Sleeping Red Panda

High up in the ancient canopy of the misty forest, the world moved in a quiet, unhurried rhythm. Autumn had painted the woods in shades of amber and gold, and a crisp breeze rustled through the branches, whispering that winter was near.

Inside the snug shelter of a deep tree hollow, Pabu the red panda was completely lost to the world. Curled into a tight, perfect ball, he looked like a soft drift of fallen leaves. His plush, ringed tail was wrapped snugly over his nose to keep out the chill, and his extraordinarily detailed white whiskers twitched ever so slightly with every gentle, rhythmic breath he took.

Outside, a late-afternoon ray of warm sunlight pierced through the dense emerald canopy. It snuck through the opening of the hollow, slowly creeping inward like a golden tide until it washed over the sleeping animal. The light kissed his rust-colored, fluffy fur, turning the tips into glowing embers and radiating a deep, comforting heat into his little refuge. Pabu let out a tiny, contented sigh in his sleep, burrowing even deeper into the bed of soft, dry leaves beneath him. Here, nestled in the heart of the woodland, time had simply stopped, leaving him to dream undisturbed beneath the amber leaves.