Bearclaw Valley i feel sorry for those who don't know the trick

astara heard the rook's crow before she saw him. bent over a morel (how the sight of it brought the memory of phoebe to the surface), the blackbird turned a slim ear behind her before she pivoted in place with forelimbs extended in a crude playbow.

she met her rook with a light buffet of her head, disentangling herself from his limbs to sniff curiously along the musk of his pelt. he bore proudly the heavy scent of ursus - of their children, of the pines and the valley, of the very stones which fortified their home.