Although the image is gone, the feeling remains. An uneasy feeling. One that lingers like the adult smell she can’t quite place. She knows she’s smelt it before; she’d bet her life on it, and yet she can’t say from where. It’s not unpleasant, as such. There’s a part of her that even wishes for it to grow stronger, and yet her wishes are offset by the fear of where the smell will lead. Does that make sense? She doesn’t think so. And yet, the struggle in her heart is as real now as it will be many years in the future when the smell will stick to her skin and her clothes day after day, week after week. There’s something organic about it. And yet, it reminds her of pirate ships from the cartoons she secretly watches. Old wood and dirty deeds. Bearded men and cruel behaviour. As the smell intensifies, so her mouth begins to water. Her heart, too, beats as fast as the fox’s had done. Wishing so much for him to return to her, she wills him back, and yet all that greets her is the sensation of being embraced by some foreign entity she knows not what of. It wraps itself around her like smoke, telling her it loves her, and although she knows it doesn’t, it clouds her head to such an extent that she thinks it does.