I had just climbed under my duvet when I caught a glimpse of the new, full moon through the gap between my blinds.

The sight of it, so round, so bright, scarred, yet perfect lured me to my window. If only my camera's battery wasn't dead.

I looked out into the darkness, blindly, at the garden that I knew lay below, thinking about the creatures out there, and no sooner than I had did I hear the now familiar, and that could apply in both senses, hoot of the owl that lives outside my window.

Her shrill hoot always paralyses me with fear.
I moved away from the window back to the safety of my bed.

And here I am. Still listening to the noises of the night.
There's a high-pitched sqeal, and a similar squawk.
More than one.
Calling to each other.

It must be Foxes. The call of a Vixen.

Very eerie indeed.