Fox's Glade silvertongue

Indra allowed his touch for a moment of time before she pulled back and he moved himself to allow her room. Personal space had been a vital portion of his raising, and he knew it to be a sweet comfort as well as a merciless pain. The crow did not want to offend her into leaving him; he was far too interested in her to risk the opportunity. Instead, he calculated her features as she mulled his word over and once she had spoken, he felt relief. She believed he appeared fine. While it was not a deep confession of her liking, he swelled with a rare giddiness that caused his paws to dance in place; lightly, as though he were floating on air. 

“Truly?” he asked her with wide eyes. His shriveled smile spread into a wide beam that stretched his features and accented the fine point of his nose, as well as the narrow bridge of his muzzle. “Indra is very kind.”