He is perhaps fortunate in one sense that he has relative freedom when compared to other youth. Oh, his parents love him, of this he has no doubt. But after eight children, it is probably easy to get a little more relaxed in the hovering department.

And Fox takes full advantage of that.

He is quite capable of getting into trouble and had managed to do so already with alarming frequency, but he also seems to have the uncanny ability of extracting himself from that trouble.

So he's not exactly sure what drew him to the playground over any number of other places where more adventure is to be had, but here he is. Perhaps it is his desire to find other friends his age, or perhaps it is because he'd left this place rather unexplored on his last visit. Whatever the reason, he can currently be found traipsing through what is probably the safest land in all of Beqanna, head high, eyes bright, and short, fluffy tail bobbing with each step he takes.

Given his relative attention, it is surprising that he doesn't notice the little black filly at first. But then, it has already been well established that Fox is relatively absent-minded and unobservant when he has other things on his mind. In any case, he doesn't actually notice her until she is tumbling into him.

His amber eyes widen in alarm as he is knocked off balance in a tumble of long, knobby limbs and foal fluff. Somehow, he has the presence of mind to call a snow drift for him to fall into. Less fortunately, he seems to have miscalculated a bit and instead lands on the hard ground with a rather large pile of snow on top of him.

Sputtering, he flails until he manages to extricate himself and scramble back to his feet. His speckled red form is quite coated in snow, but with a quick shake, he sends a great shower of rapidly melting moisture flying as a highly amused grin tugs at his lips.

”Well, Rora,” he responds brightly, eyes lifting to find hers, humor coloring his tone. It's nice to, er, run into you.” He smiles in truth then, a rather lopsided grin that speaks of his good, if somewhat mischievous, nature. ”I'm Fox.”

It's easy to see, even for a boy like Fox, who is generally oblivious to these things, that she is just as surprised as he had been. Had he known her thoughts, he would have laughed even harder. A monkey? Really? He'd never been compared to a monkey before, but it would have been an entertaining thought. Had Lynx, one of his best friends (of course, she would likely disagree) despite their disparate personalities, been here, she probably would would have relished the chance to tell him just what was on Rora's mind. He would be equally delighted in showing her just how apt he could make such a descriptor.

But alas, she is not. He has only theories of foxes to contend with and not that of monkeys or goats.

His grin widens as words continue to tumble from the small girl's mouth. He is a chatty sort, but she has him beaten by miles. He finds himself rather charmed by her rambling musings. When she stops to draw breath, he manages to interject himself however. He would never be one to allow a conversation without him. ”Well little Rora for aurora, I suppose you could say that. Maybe, I guess. Momma said I look like a fox, so I'm Fox.” His grin turns a little bit mischievous then, providing ample proof for her speculations. ”For the rest, you'll just have to hang around and find out, won't you?”

Only then does she appear to notice the snow he had had the misfortune of throwing on top of himself. The warmth of the day is causing it to become quite sticky. Perfect for a snowball fight, if one were so inclined. And one had hands, of course, or Fox's abilities.

Indicating the snow with a tip of his head, he offers her an amused, ”I certainly won't stop you.” before turning his gaze to consider the wet snow. A sudden gleam comes to his eye as he turns to study Rora once more.

His grin turns positively wicked as he uses his ability to lift and form a small, round ball of snow and says, ”Hey Rora, catch!” With no further ado, he lobs the snowball at her.