Wessex
some turn to dust or to gold, but you will remember me
Frozen for a moment, the fox stares out at the quietness around them, ears swiveling at will to locate the various sounds - people? Tiny furry creatures? Heralds come to make them rue their sacrilegious “play?” She refocuses on each utterly dark corner with tiny jerks, until she’s able to determine that nothing in out there. Not yet, at least. And so with a regretful whine, the inky black vixen turns in a tight circle to face the lonely little girl again. Her words are kind, and in another form, the Wraith might have promised to come again even if she knew it to be a potential lie. Only time will tell if fate throws them together again. Slinking forward, she gives a little parting lick to a particularly gory, drippy spot on Soleil’s face before heading back out into the cold, dark Deepfrost night, mischief thoroughly managed.
{Fin}
