The little fox turned around and trotted with its tired body. Slowly, its previously proud silver-white fur became covered with a layer of blood mist. It came to a hillside. This is a green hillside. The little fox sniffed the lawn, but there was no smell. It walked onto the lawn. The grass was quite soft, as if it was stepping on white clouds, although it didn't know what it felt like to step on white clouds. It tilted its head and saw a boy sitting on the lawn, looking ahead, motionless. The little fox has not forgotten how the horrible creatures it encountered just now that it mistakenly thought were angels hurt it, but there is always a voice in its heart that says that boy is different, that boy, his wish is...
Intention: