Sleepy Fox Hollow golden threads of the craftsman's loom

The dark ridge had granted her a good life. She had been raised on stories of her mother's old trials and tribulations, knowing that growth and development was a fickle thing. She had watched the grief overtake her mother night after night, until depression had swallowed her whole. Ginsberg knew that life was full of turmoil, but it was not all that she expected from it. Even though it pained her, Gin had heard countless tale of her father and all the good he had done for the Sunstone wolves during their great war. She only wished that he had never left her mother, for it had cast a dark cloud over the woman's head. The two-toned wolf wondered if Moth felt the same way about her own daughter now that she had departed. The thought pained her, so she buried it beneath all of the others.

A mossy bed had been made against the hollowed trunk of a tree. The opening in the trunk was large enough that the back half of Gin could fit within it and be concealed. Her front half was stretched out, crown raised, and alert. Not far from where she was stationed, a sharp streak of red had managed to catch her attention. Ginsberg followed the movement for a moment before the fox came into view with a rabbit clutched in its jaws. It turned and locked eyes with her for a moment, holding the vivid sea foam of her gaze in the shimmering pools of gold. Then, the creature ducked its head beneath a low bush and vanished from her sight.