Wyth sniffed the offered hand, whiskers tilting forward, but quickly lost interest.  Now was not the time for introductions.  Now was the time for finding his girl.  She had been taken, she was in danger.  Had he been a person, he would lament the fact that moorcats hunted primarily by sight and sound, and wish for the nose of an animal more suited to tracking scents.  As things stood, he was agitated because he did not have the means to find her on his own, and the people with him were being maddeningly slow about their part of the task.  But the feline stopped suddenly as the soft sound of slow, heavy footsteps reached his ears.  A breeze brought with it a scent he'd picked up before, sweat and lingering fear, and with it a faint trace of something dear.  With a soft growl Wyth took off down the street.  Not the first alley, nor the street on the other side, but the next corner, that was it!  His tail swung out behind him as he made a sharp turn and charged out of sight.  Moments later there was a scream of pain, followed by a furious growl.

The bearded man was miserable.  With the young halfbreed taken in, his position was secure, at least for the moment, but her accursed animal had put up a terrible fight, and then when they'd tried to just run for it when it was mostly down, the beast had somehow found the energy to leap after his brother and bring the younger man down.  He was lucky he'd escaped with just a set of shallow slices himself.  So he found the company of the others annoying and had wandered off to be alone with his bottle of liquor, which he'd already put a good dent in.

He was not so drunk that he didn't try to flee at the sight of the very monster he'd barely escaped from barreling toward him, but the cat was faster.  He couldn't help it; when the animal swatted him across the back with a heavy paw, leaving another set of deep gashes and knocked him to the ground, he screamed in agony.  The reply was a dreadful snarl and far too many large teeth right next to his ear.  The man struggled to get back up again and managed to find his feet, only to find himself stumbling into the wall with the force of the cat's next blow, which laid open his leg from hip to calf.  When he tried to put weight on it, the leg collapsed.

When Ethan, Cecil, and the guard caught up to Wyth, the furious moorcat was gathering himself for another attack.  The man had hurt him, had hurt and frightened his girl, and had taken her away.  This made the man a threat and a dangerous predator, and Wyth intended to kill him.