Finke The Fox

My name is Finke. Finke the Fox. I was never the cleverest pup in the litter. But my ability to hold my tongue has made me cleverer than many, I suppose. Bilifin, my now-deceased cousin, was too loose with his tongue. He should have stuck to licking chicken morsels. Instead, he got friendly with some little men on their homestead. They were not much bigger than he. The little men waddled to fetch their taller friends, hollering all the while. So I heard. Bilifin was never seen again. The poor fool. Some say he was blinded, skinned, then burned at the settlement. Others say the hounds tore him limb from limb. The torture did not stop with Bilifin. His closest kin were hunted down as well. We foxes like to wander, but men continue to drive us from our holes. They strip trees to build hideous structures and to trap other animals. Foxes retreat deeper and deeper into the receding woods. Talking foxes like Bilifin and me, but wiser than Bilifin, refrain from speaking at all in the common tongue. We are a strong species, but men attack us from a distance, or sniff us out with hounds, or flush us out with flames. Those of us who can speak common tongue bear the burden of silence. For survival. The tragedy of Bilifin and the others was years ago. Since that event, I had been a wise fox that feigned normalcy. I merely observed men from a distance, resisting the temptation to indulge in conversation with them. Until today.

The sun rose like any other day. I wriggled out of my hole to watch. It crept above the treeline, an orb orange with relentless fury. I pruned my tail and gulped down a vole before plodding toward an unexplored nook at the base of the mountains. The developments of men push us closer and closer to the looming peaks. I rather like the change of scenery. 

Squirrel chatter emanated from the tree canopy above. I paused to listen when I heard a strange noise. Someone, or something was crashing through the underbrush. The squirrels noticed as well, silencing themselves. Perhaps squirrels here are as wary as my kind. My hind paw extended, as I slowly began to backtrack toward the nearest bush. A flash of pain shot up my leg as I was ripped from the ground. The world spun and blood rushed to my head. For the first time in my life, and presumably the last, I had been snared. I now dangled from a rope suspended from an elm. I had sniffed out dozens of steel traps in my time, but this rope had avoided my detection. Until now. The abnormal crashing in the underbrush had stopped. Murmurs now came from that direction. A whinny. Moments later, the heads of two horses became visible. My end shall be unfettered by delay, I surmised glumly. The rope continued twisting, allowing only a brief glance at the approaching party. A wave of helplessness washed over me. I hated that feeling. These men were here to seal the kill. Farmers around here might just be hungry enough to make fox stew. I twisted upward to gnash my teeth at the rope. Nothing. That only served to make me spin faster. Dizziness increasing, I could only think of one possible means of escape. I had to talk my way out of this. 

“A fox is hanging from the tree over there!” cried a high-pitched female voice. She sounded dismayed. “Foxes never let me draw near. Maybe I can understand this one!”

What is she going on about?

“Steady. There could be other traps nearby. Bear traps even. Girls, stay behind me.” This voice was gruff and gravelly. It reminded me of the farmer types who murdered Bilifin. 

“Please, Berac. He needs our help.” The female again. 

Time slowed as the group encircled me. I sensed the presence of four horses, although only two were visible. They all kept a respectable distance. Three men were in front. One young male, positioned awkwardly on the steed. He had to be an inexperienced rider. Two females on another horse. The one with the reins was tall. Her confident posture and mane of golden hair gave off a regal aura. But what do I know? I am just an entrapped, wrongside-up talking fox. The female behind her was much smaller in stature. Olive skin, purple markings on her face, and ashy black hair. The tips of pointed ears poked out just past her hair. She is no man… One look into her gray eyes, and my fur began to crawl. I could feel her probing inside my head. She could somehow see into my very spirit. What kind of special torment have they devised now? 

Easy, clever one. We’re not here to harm you. You’re injured.

Her voice was strangely soothing, but also unsettling. It echoed between my ears as if she had not spoken out loud. Not knowing how to respond, I blurted, “Do not play the games of man with me. Give me a swift death and go about your business.” So much for talking my way out. The small female concentrated harder, but the others turned pale as fresh snow. Am I that intimidating? Beyond being a magical talking fox? 

I’m an Algersan. Stewardess of the forest. Finke… is it? You’re not using magic. This is how I communicate with animals like you. I’m in your mind.

“Pardon me, crazy Algersan, but now I’m speaking out loud. Your companions can hear me too.” It was her turn to turn pale. 

“I-I… I thought the likes of you were extinct,” she stammered. “I’ve never met an animal fluent in common speech.”

“There is a reason for th…'' the rope above me snapped and I plunged toward the ground. Whoever was behind me caught me with a calloused hand. He clutched a nasty blade in the other hand. I yelped and wriggled free from his grasp. I caught myself mewling and stopped. Foxes are not supposed to show weakness. I glared defensively at the riders, but refrained from running. The male who had severed the rope sheathed his knife. Grim face. Sturdy build. Cold, calculating eyes. Like mine. I would give him a chance. My broken leg did not leave any other option. Everyone stared at me. Even the horses. The stares seemed almost as threatening as drawn weapons would have been, but I convinced myself that the Algersan had been truthful. They had no intention to harm me. The tall female swung her leg over the side of her steed and gracefully dismounted. She helped the Algersan down as well. The Algersan whispered something in the tall female’s ear. The tall female in turn signaled to the rest of the group. They dismounted and began untying provisions. Even with the riders dismounted, the horses sagged from the weight of their baggage. They must have undertaken a long journey. The travelers passed around water skins and bundles of cloth. The contents of the cloth smelled delicious. My attention flicked back to the Algersan. She was approaching silently, palms open. Her teeth were visible, but not bared. Despite the days I have spent watching men from a distance, facial expressions still baffle me. Still, her behavior continued to suggest no ill intent. For the first time I noticed the orange flowers tucked behind her ear. Stewardess of the forest. Perhaps she and I were not so different. She sat down beside me. She unwrapped a piece of cloth, revealing a portion of yellow crumbly goodness. I eyed the snack greedily. 

“You’re welcome to have this, long as I can take a look at your paw,” she offered. 

An uncharacteristic urge to crawl onto her lap struck me. I did so, almost in a trance. Pain forgotten, I nibbled at the snack. Traces of honey and sweet corn met my tongue. I remembered the days of attacking fallen beehives as a pup. The rewarding honey was not always worth the stings, but I was never the cleverest pup in the litter. My siblings usually managed to avoid the stings. 

“I go by Azura. I will help you heal,” the Algersan said, stroking the fur between my ears. Never before had I felt so warm as I did at that moment. Her fingers ran over my throbbing leg. The pain from the rope burn faded at her touch. She massaged the fractured bone, and it soon felt rejoined. Azura sang so softly. The words were not in the common tongue, but understanding was not necessary to glean the beauty from it. The flowers and shrubs around us perked up, as if they acknowledged the beauty as well. Stems a little straighter, pedals a little brighter. 

Introductions were made with the other riders. Berac. Noellynn. Marcus. “A talking fox! I’ve seen it all,” Marcus said, still in disbelief. Noellynn and Berac shared a chuckle. They were not as surprised. I let the group take turns stroking my fur. At first, I assumed Azura had drugged me. So many strange sensations at once. Upon further thought, I did not truly believe I had been drugged. I wanted to question the travelers about their journey at paw, but I grew drowsier with every passing moment. I slipped into a deep slumber, still in Azura’s arms. 

When I awoke, the travelers were gone. I do not know what significance their journey would bear to others, but to me, a previously unacknowledged void had now been filled in my life. I will carry with me this mystery until the soil claims my bones. Clever or not, perhaps I will give man another chance.