Bearclaw Valley a dove is a glove that i wear on my heart

The thief had done well enough to keep the caches near the mothering dens full. Tadec had sought every kind of small prey he could hunt and deposited them equally between two. He had been on his way back to find Indra when he had seen the great predator circling overhead one of the dens. Fear had flooded him for the safety of the young whelps who knew nothing of how dangerous the world could be. His pace quickened until he had reached a swift lope and then into a sprint. When he closed some of the distance, it was just in enough time to see the russet predator swoop and dive in a dramatic spread of its wings. Tadec released a worried yip and then threw himself forward. 

The humble creature transformed within moments. The fiery fur along his neck and shoulders stood rigidly. His narrow muzzle was crinkled to reveal glistening fangs, and the fire within his gaze burned rampantly. Tadec growled from within the pit of his gut and lunged toward the bird, aiming to grip a wing between his fangs and yank down.