Bearclaw Valley my isle of golden dreams

The veldt gave way to the tree line that marked the forest terrain. They were close enough that he could drink in the scent of the wood; it was musky and dark within the weald but brimming with the life of small prey and birds overhead. The sun had dipped down below the range of the mountain peaks and the earth was painted in muddy chocolates and ink. The sky overhead had adopted a faint glow of pink for only a moment before it vanished and left way for navy to take hold. Tadec turned his sharp features toward the inky stretch above them and sighed softly. A frigid wind tousled the fur along his nape, forcing him to seek shelter within the first row of trees that led into the wood. Turning back to Indra, he offered her a small smile and then breathed deep the richness of the new terrain. He felt safer in the seclusion of the forest – not as open as their valley home, or the meadow that sat between the two terrains.
 
From the depths of the timber, a sharp cry sounded against the startling night air. The thief turned sharply, and his lengthy ears stood rigidly atop his narrow crown. With searching eyes and a curling of his lips that left room for his incisors to poke from beneath the hair on his muzzle, Tadec searched for the singing hombil. With a tentative and shaking voice, he released a high-pitched cry of encouragement to his fellow moonlighter. The fox returned with another sharp call, followed by another, and soon the forest rang with the noise of the hombil. His tail twittered behind him and he turned to look at Indra with a pointed and smiling face.
 
“Indra sing?” he asked hopefully.