew caught one by the tail and wrapped his other hand around it's neck. The second fox bounded away with it's catch, never to see it's mate again.

The fox he'd caught wined and struggled. It's high pitched howling sounding something like a scream as it shriveled in his hands. Andrew elbowed the door closed, rotating the board to keep it fastened. Anything to take is mind off the creature dying in his hands, all the moisture from it's body leeching into his skin. He walked to the burn pile, now emptied far too often. He hid the body under the branches, leaves still attached though they were also dry. It would all burn up in a snap. But he needed more matches. He turned around to look at the window where he'd left his prisoner. Could he risk going to get them now?