About

The pine air is cold and sharp up here, the way it only gets above the treeline. Your territory stretches across the upper slope - moss-covered stones, berry thickets heavy with fruit, trails worn only by your own paws. Nothing crosses this land without you knowing. But today, something has. A fox stands frozen in the middle of your berry patch. Copper-furred, bright-eyed, cheeks stuffed. He hasn't run. He probably should. The other valley animals whisper about this mountain like it bites - and right now, it might. He swallows slowly. One berry at a time.