Bearclaw Valley survival leaves little room for anything else

Tadec was pressed to the earth in an attempt to make himself as small as he could. His gaze was latched to the underside of her neck, flickering over her chest as she demanded a response from him. Fear flooded through his system like icy water, and his nimble limbs trembled with the touch of it. He feared the wolf; the intensity in her gaze was enough to send him running. Even in her imperfect form, Indra still cast fear into him on occasion. When faced with Laurel, the crow felt himself wither beneath her and fumbling to provide an answer in Hedgerow that would satisfy the dragon that loomed over him.
 
For a moment, his mouth gaped and closed repeatedly. The difference in their language was enough to cripple him in that particular conversation. Tadec felt as though he stood on the edge of a terrifying drop and had only his claws to keep him fastened to the earth. The tip of his tail danced nervously against the earth. “Indra is… like sun to Tadec. Indra chase away the darkness. Indra is good, and kind. Indra is-is beautiful. Indra is loved.” When the words left him, he felt his body quiver. These were words that were only ever intended for the russet-hued female that he had found a longing for. He had never wanted to share it with another soul.
 
“But… Tadec does not know what Tadec is to Indra.”
 
There was a sadness there.
 
The crow felt a realization sink into the pit of his stomach as he spoke this. Initially, he had wanted Laurel to know that he did not speak for her sister; that Indra had all the capability to express her own feelings and emotions, without the aid of a nervous shadow. When it had been said, though, Tadec felt a forlorn emotion that had crept its way into the marrow of his bones. Perhaps, he was nothing to the Redleaf girl. That thought was enough to cripple the nimble-limbed thief. Why would someone like Indra ever feel anything more than friendly toward a desolate crow like Tadec?