A Fox Tale

Meeting an old acquaintance.

    As Fern made his way down the cliff face, he observed his surroundings quickly. He stands atop a small rock hill near the base of the mountain, and a thick, familiar deciduous forest lay underneath him. A small stream was flowing downward into the forest to his right side. It was broken into many multiple streaks of separate streams that quickly scaled the mountainside.
"Finding a new home is...tougher than expected...but maybe there is something by one of the streams." Fern spoke to himself as he slowly scaled the dark grey rock face. The once cloudy skies can be seen to slowly clear as the sun begins to pierce what clouds are left blocking it. The rain clouds had gone, and now a sun beaming down hope and heat began to rise before settling into its climax height. Fern was at the bottom of the mountain, looking back at it, the mountain seems too tall from the ground up to even think of climbing. The cliffs look as if they jut out of the ground perpendicularlly.