Heron Lake Plateau orange spaghetti sauce

Phox shook his head. He honestly wasn't sure who came up with the names, and the wolves he had spoken to didn't seem to know either, but the knowledge was spread far and wide. There were a few variations here and there, as with all folklore, but for the most part everybody followed the same verbal guidebook, passed down and around among the wilds and beyond. To her last question he nodded, then went on to explain. Depending on when in the year you were born, some say the stars have an influence on what personality traits you'll have.

He had only met a few wolves who believed in it, and when they had given him his zodiac sign and described what he might be like, he had to agree it was fairly accurate. His sign was Capricorn, the rabbit. He may not have had all the traits of that particular sign, but there was enough there that he couldn't shake the notion it wasn't at least partially based in reality. And who was to say the stars didn't sway their lives in some way or another?

Phox rearranged the pinecones, adding a few more in until he made roughly the shape of the rabbit in the sky, drawing lines with his paw in the snow to denote where he had seen the lines between them. It looked somewhat rabbit-shaped, or so he thought. This is the one for when I was born, he explained. It's a rabbit named Capricorn.