Sly Fox Sand Dunes you dj, i’ll drive

He see movement out of the corner of one watery eye. Bushtit turns his head, the sight stemming the flow of tears momentarily. His jaw falls open as he tries to make sense of what he’s seeing: some sort of odd-looking wolf holding onto a very large dead bird. It’s enough of a marvel that it nudges his sister’s family’s fate to a dark corner of his mind as he pivots to fully face the spectacle.

The wind shifts, bringing the peculiar stranger’s scent to his nose. She smells canine, though her fur’s short and her ears droopy. He’s never seen anyone quite like her, that’s for sure. After swiping a paw across his cheek, he begins to descend the dune, tentatively venturing closer as his dark eyes rove over her catch.

Did you shed all your fur ‘cause of the climate here? he guesses by way of greeting, his pale tail twitching. And drop your ears to keep the sand out of ‘em? Good call on both fronts, Bushtit adds, shaking some of the blowing grains out of his own upright ears.