The wind had changed. It no longer smelled of damp earth and green leaves; now, it carried the crisp, biting scent of frost and pine needles. The days were growing shorter in the forest, the sun dipping below the horizon before the afternoon was even done.

Pip was panicking.

Pip was a hedgehog of serious business. He was round, prickly, and currently carrying three oak leaves on his back that were slightly too large for him. He scurried over the forest floor, his little black nose twitching nervously.

“Not enough moss,” Pip muttered to himself. “Definitely not enough dry leaves. The frost is coming tonight, I can feel it in my quills.”

He rounded the corner of a large boulder and nearly tripped over a fluffy, golden obstacle.

It was Finn.

Finn the Fox was not panicking. Finn was currently doing what Finn did best: practicing his nap. He was curled into a perfect circle, his bushy tail wrapped tightly around his nose to keep it warm. One eye cracked open as Pip bustled by.

“You’re loud for something so small,” Finn yawned, a puff of steam escaping his snout.

“And you are lazy for something so big!” Pip squeaked, dropping his oak leaves. “Finn, the Winter is here! The Big Sleep! Have you prepared your den? Have you stocked your larder?”

Finn stretched, uncurling his long, elegant body. “I have found the perfect spot, Pip. But it is too big for just one fox. It gets… lonely. And drafty.”

Pip paused. “Is it dry?”

“Bone dry,” Finn said.

“Is it warm?”

“It smells like summer,” Finn whispered mischievously. “Come. I’ll show you.”

Finn led the way through the darkening woods to the base of an ancient, hollowed-out tree. Inside, the walls were coated in a strange, amber substance—remnants of an old wild beehive that had moved on years ago. The moment they stepped inside, the cold air vanished, replaced by the faint, comforting scent of warm honey and wildflowers.

“It glows,” Pip whispered in awe. Even in the dim light, the walls seemed to hold the memory of the sun.

“It’s the Golden Hollow,” Finn said softly. He circled the floor three times, trampling down the soft earth, and curled up tight. The relief of the pine trees outside cast long shadows against the walls, and through a crack in the wood above, the first winter stars began to twinkle—just like the patterns on a night sky.

Pip didn’t need to be told twice. He gathered his oak leaves, piled them next to Finn’s warm fur, and tucked his little paws in. He rolled into a perfect, prickly ball.

“Finn?” Pip mumbled, his eyes heavy.

“Yes, Pip?”

“It smells really good in here.”

“I know,” the fox smiled, closing his eyes as the snow began to fall outside. “Sweet dreams, little friend. We’ll wake up when the world turns green again.”

And so they slept, bathed in the scent of honey and the golden warmth of their friendship, safe from the winter cold.