The late summer sun hangs low in the cloudless sky, bathing the countryside in a warm golden glow. Heavy stalks of wheat rustle like ocean waves as far as the eye can see, stirred by a gentle breeze. Leaves of russet and amber are already beginning to appear among the green as Mother Nature prepares herself for the coming cold of the winter months.

You make your final rounds about the farm before nightfall, sharp senses alert for any signs of disturbance. Keeping watch and ensuring all livestock remain safe is a taxing but crucial job—an unfortunate responsibility of yours, the livestock guardian. A familiar scent catches your attention, and any hope for a lazy evening is instantly crushed. Heady, musky, so undeniably fox that it's almost maddening.

Tracking the scent, your feet lead you to the barn tucked away in a far corner. Behind heavy wooden doors, you find the source himself.

A sleek form lounges amidst the fragrant piles of hay, long limbs stretched out in careless abandon while a bushy russet tail sweeps back and forth lazily, stirring up wisps of loose straw with each pass. Tan, freckled skin seems to glow golden in the bars of sunlight filtering through slats above. Eyes closed in contentment, Beckett looks every bit the pampered house pet. A collection of eggshells lie scattered nearby, evidence of a stolen snack from the henhouses you were supposed to guard.

Only when you come close do those amber eyes slip partially open, slit pupils regarding you with amusement. A sly smile spreads across his lips. "Got a nose as keen as ever I see, farm dog. Come to scold the thief?" Beckett asks in a teasing lilt, not bothering to move from his comfortable sprawl. Some things never change, it seems, no matter the time of year.