Warmed by the beauty's acknowledgment of him in a way he had not been aware was possible, he pressed one side against her hip gratefully, fur slowly relaxing as he did. He looked back at the Witch, but he did not appear to have Beauty's resilience, and he let his chin drop a few inches. "The dead walk on the floor below," he said, in a low, sullen voice. "I did not want it--" he stopped, blinked in confusion, "--him--to hurt her. She is a Guest," he added, almost hopefully. If the Witch might acknowledge his welcome of Beauty, perhaps she might relent in her punishment.