Cricket Creek Bog fragile stuff, all show

the sound of footfalls is swallowed by the cricket symphony, playing some rendition that is both haunting familiar and unfamiliar to, by the earth; soft and loamy underfoot. the chuff, however, rises above the crescendo of cricketsong and ridgeback's head rises with a start, fiery orange eyes searching ...scanning ...until they land upon another fellow — young, a yearling or very close to it — dappled in a pelage of scotch brown broken by beige and eyes that are the color of the whisky ridgeback would hold in his glass.

a small chuffing noise is made in return; something that hedged closer to a huff. he disliked being startled — and in truth, allowing himself to be vulnerable and startled as he's just been was a slight against all of his warrior training. still, his spirits are high and he offers hello, accompanying the friendly wave of his tail and slight roll of his shoulder as if to communicate that there was no ill-will.