Bearclaw Valley a thing can be true and still be desperate folly

Tadec searched feverishly for more than a vole or ferret in his trove of game. His narrow muzzle and sharp nose pushed those aside until the crow had found his preferred lapin. Scooping it and tugging it free, the halfling was forced to gain his bearings so that he might return to the poor stranger at the mouth of their valley. The fine, rawboned thief was grateful for their geography as he hastened to close the distance between his cache and the aperture of his home. Once back, Tadec was breathing heavily between his hare. He tiptoed on lengthy legs toward the pallid female and dropped the rabbit toward the front of her mouth. The flame-touched crow took a few steps in reverse and fixed his gaze on the woman with a pair of burning eyes. “Eat,” he advised.