Fox's Glade brand new shoes, walking blues

She'd made it to the border before stopping, mud and greenery clinging to the pelt she'd only just cleaned in an effort to rid herself of the mold-feeling. She paused well within the line, glancing down at the mud staining her white pelt but not wanting to crack the scabs around her neck again, and thus held her neck oddly ridged as she peered through the trees. She saw a cannibal in every shadow, heard him in the creek of every bough. Her heart beat a little quicker, before she took a few clipped steps forward and abruptly rushed past the border. 

For a moment, she wavered. But hadn't she traveled by herself for so long, without encountering any like the man with the head? And hadn't her mother, though normally filled with terrible advice, once told her to face her fears before pushing her into a pond? Takeing a breath, she stepped carefully a little further into the glade, eyes peeled and ears pressing forward atop her head.