Altar of Twilight a bitter pill to swallow

Belharra's folk called the moon that hung above the Cotter's Moon, for its waxing surface would shine brighter each night, much like a hand in constant work would eventually yield full stomachs and light hearts. She doubted anyone here (miles from the island) would call this moon much of anything, except unflattering light.

There were other rituals that accompanied the gradual fulling of the moon (called something else far less disarming), yet that's not where Belharra's mind was today. Her mind was encircling around those pesky buggers in the pines, and how she might payback their lack of generosity. The Bespeckled Git, as Belharra had begun calling him, was due to be tossed off of his high horse. She reckoned if there was a way she could hasten that abrupt dismount, she'd sure as shit comply.

She was too amused with her thoughts, which carried her away until she came across a woman that, for all of Belharra's historical loquacity, had her jaw hanging slack. Nothing about this woman seemed proportionate, a flaw Belharra was likely to point out as soon as her gob opened. Her fur was thick (nah, wispy, Belharra noted with confusion) and her tail as fine as a pinecone. Her body seemed normal, but her legs stopped woefully short. Belharra sheathed all criticisms the second she met the woman's honeyed gaze, offered an amiable wave of her (normal) tail, and scooted on over. "Ello 'ello 'ello, friend of the woods. Fine night for hunting, innit?"