Sleepy Fox Hollow Last long enough to go extinct,

Anselm tended the borders, leaving a fresh deposit by a mound of ledge. A scent on the wind prevailed; first blood, but then a more familiar one. 

He scraped the earth with his paws, trailing after the source until he caught sight of Etienne’s form between a palisade of sun dappled trees. 

Relief — unbidden — flooded his senses. Anselm kept such emotions buried from his face, but there was an absence of hardness to his gaze as he furtively watched the boy and his tow of kills thread through the copse.