I peered into the dried fields of wheat and hay, nearing ready for harvest. The stalks and leaves flowed and moved in the wind like blonde hair softly reaching for the cloudless blue sky. As I stared into it I saw a rustling movement and eared a squeal. Moving quickly, with stealthful purpose, I approaches the source of the squeal and set my gaze upon it

A fox, with large ears for hearing prey, with a ruddy coat of counter-shaded fur and the large, expressive eyes told me that this was a product of man. It stood proud over it's glorious kill, picking and eating its prey.

I had heard stories of the domestic foxes of the south-lands back when I was a River Merchant. I never gave much thought. Perhaps I should try and bring some home to work in our wet fields or perhaps we should breed an animal more befit for flooded paddies... Better than relying on the wild storks