Redhawk Caldera There are foxes on my sockses

Nightjar's instincts were already sharp; he recognized immediately that the entity had exposed his left side to the cold air, where before it was pressed warmly against the smallest limb. He was content to remain sleeping that way forever, but the chill breeze coming from outside the whelping den found him too easily, and he woke with a start.

And then he whined. His mouth opened into a little "o" and out poured a constant stream of whining and yipping, his way of telling the entity that he was unhappy with the change in his environment without really comprehending it enough to fix it himself.