Sleepy Fox Hollow golden threads of the craftsman's loom

The fox had been an expected encounter; in the few days that Ginsberg had spent in the hollow, she had crossed paths with many of the fire-furred beasts. It was a safe place to haunt for them, she assumed, with many nooks and hideaway spaces they could squeeze into without issue. The traffic through the hollow had not been too concerning, so Gin could understand how the wild thieves would find solace in the peaceful terrain. She had grown to enjoy their silent company and had made an effort not to hunt them when there was other game. They had found a way to coexist for a short period of time without causing each other harm.

What was not to be expected was the presence of a sharp-featured coywolf. It stepped through the brush after the fox and turned to latch hazel eyes on Ginsberg without fear or concern. The two-toned wolf stiffened at the sight of the thing, trailing her gaze over the russet points on her ears and muzzle. It was a coloration that almost matched the fox that had passed before her. With a quiet chuff, Gin watched and waited for what the stranger would do.