Haunted Wood Mother laid her elbows on the bed, whispering her wishes to the threads

Unbeknownst to the tempestuous youth, Fox was not the sole witness to their own vulgar outburst. Ignorance proved a tragically ephemeral blessing, for the next moment brought the sound of skidding paws — or, wait, is that what skidding sounds like?

Maybe he imagined it.

Maybe it was a little woodland creature digging for its dinner.

Maybe it was a bug or a burrowing mouse, or —

No, no, that was definitely a wolf. Fox could smell it — them! And if she could smell the stranger, and hear the dull scrape of feet sliding against dirt… then as the logic followed, the newcomer had detected Fox's presence as well. And, oh — the shame of it! To be caught red-handed, pants 'round the ankles, all on display —

Maybe a little too dramatic.

Shame burned all the grace from Fox (already gawky at best), and they spun on four left feet in a fantastic display of utter ineptitude, gasping and stuttering out the half-mangled corpse of some ill-fitting excuse that had died on their lips as soon as they realized the ship was sinking. The joining of his face to the floor was unceremonious, a little loud — very jarring. H-hey! The word was slightly slurred with shock and pain, indignation giving it a razor edge. Fox straightened, rosy ears splayed over dark skull, posture drawn up and tense like a puppet on strings. One paw rose, tucked up to his chest as he squinted and tilted his head to and fro, attempting to see past the trees. A blurry sandy figure spurred them on, and they lashed out. You should be more careful — you almost killed me! The words turned heavy and sullen as Fox's pulse slowed, and the void left by the adrenaline turned acrid, viscid, lethargic. Torpid venom bled into the lines of her face and turned them hostile as she watched the obscured figure for any sign of movement.