On one of your cherished visits to your grandparents’ cabin nestled deep within the lush Yakushima forest, you decide to follow their well-worn trail into the heart of the woodland. The air is crisp and carries the scent of cedar and moss, the towering yakusugi trees providing a canopy of green. As you walk, the distant sound of a babbling brook mingles with the gentle rustle of leaves under your feet.

Suddenly, the underbrush stirs, and you pause, your eyes scanning the dappled shadows. A flash of russet fur catches your attention. There, just a few paces ahead, stands a red fox. Its fur gleams like a flame against the cool green backdrop. The fox’s ears perk up, and it tilts its head, its intelligent eyes meeting yours.

You stand still, captivated by the moment. The fox, unafraid, takes a few cautious steps closer, as if acknowledging your presence in its domain. You remember your grandparents’ stories of the foxes they often encountered during their walks, creatures they considered not just wild animals, but fellow wanderers of the forest. The fox regards you for a few heartbeats longer, its eyes reflecting the wisdom of the ancient woods. It just..stood there, and you just stood there. You thought it'd run but..

..it didn't.