Hidden in a deep thicket, the undergrowth so dense with life that it was bursting from the seams with lush bushes and berries and all other delights, the setting sun waved its last tendrils of light upon aging tree bark, acres and acres of dense trees it appears as if the woodlands expanded into forever. A fine mist washed over the dew-ridden land as it sunk into the inky blackness. Another rotation of sun to moon, another passing by of cloud formations, the forest lay as it had, subject to the bipolar nature of recent storms, droughts and other phenomena that has caused an atmosphere of tension across all the beating hearts.
Brother fox scampered around the usual moss covered logs, familiar terrain brushed up against his dark auburn fur, worn paw pads laced with ancient dirt the touch of mankind had yet to conquer. Brother fox held a foreign scent to his nose, not human, but of another animal. The scent held traces of what he associated with death and toxicity, the tang of unnatural flavors. Brother fox slunk down at a small gap between the bushes, the leaves and twigs more disgruntled looking than usual. A new pathway paved by some larger mass. His hackles raised, the scent was here, but his fox mind knew this was also the hunter’s land. That dreaded long limbed predator with his iron stick, booming shots that could wipe out acres of even the largest of creatures. The thunder clap of man’s contraptions kept the fox weary.
Keeping low to the ground, muscles tense, brother fox crept forwards through the disturbed growth, until he came upon a most unreal sight. A rusted fox trap, its once menacing hinges now secured shut in a sort of death in itself, around a much larger hind leg. The fur was matted, ridden with small insects that combed through his hide like small invaders, once trimmed fur no longer a virgin to the ferocities of all of nature’s wrath. Weather worn and tired strands of dark gray, brown patches to fill the gaps on his back and face, his body mimicking the muddy forest floor, intermingled with the fields of gray, or the color of a rainy midday sky. Flies swarmed the most infected part of the leg as brother fox peered out from the shadows. The hound’s body lay aside, as if he was lying down to sleep, but sleep would never come.
His voice felt small and hesitant against the soaked earth. The dog’s eyes, pools of honey, glazed over with exhaustion, staring into some distant patch of leaves. He was past the stages of fear. Now he simply felt defeat. “I ran and ran for my master’s kill” he gasped against the dirt. “My jaws were so close to it, I was so close to it. I could taste it’s fear.” The hound heaved, its ribcage expanding through the skin, small ridges of malnutrition. “I was doing everything right.”
Brother fox, settling his instinct to flee from those large jaws of his, sat down a small distance away from the guest. Beneath the gray and brown curls the keen eyes of the fox recognized a leather collar. “Brother hound,” the fox whispered, “where is your master?”
“Four cycles of the sun and not one of my scenes has picked up his presence.” His words were drawled, drool lazily snaked down his maw. A fly crawled to the rim of his eye, only bouncing off as the hound’s fading gaze rolled over to his spectator.
“This fate was supposed to be for you, brother fox.” He wheezed, his dark auburn fur coating an even darker look - but once not backed by vengeance, but pure sorrow. “I did everything I was asked. I was obedient. I used my body for him, I used my every living cell to serve him, to feed his children. My living form was created to be an equal contender to death. I am the hunt. He made me the hunt.”
“How alone you must be,” said brother fox, noticing how the hound’s bronze name tag reflected the evening sun, “to have a name without a family.”
“How lonely you must be,” replied brother hound, bitterly, “to be nameless in an infinite world,
I can feel myself fading. Emptying inside, getting hollow. Tell me, brother-“ his breath was laboring now. “When you felt the tip of my teeth grazing your hide, when your small heart pumped so hard for you to escape me, did you ever think about giving up?”
“In my language there is no word for giving up,” said brother fox. “I am the chase. My living form was designed to escape all of the evils that stalk me. You may be the hunt, but I am the thing that completes you. With or without a master you are just another four-legged beast that in brilliance molds to whatever the higher powers desire. You hold onto a wild heart that devours essence like the water devours land. Without the chase, brother hound, you are already dead.”
A defiant look in the glaze of his eye. The hound gave the ghost of a grin. “My master will come find me, and then I’ll find you, brother fox. You sound so sure of my death.”
“Because brother, you stopped running.”
A pause, the hound’s heavy breathing filling the air.
“He will find me.”
“I know.”
The words of brother fox rang true, but were echoed in the thunder clap of man’s arms. The trap lay barren once again, and the barks of brother hounds never graced the forest air again.
Brother fox lay in a rusted trap. His coat barely graying, yet the sands of time degraded those sly bones of his. There was no need to fight. Death arrived when he stopped running. Besides, the oncoming storm of razor teeth and trained muscle would demolish him before he could think.
Giving up wasn’t a word in his language, but brother fox finally realized that it didn’t need a word. It only needed stillness.
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