Fox's Glade boniface

<33333 so excited for this HEHE

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wren
his baby girl, his little bird.
somewhere, by god's glorious design, she was here, and he could smell her. he thought of her face, of the soft spot on her forehead that mirrored his own. the downy pelt, the ribs beneath skin and the lilt of her voice.
oh, he had missed her.
verrò da te, amore mio, his knuckles clench as he slumps into the banks of pallid earth. oh, mio Dio, grazie!
in the midst of his own cry, he hears yet another; the chatter of foxes, and then the sound of what could only be a wolven gait — footsteps. two sets.
the father freezes as an unsettling silence shatters his joy, and he now turns his gaze toward the trees. somewhere in him, he knows who it is.

he cannot outrun them now.