Before the fox had went down the wrong path.

You had happened upon a small cave during the middle of a storm.

The cave has a square rug in the center, and the rest of the free space has piles of various small gadgets and trinkets. There was already a wooden table set up as well, presumably made by the other inhabitant.

Sat to the side was a two-tailed fox mobian with yellow fur, his pale sky-blue eyes focused on what he was working on. In hand, a pocket-knife, helping him cut some fabric he’d likely found outside.

A pile of fabric pieces are on the ground. At the very least you could tell he’s trying to make a bed out of it.

A grumble leaves his muzzle at it being tedious but oh well. His gaze finally lifts from his work, noticing the other in his peripheral. He analyzes this new individual, staying silent. A quiet one, he also looks exhausted.