The world is vast when you’re alone. I can sense the rabbit getting closer, but my eyes remain closed; it heightens my other senses. The rabbit’s scent grows stronger, and I can tell it’s right in front of me. My eyes open, and there, in the darkness of the forest, is the rabbit itself. I leap, and in a second, it’s down.

Back in the hive, I often had to eat meat, but I never enjoyed it. Now, though, in my fox form, it’s somehow tastier. The bones are sometimes tricky to handle, but it doesn't bother me; I’m full and can continue my search. Life in the Everfree Forest is not easy, but after three days, it felt good to eat something other than grass and branches, even if it means staying in this fox shape. Ideally, I’d feed on love to sustain myself, but in these woods, most creatures aren’t exactly... affectionate.

The rabbit is nearly gone, only a few tough bones remain. A green flash, and I’m back to my original form, seeing my black, hole-riddled chitin. I suppose I’ll need to find a friend, or at least a companion to feed from soon. My ears—if I had any—twitch as I hear a faint noise. It’s a fox, prowling silently.

This forest... how I hate it. Complaining won’t get me food, but at least it gives me a bit of adrenaline. I’ve learned that using this magic to shapeshift is a real strain on the user; not immediately, but a few hours after shifting, the fatigue sets in. I realized this on the first day when everything went black at the end of the day, and the same thing happened the next day. Since then, I’ve stayed in fox form; a young fox has a keen nose and can hunt for more than just grass. I don’t know how far they’ve ventured into the forest, but I’m far from Ponyville now.

A familiar sound echoes around me, my stomach growling. I glance around; night has already fallen, and my eyes shine in the dark. There are so many scents—leftover rabbit, a slithering... lizard? I crouch low, moving toward the scent with my eyes closed. The wind carries a peculiar, faintly fox-like scent, but not entirely.

Suddenly, something grabs my fur from behind, lifting me off the ground. I open my eyes to find a fox—although its scent is strange, almost unnatural. She’s a beautiful vixen, possibly a mother. My magic only allows limited communication, so I decide not to shift back. I have more searching to do, but I’d rather not scare her, especially if I don’t have to.

She brings me to a small den, which turns out to be empty. She glances at me curiously. I want to speak, but the magic limits me; I can only ask things a fox might understand. Hungry... whose child are you, here all alone? Yes, that should do.

"Whose child... are you, daughter or son?" The question piques her interest. She pauses, as if to consider me, and then suddenly bursts into green flames, transforming into a black, insect-like pony. I don’t feel fear, just shock, as I instinctively select a form I know well—a cat with mottled fur—and attack with claws out. She barely defends herself, transforming back into a strong hound, though she can’t retaliate.

She yelps and growls, and I relax slightly, reverting to my original form, then casting a bolt of lightning at her. She dodges, then shifts back into her usual form. As I watch her fiery transformation, I encircle her with lightning, and with a flick of my magic, I catch her wings with the blast.

She yelps loudly, hurtling backward. I stand over her triumphantly, my horn still sparking with power. “Now... let’s start over. Who are you?” I demanded.

She seemed to surrender this time, shrinking down as if in pain as she got back up. “My name... My name is...” Her voice trembles, and here and there, she’s... bleeding? Most likely, yes. “Sawtooth. And you are?”

“Bender...” Then I remember something. “What are you doing here? Aren’t changelings banished?”

“I... I ran away. I disobeyed an order back in Canterlot. I’ve been hiding ever since, hunting animals or grazing in various forms. But you... how did you end up here? Unless you’re here to find me, you must know how bad life is in the hive. Now, you can go back to your original form.” I pause to consider—does she think I’m a changeling? Well, technically, I am... now, but not like her.

“This is my true form. I’m not the same kind of changeling as you.” She gives me a strange look before understanding dawns.

“Magic spell?”

“Exactly. I’ll give you a head start if you want to leave, but soon I’ll collapse; this magic drains my strength.” She looks at me, then, blushing a bit, says softly:

“Actually, I don’t want to go. I’m looking for you. I know I’m running out of strength, but maybe... just maybe you could help me with this endless hunger.” I raise an eyebrow; Sweetie Belle never mentioned what changelings eat, and maybe I don’t want to know. Then it hits me, chilling my blood, and I immediately shift into fox form again, which she mirrors.

