Blackfeather Woods stage 3: bargaining

He rolled from his side to his chest, splaying his forelegs through the leaf-litter as if he'd stumbled upon a dragon's hoard and before him was a pile of gold; he burrowed his face in to the pile as it collected between his forelimbs and then, feeling claustrophobic, loosed a cough and lifted free. Bits of foliage and detritus clung to the rats nest of his chest fur, his face, his shoulders. He tripped a little bit and almost face-planted in to it again, and with teetering steps he righted himself.

All the commotion drew the attention of one raven, two; maybe more that went unseen among the trees. They croaked to one-another. One took off, its reaching wings barely making a sound as they sliced the air. Further afield there came a reply-call and Titmouse turned a pointed look towards the origin. It was at this point he thought he saw a figure walking between the trees.

Tall, and dark, with broad shoulders — and a spark of recognition from the scent, somehow. As he mentally scrambled to find a name for that scent, the connection faded and he outright forgot the initial feeling of recognition. He saw the shape again further along among the trees, although he hadn't moved; to Titmouse the figure was in one spot and then his vision stuttered, and they were further to his left, then further again, almost like they were walking a circle around him; rotoscoped.

A low pleading whine emerged from him — not that he was aware he was making the sound himself.