“Linked with Gray's final memories, he heard the song of an arctic bird instead of the humans' shouts. Instead of the ashy haze that hung over them, he saw with Gray a vast blue bowl of sky. Instead of lying on the gritted ground, he tumbled with Gray and his brother kits across a snowy tundra spiked with starry blue flowers. He purred with Gray under his silver mother's rough tongue, tasted her warm milk, felt the weight of her chin resting over his newborn skull. And then Peace.

The old fox was still.”