Bearclaw Valley it don't matter if the cold wind blows

The aphotic beast had found that his collection of fleeting moments of happiness were those that lasted the longest. It was rare that he would stumble into a lengthy time where he felt true elation; his short jaunts with Indra had been some of those few. Fearful to let them slip, the thief was eager to provide her a form of companionship that did not wane in toilsome times. Tadec believed that she was worth a great deal more than she seemed to have, but he lacked what was required to provide such things. Equipped only with his keen sense of survival and his belief, the crow had painted a wistful appearance for himself, and it was all for her.
 
Rearing back so that he stood on his rear legs, the half-blooded thing lifted his front paws into the air and capered toward her a few feet. Lacking balance, he dropped back down to find a steady foot and spun swiftly on his stilted limbs before he moved toward her and stretched out to touch his nose against the red-cream pelt of her chest.