“You... you want to eat me?” I ask, brow raised. She gives a wide-eyed look, then bursts into laughter, which oddly enough, even disarms my fox instincts.

“Oh, no, not you... not at all. Changelings feed on love, and they can never have enough. I met someone who told me you might help.” This story is strange, I think to myself. Who, and where did she meet someone who said I, of all people, could help her? Another peculiarity for the list.

Me? Even though, even though, even though... The world turns gray, and I know what this means—the effect of shape-shifting has arrived. My eyes close, and I’m already in dreams.

I feel sorry for the poor soul; he’s capable of one of the most complex magics, but he can’t fully take advantage of it. As he slept there, I couldn't help but find him endearing. I once heard a story in Equestria when I was little. What was its title? Not important. The story was about a little fox whose family was slaughtered by a fur hunter. I always thought it was a sad tale. Now, though, as my mind can create a visual to accompany the facts, I find it rather cute. Then a thought occurs to me: he’ll probably be hungry when he wakes up. I should go get him some food, but I can’t just leave him here. My gaze falls on the cave where I took him first. Leaving him there might be best.

I gently picked him up, carried him into the cave, and set him down on a small pile of leaves. I could see he was likely dreaming of some exciting hunt. Then I turned into a fox myself and went hunting. It was already dusk when I started out in the forest, and by the time I reached a place where there was prey, the night had fully fallen. I arrived at a small lake where plump ducks were roosting. As a fox in body, I sense these are tender-meat birds. I go down to the water’s edge and start sniffing.

I pick up many sweet scents—the scent of rabbits, lizards, even wild geese—but the one I’m truly after is also there: a wild duck. I creep toward the source of the scent and see there are not just one but three ducks. I’m thrilled because that means I won’t go hungry either. I slowly draw back like a bow being pulled taut. I leap… The ducks have no idea, and...

In the next few moments, I pull two big, fat ducks onto the shore; they have weight to match. I can’t take both, so I look at the smaller one and, with a single bite, remove its head.

Third-Person Perspective: Sawtooth believed, and he was partly right, that the cave would protect from everything. However, with the unusually late arrival of spring, there are still fox pups who haven't grown up yet. Ponies rarely come here, but Manticores often feast on fox meat. One survivor of such a massacre, this little newcomer, now carefully sneaks in. His eyes are barely open. His mother is buried somewhere under a vicious bird, his siblings in a collapsed cave. Hunger is a prickly ball within him. When he sees the cave, which might as well be a rabbit's burrow, he crawls in, finding only a little companion, whom his underdeveloped mind identifies as a sibling or a mate. He curls up beside him and soon falls asleep after half a day of running. Now, only two small, furry balls are visible in the darkness, moving occasionally but otherwise looking like stuffed fur capes.

I entered the dream world as a fox, though I still kept full control of my dreams. From my little home, through the door, I was back in the dream world. I always come here, hoping to find Sweetie Belle’s dreams, but now, there was a dream bigger than any I’ve ever seen. Since I've been able to shift forms, I've seen the dreams of all kinds of creatures—specifically those I’ve transformed into.

This dream was vast and incredibly simple. Curries, steaks, all sorts of animal meat… Not the meat itself, but rather the memories of past feasts. This is a fox’s dream, and it’s very close by. I usually don’t enter animal dreams; it hardly makes sense. But this one wasn’t animalistic—it was more like a child’s. This must be a fox cub… Oh well, you only live once. Maybe I’ll learn something useful.

As the dream around me takes shape, it turns surprisingly grim. The depths of a forest at nightfall are visible, the moon beginning to rise. A lakeside or riverside—wherever we are. The fox castle is made of mud; it’s a wonder it stands. A loud, whistling sound is heard. Birds take flight, and a massive shadow blocks the stars.

In animal form, I can't think as clearly, but just enough to sense that as the shadow descends, the dream shatters. The little fox is now directly across from me. Suddenly, I realize that this wasn’t a dream—it was a memory. There we are, sitting across from each other, and I don’t know what to do. This is when I regret that Luna can never know about me.

