The solitude of the forest is a false one. I live alone, but am not alone. There are eyes everywhere watching me. Some watching to flee from my approach. Some watching for my first show of weakness. My dark furs contrast sharply against the smooth white snow. I’ve learned to walk quietly, and the careless think me only distant wind.
Spring is late this year. I have enough stores to last to summer if necessary, but the late spring means leaner restocking come autumn. The boundary between feast and famine is as delicate as new growth.
The snow around my trap is disturbed in chunks and gouges. The trap itself is gone. I’ve seen no marks of other men, but I’m new. Any others have had generations to adjust and become part of the forest. Looking closely, I see the marks of canine paws. No tool marks other than the dragging of my trap. Scavengers, taking an easy mark.
My face revealed my worry, but I said nothing. I felt a necessity for silence, and complied. I stood up and saw a bright orange movement off to my left. I tensed for battle and turned.
A fox.
A fox, behaving oddly. My worry increased.
It jumped in little hops, keenly watching me as it landed. It came closer then sprinted back a few steps. Then came closer again, and sprinted back again.
I saw the tracks ran under the fox’s prancing.
It came close. And stopped. A bright subtle yip teased my ear. I did not respond vocally. I only nodded. It lowered itself in a playful posture. I bowed. It dashed forward, grabbed my furs and tugged firmly. It let go and jumped again as it darted away. When it returned to the safe distance, it sniffed the tracks and yipped at me again.
Very well, then. I took a step. It stepped back. I crouched down and grabbed a handful of the tracked snow. It jumped happily. Okay. Let’s see where the tracks lead.
I followed the tracks. The fox sometimes followed behind, sometimes led, sometimes danced in circles around me. The snow ended and rocky crags began. I lost the tracks.
The fox ran ahead, turned, and gave another subtle yip. Without question, I followed the fox. It came to an outcropping of rock and started pawing and snorting. As I approached, I could smell blood and metal. Kneeling down, the fox gave me just enough room to see. A burrow, with my trap wedged in it. I grabbed the metal I could see and pulled. I heard a snap, and the trap suddenly jiggled. A high-pitched screaming started underground.
I pulled a little harder and the trap came out suddenly. The fox danced in obvious glee as I stood with my catch. The trap was built to catch one rabbit, but somehow I have two. The first rabbit is dead. There are wounds in the side that my trap could not have caused. But the muzzle of a carnivore could. The carnivore must have attacked the caught rabbit and knocked the trap free. But why it didn’t finish off the crippled rabbit, I don’t know. The rabbit ran to its burrow, and quietly died in its home.
The second rabbit was still alive, and screaming. Somehow, the jaws of the trap was opened. I think by the action of the first rabbit trying to go deeper into the burrow. The second rabbit had moved into the jaws. When I pulled the trap, the jaws sprung shut, catching the second rabbit about the neck.
I quickly ended the second rabbit’s pain. It felt wrong to dress the two rabbits at the entrance to the burrow. I moved away to a large waist-high boulder. I looked for artificial marks and saw none. Laying the trap and rabbits on the stone, I whispered my thanks to the forest around me and removed both rabbits.
I dropped the trap to my feet and backed away from the stone. The fox had remained close and watched me intently. “I would have none if not for you, and now I have two. Take your due, friend. And I shall take the other.” The fox danced a little hop and jumped onto the boulder. It sniffed both bodies, and took the older, mangled body. Hopping down with its prize, it looked back at me with twinkling eyes before running off into the forest.
I stepped forward to begin dressing my take. I heard a bird land not far from me. Without looking, I threw some entrails over my shoulder. A loud caw was shouted, in surprise and what I took for glee. When I finished dressing the meat, I rolled it up in the pelt and turned to tell the bird to take the scraps.
I turned to see over two dozen crows standing silently on the rocky ground. “Have at it. I’m done.” The birds launched into flight and loud calls as they flew past me to descend onto the bloody rock. I picked up my broken trap and started for my cabin.
Halfway there, I saw a bright flash of orange. The fox had returned. It played and jumped and rolled around me, escorting me back to my cabin. I paused at the door to watch it a little more. It dashed forward to lick my hand before running back into the forest.
I waited until it had disappeared from sight, then entered the cabin, and left the scene.