Sleepy Fox Hollow flew like a moth to you, sunlight

The pelts lay stretched under an awning crafted of pine boughs, out of the weather and out of the way. 

Mayblossom had been hard at work. Constructing a sleeping area and a tanning area was no joke or easy task, especially not in the bitter cold, but she did it anyway, scraping the dirt away from under a partially uprooted tree and weaving pine boughs and branches through the roots as she carved out its innards.

Only when she was satisfied with the sleeping space underneath did she re-emerge, covered in dirt, to pull the pelts from under their rest and into the den to store. Should she need them, there they would be.

Tanning the other hides would have to come as the animals themselves did, for she was no great hunter. A tracker, sure, but Mayflower was a negotiator and skilled tradesman. Not one well suited for the killing, just what came after. So, there she stood in the middle of the clearing, gently huffing and puffing.