They ran for hours across the treacherous mires. The sound of the hounds was a rhythmic drumbeat against the silence of the wilderness. Tag led them upward, toward the high peaks where the wind screamed through the rock formations.
The rivalry began on a crisp October morning. The air hummed with the baying of the pack and the sharp, brassy notes of the hunting horn. Leading the chase was Asher, the Huntsman, a man whose soul was etched with the lines of a thousand miles of pursuit. Beside him ran Merlin, the lead hound, a creature of pure instinct and iron lungs. The Belstone Fox
He was not like the others. Where his siblings were cautious, Tag was curious. Where they saw the hounds of the Belstone Hunt as a distant, terrifying thunder, Tag saw them as a puzzle to be solved. He grew lean and powerful, his coat the color of a dying ember, and his mind sharper than the flint stones of the moor. They ran for hours across the treacherous mires
But the moor is a harsh mistress, and time is the hunter that never tires. The rivalry began on a crisp October morning
The morning mist clung to the valley of Dartmoor like a burial shroud, thick and tasting of damp peat. Within the jagged shadows of the granite tors, a cub was born. He was Tag, the fox who would become a legend, though at the moment, he was nothing more than a wet scrap of copper fur.