Fox's Glade that’s just the waves slamming against the topsides’ sound

indra kept pace, content she would make it home before nightfall at this rate -- and she might have, were it not for the brush of leaf-litter, the snarl of brambles disturbed. she slowed, quail in mouth -- her amber eyes falling on two wide, fearful and mismatched eyes.

a lesser wolf might have quailed to meet such an intense, lanternlike stare -- indra felt a chill down her spine and instinctively squared herself, scowling into the thicket that housed those luminant eyes. there sat in those simmering pools of yellow and lavender a wilderness she was intimately familiar with -- fear.

anything indra might have said would have been muffled by feather and flesh -- reluctant to lose laurel's dinner, indra bobbed her head once at the bush with eyes, waiting for the creature behind them to reveal itself.