The Protector of Elves

The room meant for sleeping wasn't adequate for a mouse to sleep in, let alone a dog. This will simply not do, especially for my person, the best among men. The floor smells like chemicals harmful to noses and to unprotected skin, such as my masters. That is the first of which must be changed. The bed isn't low enough. Monsters that my human can detect live there. They must be stopped, if any may sleep, and my charge must. Her sentinels aren't here. Why they would be late, I cannot fathom. The silent race abandoning the person who for short periods of time could give them the ability to speak, though gibberish seems to be their native tongue. Lastly, and I must admit this is the worst crime, my watch post hasn't been delivered. This is not good for my sanity. How can I function as protector if the basic tools of my trade are taken away?

I cannot in good conscious let this proceed in this manner; I will have to thoroughly wipe the floor of this smell. Seeing as my persons servants either aren't paying attention or still have not fully come to understand me when I speak, never mind their ever spanning lives, I'm left with no other choice; I must rub my shampooed fur over it in hopes that it will neutralize the smell and prevent further contaminate my persons living space. The process being long and arduous is worth it, for my person shall not be poisoned, may she live even longer then her servants.  

When those sentinels get her I will give them the barking of their lifetime. Their incessant tardiness is making my job harder and her highness hasn't even seen the room. How does one close a portal to nightmaredom? Maybe the smell of my bone collection will warn them from entering the safe haven?  I gathered the bones that I meticulously packed in the back of my crate and lined them up under the rim of the bed.

The last thing that shall make this place hospitable will require me irritating the idiotic servants. I may have once had respect for them. It flew out the window when they decided to give the younger of the highness's a cat for protection. Those selfish rogues know nothing of protection. They know only of being rogues. These idiots, who do not know thieves from protectors, will have to deal with the necessary means in which to protect my person from monetary harm. The blanket shall be mine.