Paws pounded against damp earth, a small silver-white body darting between massive tree trunks that stretched endlessly skyward.
His breath came in quick, panicked pants, clouding in the cool night air.
His ears—too large for his small fox body—twitched at every snap of twig, every rustle of leaves.
They're coming.
The thought wasn't formed in words so much as a primal understanding that burrowed into his bones.
He didn't know who "they" were and couldn't remember their faces or names, but the fear they inspired was visceral and overwhelming.
His paws slipped on pine needles, sending him tumbling. He scrambled up, heart hammering against his ribs.
His tail—fluffy and too big for his frame—brushed ferns that sparkled with dew.
The forest felt both familiar and foreign. Had he been here before? Was this a memory or something else?
Kane pushed harder, his small body straining with effort.
His paws were clumsy, still learning the rhythm of four-legged movement.
