I: The Twilight Huntress
The first rays of sunlight permeated from beyond the forest's horizon, diffusing through layers of dense vegetation, including the fresh green leaves of the sycamores and oaks. It was the dawn of a new day. An eloquent staccato of chirping songbirds sounded overhead. On the forest floor, below the dew-dribbled bushes and thistles carpeting the meadows, was a cottontail rabbit. It foraged attentively beneath the twilight mist, nibbling at the wildflowers and grasses flourishing within the rich topsoil.
The rabbit paused for a moment, searching its proximity for any imminent dangers. Its head was raised; mounting two vertically elongated ears. They scanned the atmosphere for the slightest disturbance: any unwarranted vibration or faint rustle within the foreground. Having detected nothing, the rabbit eased its tension and returned to its quiet activity.
Within an instant, a terrifying flash of bright red-orange loomed over the hapless quarry. Instinctively, the rabbit's forelegs discharged like compressed springs, vaulting its body forward. Such an action was without any mental processing; its body acted autonomously to evade the ambush.
Unfortunately, the vixen had timed her attack perfectly: she had aimed for the forelegs of the rabbit, expecting her prey's reflexes to jolt it about six inches ahead of its initial position. Her movements were swift and extremely efficient; it was as if every joule of kinetic energy was dedicated towards minimizing the effort needed. Like a ballistic missile, she intercepted her target at the exact location intended, approximately two and a half meters northeast of her take off. The parabolic trajectory of her leap was magnificent; her long luxuriant brush flung upwards as she pounced her helpless quarry. With excellent dexterity, she focused the momentum of her supple body at her forelegs, effectively pinning the target upon impact.
The rabbit squirmed under immense pressure, jolting in almost any direction in a desperate attempt to break free. The vixen, however, wasted no time: she then silenced her prey with a timely precision nip, snapping its spinal cord. The hunt was over.
Whether the prized rabbit was paralyzed or dead was hard to determine; it hung limply in her mouth as she effortlessly carried it to one of her many caching locations, about a quarter mile east of the meadows. There, she began to feast on her prize, indulgently ripping apart the rabbit's loins and completely devouring its left hind leg. Her sharp, incisive canines served her well. The rabbit was definitely lifeless by now.
Her morning hunger was more than adequately satiated, for she intuitively begun to dig, unearthing one of her favorite spots. After overturning approximately a cubic foot of soft mud, moisturized by the morning dew that had permeated through the dewy topsoil, the vixen delicately placed the half-eaten remains within. She then buried her unfinished meal, lightly compressing the soil on top in order to preserve the carrion by minimizing the atmospheric oxygen that interacted with it. After briefly memorizing the specific location of her cache, she continued towards the next phase of her morning routine.
For the next half hour the vixen systematically scouted the perimeter of her territory, using her keen auditory and olfactory senses to detect even the slightest dangers. While she may be a fierce huntress, there always existed potential dangers that could invade her range. An abundant variety of more fearsome carnivorous mammals shared her habitat, including wolves, mountain lions, black bears, bobcats, and coyotes. She also had to worry about potential territorial disputes with other foxes; this included protective fox families and barren vixens who would viciously assault her over the most diminutive squabbles. And, of course, there always existed the threat of man: his treacherous combustible weapons, his loyal and menacing canine servants, and his insidious, yet inanimate, steel jaws, hidden and laced with seductive fragrances.
Fortunately for her, this morning, all was quiet on the western front. She quietly meandered through the forest along multiple known animal highways, systematically visiting each of the dozens of keystone locations that formed the edge of her range's boundary line. She stopped for a few moments at each checkpoint, reconnoitering the post for any irregularities within her parish, and then methodically marked it. In order to maintain her territorial establishment, this process had to be done at least three times a week due to the volatility of her urine. She needed to assert her presence towards potential competitors. Securing a staple food supply from the limited resources available within her district was a constant responsibility. Her survival depended on it.
After reinforcing her territorial beacons, she supplemented her morning diet by foraging through wild berries. Because it was spring, a wide variety of bushes, shrubs and trees were blooming with an abundance of nourishing fruits. Of these, the vixen gorged on black berries, apples, and wild strawberries.
She always had to keep her wits about her, even when feeding on harmless vegetation. For instance, she had to be extremely careful when eating apples, cherries, peaches, plums, and apricots. Her prudency in this endeavor heavily focused on avoiding accidental ingestion of seeds, and she was very particular in detecting the slightest taste of bitterness. Indeed, she was very wise in her heeding of the plants' gustatory warnings, for extreme bitterness within wild fruits is highly indicative of the cyanide anion, a substance known to be lethal to any complex aerobic organism.
Of course, being that she was prudent about her consumption of fruits from apparently benignant plants, she yielded extreme caution when eating fungi. This was especially the case when foraging among conspicuously colored mushrooms, such as the fly agaric, whose outlandish displays blatantly spelled death. She also took specific care and attention to the death caps, whose white colorations bore a strong semblance to more common, edible field mushrooms.
Once adequately satiated, the vixen rested in accordance to her nocturnal tendencies: she napped just before sun begun its prominence in the clear blue sky. She was quite exhausted; her body needed rest in order to digest and metabolize the nutrients she consumed. She wallowed flatly beneath some shrubbery; her creamy white belly relaxed on the shaded soil that was still moist, and silently dozed off as the lazy afternoon bore on.
The loud cracking of thunder abruptly interrupted her long daytime slumber. It was almost dusk, and the cold humidity within the atmosphere had increased significantly. Without any second thought, the vixen headed straight to her earth, at the center of an established game preserve, structured beneath a giant oak leaning slightly on the side of a hill. She never considered the possibility of rain today; otherwise she would not have undertaken the cumbersome chore of reestablishing her territorial markings. The rain would simply wash away all her efforts; and she would need to once again reiterate them. It was truly a pain.
Nevertheless, she was grateful for the sufficient shelter her den provided from the weather. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to have to endure the night outside, alone, within the freezing rainstorm. The compacted soil served her well in insulating her body warmth, generating a temperate and cozy ambience within the burrow. She sprawled languidly about the comfortably dry floor, her legs astride, gazing into the torrential downpour through a small aperture, which served as the entrance of her dwelling.
Suddenly, a poignant feeling of hopelessness and despondency drowned her thoughts. Honestly, she had almost everything a fox could ever wish for: a secure territorial hunting ground, a reliable source of food, a suitable abode, and an impressive arsenal of survival skills and a solid foundation of intelligence and guile. Really, in light of these considerable successes in life, this forlorn feeling of failure and inadequacy was uncalled for.
Yet, somehow, somewhere deep inside her heart, she felt as if she was missing something. It was something critical, something so important that her failure to acquire it had completely overshadowed all her other achievements, and undermined self-confidence they generated. It was almost as if the world was mockingly cruel to her, by granting her all of these desirable assets and material comforts but denying her this one thing.
Her attention transitioned to the inside of her humble dwelling. Every sound she made, no matter how soft or inaudible, echoed in the stillness. Despite its relatively cramped quarters, the interior appeared increasingly cavernous and vacant.
