Fox's Glade Dream on, but don’t imagine they’ll all come true

She growled softly, unable to determine for herself that scenting bears so soon before she gave birth would be a good omen or a bad one. She drew her gaze down, to skirt the base of trees and the soft rise of knolls as she too began to track, searching for a line of darkness that might hint at a den’s mouth.

In spite of herself, and the lives growing within her, she felt compelled to follow the scent, to find her way closer to the mighty creatures; whether it was morbid curiosity or something much more significant, she could not tell.

The children began to write, and she felt a chill rise through her in an icy flash that stood her fur on end. She breathed in the bear scent, and the whites of her eyes glinted as she searched.

I want it, Came her voice, guttural, as though she choked on blood. Her teeth chattered, as she felt a craving more intense than any she had felt before. In a hoarse whisper, she continued.

I want It’th thkull.