Summary
I personally raised a Fox Spirit.
In winter, he would sit on the windowsill, hugging his tail and grooming his fur, sometimes for an entire day.
Even though his tail was already silky smooth, he would still comb it, just to collect the fallen fur and make little foxes out of the fox fur.
He would line up the little foxes he made, and every day, they would sit at the door with him, waiting for me to come home.
Until one day, he accidentally burned his tail while warming himself by the fire.
In the middle of the night, he curled up in a corner, quietly crying. I asked him what was wrong, and with red eyes and a choked voice, he said:
“Now I can’t make little foxes for you anymore.”