"The swamp needs me," he said, his voice forced several octaves deeper than it really was. He stood atop a small hill of mud and leaves and a stump. He most certainly did not make it himself, no. This was his platform, his podium. His stage, atop which he would stand and shed the light of righteousness upon the creatures of the swamp.

Perhaps he was not the hero they wanted.
...No.
No, that was silly, and shame upon him for thinking such a thing. He was indeed, both the hero the poor, helpless does and foals (and otherwise small and fragile creatures) wanted AND needed. A beacon of hope in an otherwise bleak world. He, and only he would be able to protect this land.

He was Justice.