Curling, in amongst the glossy blooms, the fox dreamt sweetly of the hours before. The dreadful night, sharp with a slicing wind and high bright moon had gone at last and the drifting dawn had arrived to warm her. The light grew, and with it the heady scents of a harvest day. She had trotted through the sandy grasses, so astonished at how alive she felt, how the warm sun seemed to joyously lift her paws. Speckles of seeds danced in the air and she felt so entirely safe. Nourished and safe.
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