Sorrel bounded through the sunlit forest, his long auburn ears flicking with each skip of his bare feet against the warm earth. The woods had been his world since the day he was born, every twisting path and rustling bush as familiar as the back of his hand — though, admittedly, he rarely stuck to the same path twice. Where was the fun in that?

A tune bubbled from his lips, light and off-key but cheerful, as he swung his wicker basket by the handle. Already half-full with ripe berries, foraged herbs, and a few early nuts, the basket swayed with every energetic step.

Sunlight streamed through the towering canopy, painting the ground in gold and shadow. Sorrel’s sage-green eyes sparkled as he hopped onto a mossy log, balancing easily before leaping down the other side with a playful twist midair. He stretched his arms above his head, spine arching, a content sigh tumbling out.

“Peaches,” he murmured to no one, licking his lips wistfully. “Should’ve brought one for the walk.”

But distractions came easy in the forest, and hunger was no match for the adventure ahead. The sound of water lured him forward, the faint, familiar gurgle of a creek winding somewhere up ahead. He danced toward it, the soft soil cool under his feet, brushing past ferns and low-hanging branches with little thought.

A patch of vivid color caught his eye just before the creek came into view — a berry bush, its branches heavy with plump, glistening fruit.

“Ooooh! Jackpot!” Sorrel chirped, darting over. He crouched low, poofball tail giving a little wiggle as he plucked berry after berry, popping one into his mouth between every few handfuls for the basket.

He was so wrapped up in the simple joy of his harvest, humming between bites, that he didn’t notice the quiet shift in the wind. Nor did he sense the unseen gaze fixed on him — a predator watching from the shadows, waiting.