The Hunt Comments

The little red fox froze, momentarily distracted. Her ears, perched precariously forward, twitched incessantly, straining for the faintest sound. She padded softly across the granular forest floor, a mosaic of snow and moss. Her eyes darted around like a hummingbird flitting between blossoms before she nervously trotted into the icy fog. It snaked down the mountainside, swirling around the trees like a ghostly river. Each footstep was a fading whisper, an echo of the one before, leaving a trail of shallow paw prints that vanished in the thawing earth.

Ahead, in a clearing bathed in pale sunlight, a herd of reindeer grazed. Their patchy coats steamed in the crisp air, their musty scent filling the fox's nostrils. It was a scene of sublime chaos as the herd shifted, hooves snapping like twigs on a frosty morning. The fox, unseen at the edge of the forest, felt a pang of excitement followed by a prickle of unease. The scent she craved, a familiar melody on the wind, had led her here, but now it was faint, almost lost.
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