The Fox, the Boy, and the Tree

Glaring, and monstrous, the orange of his back gleaming in the bright kitchen lights, his tail, bushy and swaying, he stood there, 14 inches tall and stoic. I swallowed. Rox the fox was a perfectly good excuse to reject my friend Arlo's invitation to hang out. I would have succeeded in my endeavor to deny his invite too, if it hadn't been for the fact that I had lost my house key at school today. Arlo was a dangly 12 year-old who seemed incapable of protecting me against his good friend. Ever since I had stepped inside Rox's domain (Arlo's house), Rox had watched my every move. I swear those yellow eyes and vertical pupils never blinked, but instead, remained locked on me, solid and untrusting. Of course I couldn't tell you for sure if he had blinked or not, as I had only built up the courage to look him in the eye for a brief second. Meanwhile, Arlo was saying something about throwing the baseball around, which I nodded along to, my mind still analyzing Rox.

Being outside was an immediate relief. For one, my proximity to Rox wasn't nearly as close as it had been in the small, bright kitchen. And two, Rox seemed reluctant to leave the porch which he had turned in a few circles on before resting his head on his paws and curling up his large tail. So Arlo and I had a peaceful catch, joking, laughing and working off the stress of the sixth grade. That was until Rox suddenly sprung to his feet with innate agility. I, who had continued to watch the fox out of the corner of my eye, turned immediately towards him as the baseball soared towards me, pelting me in the arm. There was no time to groan in pain, I scooped up the baseball and took aim at the now charging fox. If I had been thinking clearly, or if my building fear of the animal hadn't been so immense, I might have noticed the scampering squirrel that sped in front of me. However, I saw only the advancing fox and felt a sense of rising panic somewhere in the area of my stomach. With the power and accuracy of a well-trained little league pitcher, I launched the baseball at Rox, whose eyes remained fixed on the squirrel. The baseball hit its mark. I sighed in relief. Arlo yelled out in fear. Rox made a yelping sound like a wounded dog, and the squirrel merely traveled on. The relief was temporary. Arlo sprinted over to Rox's side, as the fox, already recovering, started to get to his feet. My panic returned as Arlo turned his gaze away from the fox and onto me. His eyes were bright green, but they seemed to burn yellow in the company of his orange companion. So strikingly did they resemble the fox's, that I stumbled backwards, instinctively frightened. His gaze was fixed, unwavering, as he stroked Rox slowly. I started to apologize, but the fear in my stomach twisted my words, and they emerged from my mouth, jumbled and unrecognizable.

I was terrified of the boy and his unusual control over his fox, but was simultaneously mesmerized by the pair. I could neither look away, nor say anything; I continued to stumble backwards, my eyes darting between my adversaries, my palms sweating, my heart pounding. My foot was thwarted in its next step as a tree root interrupted its progress. I reached an arm out to steady myself, grasping a low limb of a fairly large tree.

The tree had broken my fixation with the ominous duo, and brought around my senses. Aware that I had mere seconds before the fox had recovered enough to pursue me, I began to climb the tree. The first few seconds of the climb were pure instinct. My adrenalin was carrying me, and I thought of nothing except the next branch. I climbed as high as I dared, never looking down, never pausing to listen for Rox or Arlo's movements. At last, I reached a point where the thinned branches could no longer support me. My heart was beating uncontrollably, my body was shaking, the anxiety was nearly overpowering. I looked down to see Arlo standing at the tree's base, he seemed to be whispering to Rox who was preparing to jump. Finally, my brain began to calculate. Could foxes climb trees? I seemed to be 20 feet up, if I fell, I would surely break something. With one swift motion, the fox launched himself onto a low hanging branch. I cursed loudly and Arlo looked up at me, his leering smile visible through the tree branches. The fox began to climb, digging his claws into the tree's trunk, propelling himself forward. I was trapped. If I climbed still higher, the branches would snap under my weight. If I jumped, I would break my leg and be easy prey for my pursuer. The fox was closer now, I could hear him breathing and snarling. He was nearly upon me, teeth bared in a way that almost looked like his master's leer.

I gripped my branch with both hands and swung my legs below it, as the fox lunged. Fearful of his pointy teeth that resembled fangs, I released my grip, hoping to land on a lower branch. My sneaker scraped the branch as my knee came crashing down to meet it. With a sickening crunch, the branch snapped, and I, along with it, tumbled hopelessly towards the ground. I threw my arm out instinctively to break the fall, and that too snapped with an ominous crack. I leapt up, nearly as quick as the fox had in pursuit of the squirrel, adrenalin rendering me immune to my broken arm. The broken branch lay across Arlo, having caught him through the middle. He was moaning and calling Rox's name. I did not turn my eyes up the tree to look for the fox, nor did I pay Arlo another glance, I ran. The knee that had smashed into the branch struggled to keep pace with the other, causing me to limp as I fled. I reached the street breathing heavily. The pain began to sink in and I shoved the collar of my shirt into my mouth to keep from yelling out. I could no longer support myself, so I sank to the ground, struggling to remain conscious. I couldn't manage it. Right before I was plunged into the pit of unknowing, I looked across the way, spotting the two figures I had fled. The boy was a lump sprawled on the ground, and the fox hovered over him, his cries audible. He had his two front paws on Arlo's chest and he had eyes for none but the boy.