The Pheasant Prince

The first frost has etched its cold fingers across the land and a morning mist shrouds the horizon the two becoming one beneath a changing autumn sky.It is hard to imagine what could thrive in these cold conditions but beneath an old thorn lies evidence of a banquet. This is a time of plenty for our fox. Pheasants are thriving, they fill the woodlands edge with their strangled calls and clattering wings. All creatures need nourishment and the fox would ...be foolish not to gorge on this hearty meat.
I follow the feathers to a den in the bank where the fox rests. He is the embodiment and fulfilment, his coat rich in copper tones and his eyes shine with a hunters satisfaction.
The pheasant prince sleeps soundly, comfortable in this brief bountiful spell. Until tonight when he will once again slip out beneath a spangled sky, his paws patrolling silently on the ever encroaching frost.