Firefly Glen You'll find something waiting

With his black bear pelt slung across his shoulders, he looked the part of such a creature; he was thankful most of the face remained intact, even if the rest of the pelt was beginning to thin in places, and this was positioned atop his own head—more accidental than anything, as this was simply the way it had fallen and he had not yet adjusted it.

He moseyed through the glen, remembering bits and pieces about its paths and its hiding places from when he was a child; but it wasn't a place he avidly visited, and beyond that he had grown far too tall for many of the spots he had found. There was the unmistakable piss-musk of a fox winding hotly among the bushes at one point, and he reared back with his snout scrunched.

Blinking and sucking at air like he had been underwater for too long, Mojag did not immediately see the rounded haunch of the bear until it was too late—although, it was at a distance and did not appear to have a head, immediately, and through the misty-eyed squint of Mojag, it didn't make much sense to look at.

Then the head turned, and two little ears fluffed atop it. As Mojag's nervous system alerted him to the obvious danger, he immediately crouched among the green with the hope he would not be spotted.