He nods agreeably and sets off.

He's not really hurrying, but he is very tall, and walks briskly. They are in fact making better time together than the fox would have alone.

The fox is a quiet travelling companion, but after a while it looks up at him and yips curiously.

"Hmm?"

The fox makes a show of looking around at the road they're on, then noses him.

"Why am I going this way, you mean? Oh, I thought I might climb Tumbledown Hill and sit and draw the view."

Affirmative yip.

... That seems to be as far as it can really converse. It's hard to have good conversation skills as a fox.

The traveller seems content to walk in silence.

After they've been walking for an hour or so, he says, "My arms are getting tired; would you mind climbing up to my shoulder for a while? It's not too much farther to the pond."

Agreeable yip! And an apologetic nose to his hand.

The fox obligingly hops onto his shoulder. It's a rather small fox, so it doesn't have too much trouble. It decides to become a soft fox scarf instead of attempting to stay balanced on his shoulder.

He giggles at his fashionable new accessory, pauses to make sure it's settled in all right, then keeps walking.

His fashionable new accessory carries itself with all of the dignity of a monarch. ... And innocently tickles his nose with its tail. Ever so innocently.

Splutter-giggle.

"That was uncalled-for!" he protests, laughing.

The fox gives a little amused huff, but the tail stops tormenting him, and he gets a little apologetic nose for his trouble.

"Thank you. Is it lack of entertainment? Should I sing?"

'Lack of entertainment' gets an immediate affirmative yip. The fox is more ambivalent of whether or not he should sing. It looks curiously at him, anyway.

"Ah, you haven't heard me sing. Well. I could give it a try and stop if you complain?"

Affirmative yip!

So he sings.

He has a nice voice and a good memory. He probably shouldn't quit his day job, whatever it is, but he could easily end up being the best singer at any social gathering with no professional musicians attending.

His vulpine companion finds this agreeable, and settles in to listen.

And in this way they end up at Tumbledown Pond not too much later.

As depicted on local maps, the road touches the side of the pond and then curves to the west rather than continue northwest into the rocky hills of which Tumbledown Hill is the most friendly and hospitable. The traveller stops at the bend.

"Well, here we are," he says. "And which way are you going?"

The fox gives him a somewhat wry look, then points with a fluffy tail. The direction is distinctly not towards the road.

"I suspected as much, but I didn't want to make assumptions. Well, as it happens, it wouldn't be very far out of my way at all to carry you the rest of the way to the tower."

... His fluffy fox scarf stiffens a bit, looking at him with at least some fraction of surprise, or perhaps alarm.

"Oh, did I not introduce myself?" he asks with something approximating innocence. "Isfain of the Crooked Hills. Delighted to meet you. People don't come to me with problems all that often, and out of all I've seen, yours is by far the most interesting."

The fox flicks its tail, then moves as if to jump down from his shoulder, but—that is kind of a long drop. It hesitates to actually go for it.

Isfain reaches up to offer it a lift down to the ground.