Fur And Fire

A plume of smoke rises above her, and the red flame follows it up. The vixen turns away from it. Backing up to see and not burn her fur, her brown eyes look around at the billowing flames.

The wall of fire ends to her left, so the fox turns, moving to the break in the pillars of heat and smoke. Past it, she jumps down a small ledge and barely misses burning her bushy tail. Looking up again, only for a second, she takes in the destruction. The whole forest, going up in flames. As far as she could see, the trees’ color nearly matches the color of her rusty coat. Of course, the vixen knows it will grow back...but this territory had been home. 

Suddenly she remembers. Her mate, he had gone hunting. Somewhere, he must have been trapped.

Fear pierces her heart, and she knows of nothing to do but yell and call out. He should know her voice, should recognize her call. Should respond in kind. But all she can hear is the crackling of burning wood and wind. It’s bright enough for her eyes to see, but she can’t hear no matter how hard her pointed ears listen for any familiar sound.

Panicked, she floats the edge of the fire. Moving back when its heat licks her and calling out again. 

Then she hears it, near one of the exits to their dens. Had that distant sound been him? 

With all she can manage, she calls out loud and focuses on the sound. And this time, she is absolutely positive she heard the response. Without thinking twice, she searches again for a break in the flames, any place she can avoid being burned going in. Then she finds a path and summons all her bravery before jumping in, avoiding the red scaling spots as best she can. Her black paws still collide with the embers, but it doesn’t stop her.  

The air around her is hot, smoke burns her eyes and lungs, but she manages to call. Now she can hear it better- coming from a close exit to their den. He must have gone back, gotten trapped inside. When she makes it there, on paws with several burns, she sees it. The fire knocked a charred tree on the exit, and he was screaming, trying to scrape the ground beside it to get out. 

The paws are recognized by their familiar off white. Hurrying, she begins to frantically dig. 

Dizzy with the heat, it is hard. But soon, the hole widens. Enough to see her mate’s lighter red body, then enough for him to crawl out. 

As soon as he is freed, he runs with her heaving, but on his heels. They manage to get out of the fire as fast as their legs could take them, beyond the burning and slow down only slightly. 

Her paws ached, burned, and raw from digging. It is hard to breathe, with lungs full of smoke. But she coughs, and it helps. He licks her face between coughs of his own and licks at her paws in an attempt to comfort. Even goes forward, moving to find and eventually leading her to water, cool stream water that she takes in gratefully and fully. 

His coat is singed, his tail badly so, but is blissfully without any serious injuries. 

They look back for a moment, then her mate moves to go down stream, giving her an encouraging yip, and she follows him quickly. Their homes in that territory are long gone, and now the two must find another place that will suit a pair of foxes till the trees return to their old home. Along with giving the mice, voles, rabbits, and birds time to return to the area for food. 

She is slow, still with sore and tender paws, but her mate is patient and helpful. Going forward, then coming back to be sure she is still coming, and checking their path ahead again. Soon they come to a large log and use it for rushing across it to the unfamiliar other side. 

They don’t rest and stay close to one another’s side till they are well into the forest on the opposite side. The cold of spring settles into them as the two of them tread the loose paths in this new forest, looking around for anything that could be considered a den. Thankfully, Hunger is long off after they hunted earlier that day, and the stream and its springs nearby provide plenty of water. Behind them, the sun sets, and they still see the light of the fires. 

But a den. Decent, warm dens seem harder to find, and they keep trotting, even with her burnt feet, till morning. 

They find several hopeful holes, but every one of them is deemed unsuitable when they look closer. One houses a badger, thankfully sleeping still. Another is perfect; if she couldn’t feel how ready it was to cave in at the slightest weight- much too dangerous for kits to play near. The next has a group of snakes claiming it. Then there was an unnerving one, with the recent smell of another fox. 

Two of them could push out a young male, surely. But her mate keenly nuzzles her to move on from that choice. 

When they find a rock at dawn, though, there is hope. 

No hole is dug under it, but it doesn’t discourage her mate. He begins to furiously dig, and she goes on the scent of juicy rats nearby when she knows her paws would have to heal before she can help with the den. But she can indeed find a nice meal for them, which the vixen does and gleefully brings it back to him.

There is a sizable den underneath the rock now. Hidden and warm. It wasn’t big enough for their kits, but it could be before the kits come in a few weeks from now. 

With a meal in their bellies, they huddle together in the den under the large boulder. It is blissful, if still small, and rewards her mate with licking the inside of his ear as they curl closer together. He sees her still tender paws and tries to clean them. Hoping to give them a chance to heal after saving him. 

The wind blows, and the smell of the distant smoke catches the attention of their noses. It miles behind them now, but their home was still in their mind. One day, she knew they would return to it. Find their old dens if they aren’t destroyed. Raise their future kits there again amongst the new young trees growing in the old ashes. 

But for now, she also smells the meadow being warmed by the morning and thinks this will suit them well for now.