Running Fox
Control
MOVE ARROWS
c
Beneath the golden haze of the afternoon sun, a russet-tailed fox streaked across the farm’s weathered fences, its breath quick as it vaulted over clucking hens and sidestepped a snarling sheepdog. The air buzzed with chaos—wings flapped, hooves stamped, beaks screeched warnings—but the fox’s amber eyes stayed fixed on the glistening strawberry patch ahead. Claws dug into soft soil as it lunged, narrowly dodging a pecking onslaught from territorial geese, their feathers puffed in fury. A split-second leap over a mud-caked trough, a daring swipe of its paw, and the plump crimson berries tumbled into its grasp. Victory tasted sweet—but the barn’s creaking door swung open, and the fox vanished into the tall grass, the farmer’s shouts fading behind its flickering tail.
