After the demise of his mate, a fox must find a way to provide for his remaining kit.

"He headed deeper into the thickening trees. His muzzle rose to the wind, but he caught no warm scent of his mate in the bitter chill of the air. He came closer to the den, a hollow dug into the roots of a spruce, which had seen many winters.
Another desperate cry. His heart was in his throat, as he came upon the den and crossed over its threshold. It was empty. It smelled like blood...."