Stavanger Bay the live oak tree and the big bay moon

Large, dark ears swiveled toward the sound of paws in the gritty sand, and then jumped upright atop his head when a voice shouted to him from not very far away. He spun around, his orange eyes wide in alarm, but fading quickly into bemusement.

Me? he asked — he had never been addressed so directly by a fox before. He had never tried to eat them, either; they looked a bit too much like wolves for his tastes, and the smell — well, it didn't invite Dutch to put it in his mouth, that was for sure. Roll in it? Obviously. But not eat.

What do you want? he asked, not unkindly.