Just when the fox decided to call this bush his home, he heard loud fuds. Something big was approaching. His ears were pirked, his eyes were wide open even if they were still getting used to seeing, and his nose picked up a scent. To the little beast, all scents but the scents of his fur and home were foreign to him, but the ones he could feel made him especially afraid. Finally, he was face to face with the giant that peaked into his den. He lay still, silent, huddled up as if he could vanish if he became small enough. He soon learned that it wasn't a reliable tactic. When he heard the rumbling growls of the words he didn't understand, he tried to look pleadingly up at the wolf, and put his paws forward. They had little claws on them. Not a thread to anyone right now, but they were going to grow and sharpen, if he lived to see it. The fox pulled the claws back and forth, and finally could retract them in. He finally calmed down, continuing the staring contest with the canine.