Fox's Glade be cunning, and full of tricks

Each step was placed gingerly atop the snow, and Tadec moved so that he might not be caught in the dale. The deeper he wandered, the more the creatures came to life. His ears swiveled to the sounds of birds chirping overhead and the cool running of the water as it babbled past. It would have made for a suitable home if he were still traveling on his own. There was a pang within him that reminded the moonlighter of his intentions, but he felt as though his ventures were well spent.
 
Drawing himself forward on stretching limbs, the halfling caught the faintest end to a desperate cry. With a thin-lipped expression, the dark-plumed crow peered through the brush in search of what might have sounded out in such soft and broken tones. When he caught sight of her beside the rock, he felt himself stirring. She was cloaked in a pelt that had been touched by the grace and love of Firth, just as Indra had. The dark coyote did not believe that this could be a coincidence. He pushed through the shrub and latched his bronze sights to her sad figure.
 
“Hush, éneer eth,” he breathed to her in a soft timbre. There was an encouraging fluttering of his tail as he closed some of the distance between them. Tadec remained as unimposing as a lapin searching for greens.