The Man wasn’t moving.

The fox was fairly sure that The Man was dead. The salt choking the air and stinging the inside of his sensitive nose made it difficult to smell any rot, but...

The Man wasn’t moving.

The Man hadn’t moved for one whole Sun-cycle. He had stopped making noises whilst the Sun beat down upon them both, warming the fox’s fur and cracking The Man’s lips. He had stopped moving whilst the Moon had gazed at them with Her one chilly Eye, had lain down in the very bottom of the floating den and just...not gotten up.

It was Sunfall again now. The Man still wasn’t moving.

The fox was hungry.