Ouroboros Spine My night with the prostitute from Marseille.

Luhtar tilted his head, ears twitching at Towhee’s question. A story? His yellow eyes drifted briefly to the boy nestled beside her, then back to Towhee’s curious gaze.

He shifted his weight, settling more comfortably onto his haunches, the faintest flick of his tail betraying his amusement.

“Hmm,” he began, vox thoughtful. “I know story. Old one. From my kin. About fox and bear.”

His words unhurried as he wove the tale. “Bear is strong. Big. Thinks he is smartest in forest. Fox is small, not strong… but clever. One day, bear say to fox, ‘We hunt together. I take best part of food, you take rest.’” He paused, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Fox agree. But fox have plan.”

He glanced at Bushtit, his yellow eyes glinting with playful intrigue. “They catch fish at river. Bear say, ‘I take head. Head best part.’ Fox nod. Bear eat head, leave rest. Next hunt, they catch rabbit. Bear say, ‘I take legs. Legs best part.’ Fox agree again. Bear happy, eat legs.”

“But next time, they catch big bird. Bear say, ‘I take wings! Wings best part!’ Fox smile. Bear eat wings. Then fox take rest—everything left.”

He leaned forward slightly, his rough voice almost conspiratorial now. “Bear realize too late. Fox take all meat. Bear only eat bones. Fox say, ‘You always take best part. I just take rest.’”

Luhtar straightened, his expression serious for a moment, then he let the humor break through with a sly glint in his eye. “Bear angry. Very angry. Chase Fox through forest, through snow, through rivers. But Fox too fast, too clever. Bear try and try—never catch him.”

He gestured vaguely with a paw. “In end, both lose. They both hungry.”