Follow the fox, he said, it will lead you to untold riches.

Did I dare believe that? Could it be true?

I had been hunting down this sacred fox for two weeks and had yet to find it’s home. I was beginning to think that the old sage that gave me the advice may have actually been a drunk, rambling to the young boy that gave him his drink.

I had wandered the length and breadth of the White Doe Forest, and there was no trace of any foxhole. How was I going to follow a fox if I could not find it’s home? And how would I know if it was the right fox?

The old man did say, follow THE fox. There must have been a particular one I needed to follow.

I looked up to the sky. The sun was starting to set, behind the Mountain of Glorywar. Another day wasted. I found nothing. Exhausted and frustrated, I slumped down against a tree. What would I tell my father? I began to cry softly, knowing that I would be punished for my stupidity.

“Why do you cry, boy?”

I looked up slowly, and saw a fox.