Fox's Glade Unrelenting

your writing is tasty!!

He came that day in hopes of a hunt, perhaps a fox to tear a leg off for lunch and leave the rest in a cache back in the valley. Of course the stench of foxes came to him, like the smell of some delicious buffet- but among them lied the faintest bit of wolf. Like someone who had gone to some effort to disguise their scent with that of the foxes and ferns. That piqued his interest, drawing his intentions away from his original purpose... and all the more enticing, that it was no Ursus man. Toad followed the trail hungrily, as if he was still hunting, nose low to the ground as he followed quietly. Once he saw the dark man's tail, his olive gaze bore into him as he halted- feeling no need for a chuff. That seventh sense would do the trick of letting the stranger know he was being watched.