Fox Kin
We run when the mortals enter the wood. They come with their hounds, whose unnatural yowling fills our ears with nightmares. They come with their horses, whose great hooves trample the worn deer tracks and crush little bones to splinters. Worst of all, they come with death in their hands.
The first sign is the uproar of the rooks. They flee their nests and take to the skies. The air is filled with a cacophony of caws, wingbeats, and fright. A brief silence follows after their wings have carried them far away, but we are already on the move ourselves. We run.
Blurs of red and white streak through the forest. Two legs become four. Everyone knows four legs are faster than two. Wings are faster still, and those who have them are borne away to safety on the wind. The rest of us dive under fallen trees or leap across and sprint away on the other side.
The long-eared of us disappear into the warrens. They burrow deep into the earth where not even the hounds cannot reach them. Others flee into the arms of the higher fae, whose glamour hides them from the Hunt. But not all the fae are kind. Only those who have a bond with one of the old beings will seek refuge in their courts.
For the rest of us – those with a crown of antlers or a white tip to our bushy tails – the only hope we have is that we might be faster than the mortals on their horses and the hounds at their heels.
I have run this path a thousand times over since the day I was whelped. I am little more than a blur of auburn fur between the trees. Fear is bright in my eyes. My tongue lolls to the side of my mouth. Ahead, I see the flash of my brother’s tail as he darts in and out of the thicket. I catch a glimpse of the empty space where the tip of his ear should have been – shot off when he was barely more than a pup. The sight of it is all I need to keep my legs moving.
They are closing in now. I can hear the barking of the dogs, loud enough to hurt. Great hooves pound the earth. It shakes beneath my paws. The world is unsteady. I know it is the fear overwhelming my imagination that turns the wind into hot breath on the back of my neck.
A gaping darkness appears between the roots of a tree. I dive into it. I claw at the earth and bury myself as deep into its womb as the size of the hollow will allow. The world thunders around me. The tree trembles despite its size as the Hunt divides in two and rides by on either side. The dogs have missed my scent. They charge on into the forest.
The sound of their passing fades into nothing, the hammering of the horses’ hooves replaced by silence and the pounding of my own frightened heart. The wood is almost peaceful in their absence, but I do not leave the safety of my hole. I will not leave until it is as dark without as it is within, when the Hunt is sure to have returned to where they belong.
It is a long time before I stop shaking.
Towards the end of twilight, I am roused from my post-flight stupor by the sound of approaching footsteps and a low keening. One of the dogs pads into view, lost. It slumps down outside my hollow tree and rests its chin on its paws, long ears drooping. At first, fear coats my fur – suppose it scents me?
Before I can react, the dog is gone, and a boy lies in his place. Sweat and dirt mar his skin. His ears are too big for his head. In all this time, I had never thought I’d see a dog walk on two legs. Are all the hounds of the Hunt like this? Do their mortal masters know?
I crawl forwards on my belly – ignoring all the warnings in my mind – and touch my cold nose to his elbow. He flinches when he sees me, but he does not seem frightened, or angry. I draw up into my two-legged form – a girl with hair as red as my fox’s fur. His eyes widen at that. Perhaps he did not know either, that we are one and the same.
We do not exchange words. I return to the hollow in my fox form, and he slips in beside me as a dog. There is just enough room for the two of us to lie side by side on our bellies, noses twitching toward the open, sniffing the air.
Tonight, the hunt is over. Tonight, we are kin.