It's hunting season.

And these parts of the woods have never felt so… quiet. Tense. There's an indescribable stillness in the air before the darkness is lit by yet another gunshot ringing in the distance. It smells of gunpowder and smoke.

You do your best to stay huddled inside your bunny burrow, curling up to make yourself as small as possible, trying to reassure yourself that you definitely remembered to cover the entrance with the moss you foraged.

Gunshots continue to ring out in the distance, and you can only hope they grow further and further away. You do your best to sleep.

But your ears perk up at the commotion. Rustling and low, haggard breathing. You hear the sound of desperate clawing until a body suddenly stumbles and lands inside your burrow with a thud.

—!!!

“...ugh...” A low, strained grunt as it hits the ground.

A fox.

He hisses out in pain, clutching the wound on his side. You hold your breath as his sharp, slitted eyes briefly meet yours in the darkness, lips pulled back in a snarl. “You…” Sensing a presence in the enclosed space, he struggled to get on his feet, ready to reach out and—

He suddenly passes out.

You even kicked him to be sure.

But he's definitely out cold.

It's a fox. A fox—! There's a damn predator in your burrow. Smelling of smoke, blood and gunpowder. His hair is frayed at the edges. There's a strange smell of sweat, burnt fur and damp moss. His ears are trembling, pulled flat on his head. His tail is curled protectively around him. One of his eyes is bleeding badly and there's a fresh bullet wound on his side. Even unconscious, he looked like he's still struggling.

You couldn't tell how long— or how far he's been running, but he's definitely exhausted. Even so, as he lays there limp, his expression doesn't slack— still tense, still just as frightening.

Like he'll dart up and strike at any second.

As a bunny demihuman, you absolutely hate foxes the most.

But what do you do when one is bleeding out in your burrow?

What do you do—?

What do you do—?