The fox crouched low, ears pressed flat against his skull, eyes locked on his prey. Just ahead, a mouse nibbled on an acorn, oblivious to the danger creeping closer. Each movement was measured, paws gliding over the forest floor as if they barely touched the earth. One step. Two. Three. Four—and then the sharp crack of a twig shattered the silence. The mouse bolted, disappearing into the underbrush.

Fink froze, his eyes darting down, but there was no branch beneath his paw. His nose twitched, sifting the air for the culprit. With a cautious step, he slid into a nearby bush, emerging on the other side—only to find himself face-to-face with the one who had broken his hunt.