They found spots for themselves where they didn't fit, and then they fell asleep that way, arms wrapped around one another, breaths sharp and snuffly, sometimes walking that line between awake and dreaming all too carelessly.
She slipped into wakefulness first, blinking at the sudden onslaught of light against her eyes. Still clutching his fur in both paws, she shook herself, dog-like, and poked her head out of the tree.
"Disturrrrrbed," she purred into the silent forest.
Nothing bigger than an ant stirred to acknowledge her. She frowned, pursued her lips.
"Disturrrrrbed."
Now he was shifting, grunting a little, the way he did. "Shhhh," he said, softly, from the reluctant tendrils of a half-finished dream.
Flicking him with her tailtip, she released him and strained until she popped free of the forest lord. As if to dismiss her, three leaves spiraled down to touch down between her eyes. She blew them off. "Summmmmfing? Here. Here."
He groaned and rotated, his tree-hole swallowing his head and hindquarters, so all she could see was his torso, the breathing becoming regular again.
After a few experimental pokes to his chest, she gave him up for lazy and set off walking around the tree. She made four deliberate, precise circles about the protruding roots, her eyes carefully set on the ground, watching her footpaws stir the loam. She followed the patterns of the leaves: three, five, one, a half a sorry, wilted oak leaf.
Her ears straightened, swiveled.
There were no oak trees here. They'd slept in a beech. There were a few maples, mostly more beeches, close enough to walk to.
Kneeling, she studied the way the leaf had been torn and crushed. It was pulp on one side, and mostly intact on the other, where the tear was. Her eyes narrowed. Carried on a boot, of something big. Badger? Or a large wildcat.
She felt, rather than heard, the rustle of wings, and rolled around in a sinuous ball to face the raven.
It dipped its head in silent greeting, and she did the same. There was no wariness in either creature's stance, just a mutual respect and the stiff backs of stubborn beasts who refused to back down to anything.
The raven opened its beak. "Badgerlord." It made a hiss-click and preened one of its wing feathers.
She shrugged. "Notta heeeeere."
If it could have, the raven would have smirked. "Here. Here." It was a perfect echo of her voice, with a tinge of disdain.
"Fiiiinked. Norramore." Making a chittering of finality, she brushed at her face with both paws. "Goooorraway."
The raven tapped its chest with its beak.
A tight shake of her head. "Uuuvvvverbeast."
The ground shook.
The raven squawked and was gone. She snatched the drifting black feather from the air and dashed back to the tree on all fours, her lithe body serpentine and unstoppable. Slithering up the tree, she squeezed into his tree-hole, bumping him in every tender spot and making him yelp as he jolted awake.
She stuffed the feather into his mouth.
"Shhhhh," she said, as softly as she could, but spittle dribbled onto his chestfur, and her whole body was trembling.
He didn't know, but he reached up and wrapped her against him, so that she could feel that he was trembling, too.
Carefully, she peeled the feather from between his jaws and stuck it over the entrance. Then she closed her eyes and clung to him.
The heavy pawsteps came closer.