Snow crunched under Nori's boot.
He didn't like snow, particularly. Or trees.
But traps were something he was good at. It came of being a good thief. Upon occasion one had to coax one's opponent towards the proper direction, in order to guarantee one's own success. It was like that with animals. The pelts went for good money when it was time to hunt for pelts, and meat was always scarce.
Dori had his ways to provide, and Nori had his own.
The trees were not thick there, along the creek bank. The snow'd come down between the branches. It was enough that the ground was dusted with it, but not so much that it gave the look of smoothness. It was white enough that the fox stood out sharply against it.
Nori saw the fox.
The fox saw him.
The sleek little creature had come up over the creek bank, and it stood taught as a twist of copper wire with one black foot poised just above the snow.
Neither moved.
Then between one blink and the next, the fox was gone, leaving behind a spray of little footprints that would soon fill up with snow.
Nori let him go. He preferred not to catch foxes.