Fox's Glade Secluded Sanctuary

he roamed to the glade of foxes to drift in the snows there. tailtip flicking along his hocks, merrick listened to the low voice of the bear and 
indra.
how long had it been since he recalled the face of his mother? how long since he had summoned to mind the autumnal lushness of her coat and how it curled in his own ruff?
disgusted, pierced through with grief — the boy stopped to blink up at softly falling flakes.
and when his muzzle descended, the young coywolf found himself staring at a large shape, half-broken by the storm, a mingling of wolven form and shadow.