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I remembered a book I read when I was around ten years old, but I could not remember its title. It was about an animal, a fox, I thought, and I loved the story. The author, as well as any other identifying characteristics, were buried deep in my subconscious, underneath an accumulation of years and other books. I tried to dredge up those particulars, but they were buried too deep, and I finally gave up on having the pleasure of reading it again.
Fast forward a few years.
