It was a pine cone. One of the smallest—and most perfectly formed—I had ever seen. Onyx nudged it with his nose, huffing, then looked up at me expectantly. I stared down at the fox and the pine cone, hand still on the doorknob, not sure what to do. “Is that… for me?” Onyx nudged the little spiked pine cone, butting it with his nose again, until it rolled and hit the toe of my boot. It was for me. A gift. I bent and collected it, tucking the memento into the inside pocket of my leathers. Before I turned and left, I scratched the little fox between his black-tipped ears, trying and failing to
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