The Heartwood roof of the world

Tadec had only ever met one Indra, so his eyes sparkled with radiant joy when his companion mentioned knowing someone of the same moniker. It was a small world, after all. Small enough that the rickety-legged crow might have met a new creature who had happened upon the woman of Frith that he felt so devoted to. The smile that was offered to the slate-cloaked female did not vanish from his features, and he would have followed up with more questions had the green-eyed woman not stopped dead in her tracks and pointed her muzzle toward the sound of rustling in the brush.
 
Tadec was a fine hunter; his long broomstick limbs had allowed him to chase with vigor and catch creatures that were quick of foot and sharp of mind. The moonlighter paused with his mouth parted, ready for a question about her home on the mountain, and the embers of his gaze caught the fluttering and feathered form of a pheasant in their path. He crouched low and waited for her mark.