Sly Fox Sand Dunes spike

to eat a fox was to be desperate, and the tribe was not. what drew zoug now was information.

he tossed pieces of bloodied antelope meat into the sand.

need count of wolves. he did not expect the watching green eyes to know his words, but perhaps they too had their own signs. a pidgin could be made.

he called again to the foxes, offering more meat.

yoink

Thiago's ears twitched at the distant sound of meat hitting sand, a dull, wet thump carried by the wind over the dunes. He paused, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air, catching the metallic tang of blood mixed with the salt of the shifting dunes. He knew that smell well — fresh, raw, and carried with intent.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as he crouched lower behind the thin scrubs, his yellowed eyes narrowing to slits. He saw the tall, rangy figure of Zoug standing against the deepening twilight, silhouetted by the dying light. His fur prickled along his spine. Thiago's ears pinned back, his tail tucked slightly under him, but his gaze remained fixed on the foreign wolf.

¿Qué busca aquí? he muttered to himself, the words low and breathy. He knew these lands, knew their secrets and their shadows, but this visitor was different — larger, with a hunger in his stance that Thiago could recognize. His heart pounded, fear mingling with the urge to know. He crept closer, his belly brushing the sand, moving with the silence of a ghost.

among the clan of first star cave, such mixtures were put to death, they and at times their mothers. he felt his ancient ways bristling as he pulled away from the scattering foxes, their cries alerting him to the wolf beyond.

foxes did not pretend at things they were not. zoug stared with his single hard eye in the direction of who had cost him a day's tracking and the vulpines' information. for now the shape went unseen.

his cry was hard and sharp, a demand for show.