Bearclaw Valley i speak for the trees

falk pauses mid-pounce—mid-glorious leaf assault—as his sister's small voice cuts through the air behind him.
he freezes, ears twitching. the leaf lies momentarily forgotten. his head swivels, wobbling atop his too-large shoulders as his white-marked face turns toward her.
waa, eekle? head tilting awkwardly to the side. he follows her gaze. that is when blue eyes hone in on the lingering stranger, and his tail swishes in fear reaction, letting loose the most rancid fart to date. stubby legs lock, his body stiffening like a tiny statue.