“Daughter! What is this?”
Tilly was dozing through the humid midday heat, curled around her litter, and jerked awake when the old vixen peeked through the hole in the metal wall.
“Congratulations,” the fox said curtly, nodding at the cubs. “And now pack up. I know a proper den.”
“This is a proper den.” Tilly lifted her head defiantly.
Her mother tapped a claw on the metal, whiskers twitching with indignation to the harsh clank. “No, it’s not. It’s newfangled nonsense. And dangerous.” She eyed the sharp edges of the frame with a suspicious frown. “And our family has always …”
Tilly interrupted her. “… lived under an oak, I know,” she hissed, “or at least in a respectable badger set. I don’t care.”
“Exactly,” her mother said, unimpressed with her daughter’s ire.
“But it’s been here forever. Longer than you! It’s safe. And clean.” Only some moss had moulded with the torn filling of the cushion she lay on. “I like it.”
The vixen sighed and looked around again. Perhaps her daughter had a point?
Written for the FFfAW Challenge-Week of March 14, 2017
Photo-prompt by Tim Livingston / The Forester Artist.