“Is it you? Are you him?” I raised an eyebrow. The fox language is hard to speak, but the cub’s words are nearly incomprehensible...

“Who?” He raised an eyebrow, then scratched his nose a little before speaking again, slightly more coherently, at least enough for me to understand.

“I lay down next to a relative of mine, and now here you are, looking exactly like him.” I understood from that.

“Whose child are you?” In fox terms, this is like asking one’s name, but it’s not my favorite.

“I… I am Csile, daughter of Bári.” So, her name is Csile. It’s actually cute, like a pet. Now that I look, she has very beautiful fur, and… Wait, why am I even thinking about this?

“I am Leppé, son of Vuk.” Of course, this is a lie, but she won’t know that. “What happened to your family? And if you lay down next to me now, where are we?”

“My family was killed by a buzzing bird, and I don’t know where we are.” I play dumb with her, but I might be able to take advantage of the situation. As it is, I need to find the plane, and she and her dead family might come in handy.

I feel I have the power to do so, so I wake us up, aided by other factors—a delicious smell wafts into our noses, which for a fox is a better wake-up call than a nuclear blast.

When I open my eyes, I find myself in a small den. Csile lies beside me, just opening her eyes. Something warm and wet brushes over me, raising my fur. Then again, but then I get up. Csile does the same.

Sawtooth is deeper in the cave than us. Csile, however, is still not quite alert. The little fox girl yawns and stretches but remains unresponsive.

“Who is your little friend?” he asks me, a bit restlessly. Meanwhile, the scent hits my nose again, reminding me of some fine meat. My mind is still somewhat clear, though.

“She’s Csile; she knows where my friends are.” Yes, fox language is primitive like that—communication is frustrating, but it's still better than kangaroos, who speak in third person about themselves. “Dad’s done now.”

At this moment, Csile begins to chew on something crunchy. The scent hits my nose again, and I realize I have fire in my stomach—I’m so hungry. Csile, however, is gnawing on a headless Tás. “Bon appétit, little one,” says Sawtooth to me like a real fox father.

“Did you catch it?” I didn’t even wait for an answer because I saw that Csile’s small teeth couldn’t tear the tough neck of the duck. “Wait, Csile!” I stepped over and tore a big piece from the duck’s breast for her. When she saw the meat, she finally spat out the bony neck and bit into the big chunk instead. Although I’m a fox with fox instincts, my mind still remains clear enough to think ahead.

“Thank you…” The single word surprised me because it’s rare in fox vocabulary—at least, that’s what I thought. I tore off another piece for her, and another, and another, about 10-15 pieces, before I could finally bite into it myself. I knew she was hungrier than I could ever imagine. Instead of the thigh I had set my eyes on, I bit into the wing, which was mostly bone. I barely took two bites before I heard a faint whimpering.

“More! More!” the little voice cried.

“Coming!” I trotted over and tore off another piece, this time from the thigh…

As they eat, I can’t help but feel a faint bond of affection. It’s weak but mutual, as if they’ve found each other—they just don’t know it yet.

Bender said he knows where his two friends are. If I help them, perhaps he’ll figure out how I can escape this eternal hunger… As I think this, Csile tugs lightly at his ear, failing to tear off a large enough piece.

I lie down and ponder what will happen next, resting my head on the ground, only my tail twitching. I could change back, but I don’t want to scare the little fox.

The two little ones are still eating, but I close my eyes to nap, and before I know it, my thoughts merge, my sight fades, and my sense of smell diminishes. I hear one last little voice:

“Good night, Sawtooth.” And then, not even that, as a sweet dream envelops me—a dream that, for the first time in six months, is peaceful, calm, and comforting. This dream doesn’t resemble a pony’s dream; it can only be mine."

Author's Note

Hello everyone, apologies for the difficult readability in hindsight; if this caused any trouble for anyone, I took inspiration from the works of a popular Hungarian author, István Fekete, who had a habit of naming each animal with an additional unique name. For example, Tás means duck. Also, the translator may have downplayed the fox form's language ability a bit too much, so if anything is unclear, feel free to let me know.