The morning light filtered through the cracks in the rocky cave, its golden rays slicing through the smoky remnants of last night's fire. I stirred, blinking blearily as the world came into focus.
My body ached, a not-so-gentle reminder of yesterday's events. For a moment, I lay still, soaking in the warmth of the fox curled up by my side.
But then the chaos began.
It started with an abrupt sound—something between a squawk and a scream—that echoed outside the cave. My eyes snapped open, and my heart jumped as adrenaline surged through me.
The fox leapt to his feet instantly, his black flames igniting like a shield as he darted toward the cave's entrance.
"What was that?" I yelped, scrambling to my feet, my blanket tangling around my ankles and sending me stumbling face-first into the dirt. Great start to the day.
The fox turned back to me, his blazing eyes full of exasperation. He yipped sharply, as if to say, Get up, idiot.