http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/torres-paine-chile-fox/

Cascades of stone tumbled down the steeply pitched slope. One or two splashed into the pristine water, startling the fox that drank nearby. Crouched low, he swung his head left and right. Ears twitching, he listened intently. Wind whistled along the rough stone, but he heard no other sound.

He was a long way from home. If he could still consider that corner of the forest home. While not final, his exit had been somewhat ignominious. Eventually, he thought he could return. Once everyone’s temperature had cooled. They’d see he hadn’t availed himself of that much of their blessed water. He’d temporarily left as something of an olive branch. It was, he thought, damned decent of him.

Things had only devolved from there. At the forest’s edge, the bears had completely misunderstood his intentions with their fish stores. And the humans in the village down the river were even more unreasonable when he’d made what he considered a completely fair trade for their last goat.

Eventually, he’d decided a vacation away from the tyranny of misrepresentation was in order. His travels had taken him up, rather than directly away, from his comfortable and well-appointed den in the forest. It wouldn’t be for very long, he’d reasoned, and everything would be as he left it upon his return. He was reasonably sure he’d hidden the entrance well enough from even the lustiest of vengeful creatures.

Taking another long drink, the fox filled his stomach. He’d already eaten most of the rabbit he’d been lucky enough to stumble across in that human trapper’s bag while the human ran a quick errand. The fox wondered if he ought to go back down the mountain that way. Perhaps there was some other errand he might request the trapper effect on the fox’s behalf.

With one last wary look around, the fox padded away from the little lake. There was still a chill in the air, even in the middle of the day. And it was harder to draw full breaths here than it was at home. He decided this was very much not a long term solution.

He lifted his chin and sniffed the air. The black nob at the end of his snout twitched left and right. Something faint was coming to him on the cool wind. Sheep maybe? He couldn’t be sure, but whoever it was, they weren’t too far away.

This part of the mountain had not proven to be very stimulating. He wondered what sort of situation might present itself when he found the source of the smell. Surely one that would give him the good fortune, purely from luck, to provide a warm place to spend the evening. Yes, he thought that might be entirely possible.

After all, there was always another sucker.