I was a fox once, long before this life. In that world, the earth was my friend—the cool shadows of the forest, the rustle of the grass beneath my paws, and the wind that whispered ancient secrets through the trees. My fur, thick and russet, blended with the autumn leaves, and my eyes sparkled with a quiet wisdom that only the wild can teach.

I roamed free, in tune with every leaf that fluttered, every scent that lingered on the breeze. I was swift, elusive, and instinctively kind. The world around me—alive with creatures and whispers—was my sanctuary, and in return, I offered what I could. I helped a struggling bird untangle its wing from a bramble, guided a lost fawn to its mother's side, and gave solace to the wounded, even when it meant staying longer than I should.

But even in the wild, a fox can become ensnared.

One day, as I ran through the underbrush, my nose raised to the wind, I heard a cry—a deep, sorrowful wail that tore at my heart. I followed the sound, driven by the urge to help, to ease the pain of whoever called out. I didn’t think, didn’t pause to question. I only felt the pull of compassion. The deeper I moved into the forest, the more the air thickened with the scent of something strange—an unnatural smell. 

I stepped forward, not realizing the trap had been set. 

A sharp snap, a tug at my leg—my body jerked, and the world tilted as I found myself caught in a snare. The pain was immediate, a searing reminder of my carelessness. I struggled, pulling against the rope, but it held firm. And then the realization hit—my freedom, my effortless connection to the forest, was suddenly out of reach. I was bound, not just by the rope, but by my own inability to leave behind those in need. In my haste to help, I had forgotten to be mindful of my own well-being. 

The struggle was futile. The forest that had once embraced me now seemed distant, unreachable. The wind, once a companion, now passed me by, carrying the scent of the world I could no longer touch. I could no longer feel. My spirit pulling against the snare, desperate for release, but it wasn’t just the physical restraint that hurt—it was the realization that my own kindness, my unyielding desire to help, had brought me to this place. I had allowed myself to be caught, tangled in the desires and needs of others, and in doing so, I had lost my path.

I grew still, not because I gave up, but because I understood. The snare was not just a physical trap—it was a reflection of my own nature. In seeking to ease the pain of others, I had allowed myself to become tangled in their struggles, leaving me unable to move freely, to breathe deeply, to be the fox I was meant to be. I needed to remember balance—to help, yes, but never to the point where I lost my own footing in the world.

In time, I was freed, not by force, but by the wisdom that comes from surrendering. I understood that my heart would always be kind, but it needed the freedom of the wind to soar. Just as I had helped others in the past, I now knew that the most important thing was to protect my own spirit, to remain whole in the face of the world’s pain.

In this life, as I walk again through the world, I carry that lesson with me. I feel the tug to help, to heal, to be there for others, but I remember the snare. I remember how it felt to be caught—how it feels when the weight of others' burdens drags you down, leaving you unable to move forward. I strive to walk with my soul free, to offer kindness without losing myself in the process. I am the fox, wild and free, but always mindful of the traps that lie in wait, both in the world and within myself.

The wind still calls to me, as it did in my past life, and I answer with a heart full of compassion. But I have learned to listen—to listen for the rustle of the wind through the trees, to sense the boundaries that protect my spirit. Only then can I be truly free.