The Last White Fox

Edgar awoke when the first rays of dawn light poured in the entrance of his den. He stretched his back and slowly climbed out of his den into the bright beautiful day. He was ravenous, he had not been able to hunt for the past two days because of the rain. Although he did not enjoy the cold wet feeling of his fur soaked in water, it was not the rain he feared as much as the flashes of light followed by the loud bangs that came from the sky. His mother had told him when he was very young that it was the sound of his ancestors hunting for their dinner, but he was still afraid. It reminded him of the sound of the two legged animals that hunted his people. His father had told him stories of the old times when his kind were the rulers of the forest.

“We were afraid of nothing,” his father would say, his head held low remembering what it was like to not be in constant fear.

(His father had been killed by the two legs when he was very young.)

He wished that he had been alive in old times, hunting unafraid, being the proud king of the forest. Nowadays, half of the times he went hunting he would encounter one or more two legs. They would not always see him though. Most of the time he would stumble out of the forest to find a pack of them in their odd multicolored fur and their odd objects. The only good thing about them was they were stupid, from observation they had no sense of smell, (how could they with there tiny noses?) They also were very slow moving, when they hunted him they would never move fast and they seemed to not be capable of following trails. The one scary thing was their sticks, they had odd colored sticks that looked to be made of parts of a shiny tree and stone. But they could make loud sounds that would release a small stone that was always aimed at him. He could dodge these things if he was careful, but then there would always be another one coming; they seemed to have an endless supply of the horrible projectiles. this was not them all the time though, occasionally he would stumble upon one and they would see him and make a high pitched sound. Then they would run as fast as their two legs would allow. Edgar was never sure why some were afraid of him and some hunted him, but he was always relieved if they ran.

So, he left his den and wandered out into the bright, beautiful, lush forest, his forest wondering what he could try to hunt for. He had a craving for a nice little rabbit and he thought he remembered a rabbit den not far away. So he followed his memory of the location until he found the den. Then he smelt them, from the smell there must have been about three or four rabbits. The wonderful smell wafted out and filled his nostrils. He loved rabbits. His hunger urged him to gobble one up immediately, but he knew this would alert them all. They were fast and although he could out run them, they would likely run in different directions, and he would only get one rabbit. So, he decided to out smart them, he quietly walked around the den and looked for other holes. The rabbits may be unintelligent, but they had enough brains to have two, three or four entrances to their dens for easy escape. He found three entrances in total and formulated a plan. The rabbits would likely be sleeping still and so he figured he would have enough time to push rocks and dirt over two of the holes in time, then he would run to the remaining hole and dig it big enough to fit himself. The rocks and dirt would only buy him a few minutes, but he was a fast digger and the rabbits would be just waking up. He pushed the rocks and dirt over the first hole and quickly did the second, then he bounded to the third one. He dug his way through, not worrying about his beautiful fur, (he would go to the river to wash off after,) when he dug into the den he could push his way to the other side and grab the first rabbit. He sunk his teeth in its throat, the delicious taste of blood poured into his mouth but he knew there was more to kill, he dug farther and got two more. Satisfied with his meal, he dragged the three rabbits out into daylight and started eating, they were fabulous. He was just starting his second when he heard the first twig break.

“It's just a bear, it's just a bear,” he told himself.

But when he turned around he saw the thing from his worst nightmares, two, no three, two legs slowly walking towards him, shiny sticks pointed at him. He had not smelt them over the rabbit blood. He bolted. Ran as fast as he could, dashing through the forest. He heard the first bang, then the stone whizzing by him. He ran faster, his life depended on it. He jumped over the river, hoping it would buy him some time, but the rabbit in his belly was heavy and they were gaining on him. He tried swerving to shake them off but it was no use, by the 10th bang one of the stones hit his back, he stopped, in extreme pain while the monsters came shouting to deliver the final blow. The world spun, he knew he was dying, oddly he knew he would not miss the world, the last few years had been lonely for him, he had not seen any of his kind since his mother died. He knew he would be happy to finally be reunited with his ancestors. He took one last look at the world, the lush forest, the sound of the water, the beautiful blue sky, and closed his eyes as the first two legs reached him. Little did the two legged know, the last white fox was dead.

The End