The house stood like a decaying relic of time, its windows patched with torn burlap where glass had long since vanished. The fabric swayed gently in the wind, whispering secrets only darkness could hear. The air was thick with mildew, each breath tasting of rotting wood and damp earth.

  From the distant forest came the low growl of a wild beast—intermittent, patient, like it was waiting for something to arrive.

  Inside, a woman cried out in pain. The straw beneath her was drenched with sweat. Her breaths were shallow, veins bulging on her forehead, fingernails digging into her palms. Then—finally—

  A baby's cry pierced the night.

  The man beside her flinched. His eyes flickered with something unreadable as he muttered under his breath, "Dear God… it’s a girl."

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  The elderly midwife, her hands practiced and swift, cleaned up without a word. This was just one of many such scenes in her life—nothing worth lingering over.

  The man took the baby into his arms, eyes darting to the door with caution.

  The woman on the bed barely managed to open her eyes. Her lips were pale, her voice a whisper of worry. “Let me see her… She's a girl, isn’t she?”

  The man hesitated for a beat, then turned his face away and walked out.

  Outside, shadows shifted beneath the moonlight. Several figures murmured in hushed voices, hidden in the dark. The man approached them, speaking softly but firmly. After a brief exchange, one of them nodded and extended a hand.

  The baby was about to be taken—

  When the man suddenly reached out. “Wait!”

  Thank you for reading!

  The Dream of the Night Fox is a story about healing, family wounds, and the blurry line between dream and reality.

  If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider following, rating, or leaving a comment — your feedback keeps me going!

  The full version will be available soon on Kindle — just search for the title!

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  —Dizzy