#102 of Short Stories
A vixen regards where decisions have brought her family.
The fox's mother settled her glare somewhere between his blindingly cyan dyed ears and immodestly short skirt as she struggled to find words of helpful admonishment from amongst the giggles she could only just contain.
The long forgotten beacon strained to muster another warning pulse from failing power cells, nearby debris anxious to remind passing ships of its presence with no such urgency.
The pilot's handwriting got more harried as the air pressure dropped low enough to start impacting the pen's ability to lay down the words she'd forgotten to say.
The deafening realization of an empty magazine in his rifle did little to distract the coyote from the footfalls of the intruders searching his ship.