Deep in the green forest, an elderly man pulled a carrot from the garden dirt.
He wiped it on his apron. Red. Long. Perfect. "Well, butter my bread," he said.
He pulled another — orange and round. Then a tiny yellow one. All perfect.
Farhad set three pots on the step. Then — a rustle behind the cabin.
He turned. A fox sat on the step, carrot leaves poking from its mouth. It blinked slowly.
Farhad froze. The fox blinked again. Then — it smiled. Or something like it.
Farhad sat down. He broke his loaf in two. He pushed half toward the fox.
"Try this," he said. The fox took a sip. "Good?" Farhad asked.
Farhad laughed. The fox yawned. They sat together in the quiet forest.
That evening, the cabin glowed warm. Two bowls sat on the step. One was empty.
