Fox's Glade Now, With Nothing but a Dirty Bag On My Back

The tufts of fur that littered the area, having been snagged on bushes or torn out for nesting, had not reached her eyes. They remained on the 'Wolf of Autumn', keeping tabs on his location in the shaded space he’d taken to. Light footfalls sounded from the area in front of them, earning the yearling’s curiosity. Though she wished to keep her gaze on the male, to see what he planned to do, her head was unwillingly turned in the direction that the noise had come from. There she saw the foxes, their coats resembling steel, rather than fire. Never had she seen a silver fox before, not back home or during her travels. Flames ruled the area around her tribe, not some metal of dangerous intentions. The pressure increased in the back of her head, revealing to her the disapproval Draco felt towards the man readying himself to attack. They were not creatures she was used to, due both to their colouring and the fact foxes had never terrorized her home. Still, she felt the two before her to have done no wrong. They’d be innocent victims of an unknown war, and her pacifistic ways prevented her from being able to help them directly.
 
When the male’s body lurched forward, Asterr’s own shot up from her crouching position. She stood up straight, ears erect and eyes stationed directly on the foxes. “Run,” she urged, the word directed towards none other than the creatures the man aimed to attack. The Draconid did not believe that the stranger wished to eat the silvery beings, leaving her without a reason for allowing them to go on without warning of his presence. She did not favour the lesser canines, despite her unwavering interest in the coats of the true foxes, but she also did not despise them. They were on neutral terms, in her eyes, and something not to be eaten.