She had never seen quite so many foxes in her entire life.
They gathered along the rocky shore of the lake, not just one or two but several. Everything Miskwaa had ever learned had told her that foxes, like herself, were pack animals... But from where she stood, there looked to be at least six adults hovering in front of a small den just by the shore. From within that den there echoed a single, sickly cry, the weakest she had ever heard — what misfortune had befallen the group? Golden eyes blinked, studying the dawn gathering with what was best described as complete and utter confusion. The foxes seemed to be conversing, though none too politely: it seemed to be a gainsay, punctuated by guttural snarls, raised hackles, and lashing tails.
Slowly, carefully, Miskwaa advanced closer to the group. All around, the creatures of this land seemed to be waking up as the sun climbed over the horizon and ever higher into the sky. The sound of songbirds joined the bickering of the pack of foxes, who seemed unfettered by the disturbance they were causing as well as her approach. Miskwaa was near silent in her movements, ears trained forward with molten gaze steadily watching the family. One misstep over a lose stone, however, gave away her position and the group turned with fiery eyes now trained on her. Unwilling to pick a fight for the sole purpose of sating her curiosity, Miskwaa backpedaled until the irritable group shifted their gazes from her and back to each other. Questions remained but, for the time being, the wolf was not quite willing to obtain answers.