The vixen knew her time was near. She crept between the awkwardly twisted headstones, leaving deep paw-prints in the saturated soil, knowing it would not be long until she would skip nimbly through the undergrowth again without the burden of unborn cubs dragging on her belly. Her destination lay at the opposite side of the churchyard, underneath a sprawling horse-chestnut tree. She squelched through the carpet of fallen leaves and wriggled underneath the thick ground ivy into the earth she had returned to barely a fortnight earlier. She lay down on the bare, sandy soil and curled her tail around herself. It began to rain, large thunderspots rattling noisily off the ivy leaves, a noise that soon lulled the tired vixen to sleep.
A short time later, a second fox, a big dog with a fresh scar running down his left cheek, approached the entrance to the earth. His chestnut coat was soaked through and hung in long spikes, revealing his dark under fur that kept his skin warm and dry despite the deluge. He could smell the vixen sleeping within and hesitated. Recently, his affectionate, compliant mate had morphed into a barrel-shape harpy and he had taken to tip-toeing around her finer feelings, the boundaries of which shifted daily. He shook his coat vigorously, spraying the worst of the rainwater across the soggy ground, and crept inside, keeping his head low.
The vixen opened one eye.
'What do you want?' she growled sleepily at him.
'To sleep,' the dog fox replied with a little grunt.
'You're soaking wet.'
'It's chucking down, Fern!'
'Come on Spencer,' she grumbled, waking a little more, 'you're dripping all over the floor and making it muddy.'
'I can't help it – its tipping down out there and I shook off what I could...'
'Quit yapping.' Fern snarled, cutting her mate off mid-moan. 'You should be grateful that I've even let you in here the way I'm feeling. You should be grateful that I'm not sending you back out there to find me some food... save me from dragging myself around, reduced to chasing worms...'
'Aww, are the cubs getting you down?' Spencer asked, grooming her fur in that hard-to-reach place just behind her left ear.
Instantly furious, the vixen shifted position, preparing to spring up at her mate, 'Will you just...!' she snapped, then faltered as her millimetre-short fuse extinguished itself in a little buzz of pleasure that zipped down her spine. 'Keep doing that...' she said, sinking back down onto the slightly damp soil.
/-/
Springtime crept softly through the town. So softly that winter barely noticed its arrival and decided to slather copious amounts of snow on the gently greening landscape. True to her word, Fern had ousted Spencer from the earth. The dog fox crouched under the ivy, sheltering the best he could from the freezing white flakes. He watched, fascinated, as they floated to earth like misshapen butterflies. Spencer had never seen snow before and tried to snap the flakes out of the air. He enjoyed the feel of the cold wetness on his tongue and began singling out particularly juicy looking specimens.
'Having fun?' Sounded a harsh cry from atop a grey headstone a few feet away from the fox.
Spencer paused and turned to face the crow that had dared to disturb him. 'Yes, thank you.' He replied curtly.
'I thought a lively young fox like you would have cubs to feed.'
'Not yet.' Spencer grinned, snapping at the next flake that drifted past his nose, showing the irritating bird how little he cared for what he said.
'You'll regret wasting this time when you should be finding food for your mate.' The crow chattered, fluffing up its black plumage. 'I've already brought up a family, and I know how much time it takes up. You'll be exhausted, just mark my words...' He shut his eyes, satisfied he'd imparted some wisdom to the youngster.
Spencer took a step closer. The novelty of snowflake-catching had worn off and the cold had begun to seep into his paws. 'Thank you Crow – you've been very helpful.'
Confused by the vulpine gratitude, the crow opened one eye just in time to see the fox's fangs rushing towards him before the world went dark and smelly.
Spencer hoped Fern would appreciate a crow-shape morsel.
Fern...
Fern had not told Spencer exactly why he was not welcome anymore, or even how long he should stay away. He trotted back to the earth entrance, leaving little pawprints in the snow which had already ceased to fall.
As usual, Spencer paused before going inside, checking to ensure he had not been followed. He dropped the dead bird and listened, straining his ears trying to guess what was going on inside the earth. He was not sure, but he though he heard the tiny mewling of a newborn cub.
'Fern?' Spencer called quietly. 'Fern? You okay?'
'Come in, darling.' Fern replied softly. It had been a while since Spencer had been called that. He picked up the feathered peace offering and slipped underground into the darkness and the overwhelming odour of milk and newborns.
Spencer dropped the still-warm crow under Fern's nose and exclaimed; 'The cubs are here!'
'They are indeed,' Fern agreed, tearing into the crow, 'as if I hadn't noticed...' she muttered under her breath.
Spencer sniffed at the tiny cubs huddled together on the bare earth. He counted four individuals. 'How many girls and boys?' he asked.
'Three daughters and one son.' Fern smiled back, licking their heads as they suckled.
Spencer grinned and swelled with pride. 'I'll find some more food.' He promised as he turned and left the earth. He trotted through the undergrowth as if he owned it, which was true for the time being at least. Thoughts of his newborn family filled his head, plans for teaching them how to hunt and the wonder in their eyes as they saw the sun for the first time. The dual carriageway that marked the boundary of Spencer and Fern's territory loomed ahead, but the thought of quarrelling with the neighbours didn't faze him. Fern deserved to eat rabbit tonight. Spencer was easily the biggest fox in the city and had earned a formidable reputation and a lot of respect, despite only being a yearling.
Feeling quite full of himself, Spencer trotted out onto the tarmac and completely failed to notice the car until he was blinded by the headlights.
