Uriel was up the creek. He too was searching for the elusive Wombear, at the bidding of his unknown master. The angel paused, flapping his wings to hover, as he pondered his enigmatic patron. All he had was a name and a voice: Mr. Bear, his employer, always gave him his instructions over speakercom, or some other way in which he only got to hear his voice. The Seraph often puzzled what the curious Mr. Bear might look like. He knew he was quite high up in the corporation, but he didn't know how high up. He often pictured him as a man, tall and imposing, with a fondness for the rich things in life. Uriel didn't know how far off he was.
The angelic Sahound continued flying, his powerful wings pumping hard, there weren't many updrafts in this flat of an area, which meant he couldn't glide very far. He put his powerful nose to work, tracking the scent of the wombat. Night soon began to fall, and Uriel realized he'd better find a place to rest soon.
That was when he caught an interesting scent. Not wombear... Rathril? He swooped low, searching the tall grass... There! An indent! The pet folded his wings and dove, flaring them just before he hit the ground and alighting on all four paws neatly. Hello there. I am Uriel. What might your name be? The Seraph Sahound remarked curiously, gazing at the pet in a friendly manner. After all, he had nothing to fear from a creature who could not follow him into the sky if he tried to escape quickly.