All the stupid rain had finally stopped, so at least he wasn't getting soaked on a daily basis. But all those soakings had finally caught up to him, and - horror of horrors - Hati had a cold.
Had the hellhound been a little more objective about it he might have concluded that it was actually a pretty mild cold - he just had a stuffed up nose and a sore throat with a mild headache - but Hati was anything but objective. Disease, no matter how ordinary or common or mild it was, was Hati's personal enemy, his arch nemesis, his kryptonite. He hated - and feared it - more than anything else.
To get to the point, he was pissed.
The only thing keeping the sinus-pain-induced headache at a minimum was the weight of the skull pressing down against his muzzle and forehead, and Hati had absolutely no intention of taking the thing off any time soon, even though hunting with the heavy mask on left much to be desired.
So instead he was huddled, miserable and furious, eyes glaring fiercely beneath the shadow of his skull mask, beneath the shelter of a bush.
""
Hati isn't nice. He swears, he is violent, and is more than a little insane. If you can't handle what might come of that don't thread with him.