Sun Mote Copse he coughs up foxes

The entire figure moved now, rather than one small part of it. Skipjack stared, slowly comprehending that he was looking at a fellow wolf. She spoke to him and his little head jerked, floppy ears twisting as if honing in on the sound of her voice. He stared at where he took her face to be, though he couldn’t make out her eyes or properly meet her gaze from where he stood.

He didn’t notice the subtle wave of her paw, the movement lost against the blurry black backdrop of her fur. But it didn’t matter. Her tone was invitation enough. He waddled toward her, body low and wriggling. She was only a few feet outside the den and Skipjack could hardly make out his surroundings, though the sense of spaciousness was almost overwhelming.

He tucked his face into the woman’s dark fur with a happy sound, then drew back to blink up where he knew her face would be. Up close, he could make out a pair of yellow eyes now, though her other features were little more than an inky smear. He didn’t need to see her face to recognize her; her scent was well-known to the little boy.