A/N
Disclaimer: This is yet another work inspired by and based directly off of Beatrix Potter's The Tale of Mr. Tod. I claim no rights to that particular work, but I would appreciate it if no one were to re-post this work of fan-fiction anywhere else, please and thank you!
When walking through the woods on a cool summer evening, one would expect to encounter many different wily beasts and situations upon each and every visit, yet usually the same sounds that are common in a well-traveled part of the timberland. Such as, the noise a frog kicks into motion as it leaps from a lily pad, or the rustle a rabbit makes when searching for a fresh patch of green clover. Maybe even the stubborn crackling that a few forgotten acorns might make when trodden on. Yes, that is the sort of racket anyone would usually hear when taking a walk down an old, shady trail.
But, silence had wrung itself out to dry over a regularly loud and vibrant woodland that was normally buzzing with life and incessant, squirrel-y chatter on any other day of the week, in that very same way that has been described earlier. Where birdsong once danced upon the wind, there was nothing to be had but the occasional rustling of dead leaves and, sometimes, a defiant chirp from a cricket. The atmosphere would have seemed decidedly... eerie to any late-evening traveler.
That is why it had been even more odd that a rather well-dressed gentleman, clad in an attractive-looking scarf and his beguiling brown coat flowing behind him in a lovely flourish, could be spotted walking through this dense forest at such a late hour. He also had an absurdly pompous spring to his step and a slender walking stick clutched in his black-gloved hand. It can be assumed that the cane was possibly to be used as a defense against any unruly and therefore wild animals, as there happens to be a number of them to be found out in the woods. Most of them wouldn't have even had to think twice when it came down to having a row with you or offering up a creamy, steaming cup of tea! But whichever one they would choose to do is anyone's guess, really.
Anyways, as this savvy stranger walks along the rugged forest path, each step that he takes leaves the dainty impressions of four-toed paw prints in the earthy soil where his leathery feet had trodden, since there had been a strong amount of rainfall the previous night. Yes, you have heard me correctly, paw prints; for this man isn't a man at all, but a sly fox! From his black eartips right down to his reddish-brown fur and pointed snout. The well-known and feared by all of the slight creatures who inhabit the more populated areas of this lush forest, Mr. Tod!
Snap! Pausing in his tracks, the clever creature turns to face the empty path behind him, ready to go up in arms if need be. The fox stares for a full, intense, thirty seconds, ears twitching at the slightest sound, into the overgrown expanse of beech trees. Suddenly, a songbird, blue in coloration and frantically fanning it's wings about, bursts out of the brush while exclaiming loudly so that the entire forest can hear it's annoying, sing-song tale of despair and forewarning: "Fox! Fox! Fox on the path!" Before taking off into some other part of the woodland. Feeling rather testy, Mr. Tod returns to the task at hand and resumes his 'stroll' with a loud snort of disdain. And by stroll, I am referring to the tedious process of scavenging for a bite to eat, or maybe even securing a fresh, warm meal by capturing an unsuspecting fellow path goer. Which had become nigh impossible due to the afore-mentioned blue feathered heathen's warning.
Plus, as an even more apparent downer, Mr. Tod's late evening walk had been entirely unsuccessful thus far, for he hadn't been able to find not one person who was lured in by his tricky tactics. Personally, he would blame this dwindling amount of prey, ehrm, excuse me, "guests", on that lumbering fool Tommy Brock, the badger. Upon recalling the unsavory name of his grey and white nemesis, a growl rose in the fox's throat, his upper lip peeled back into an excruciatingly unfriendly snarl so that his pearly whites were showing, and his grip became a bit tighter on his cane, so much tighter that the polished wood might have splintered if any more pressure were to be applied. His brown eyes were practically blazing along with his moodiness, causing them to have more of an amber glow to them.
So, there Mr. Tod stood. He remained still on the path for a moment, whiskers twitching ever so slightly as he glared into the woods with such ferocity that maybe the vegetation should have had the decency to catch fire, before he relaxed immensely, a ridiculously sudden action might I boldly add, and settled for fiercely tugging at his nice tailored coat's fabric to express his anger further. Not enough to rip, however, as the fox treasured his outfits of days gone by.
Glancing balefully up at the sky, which had become splotched with dark grey patches while he had been out, Mr. Tod supposed that he had better start making his way back to his humble abode. As most intelligent beasts do, Mr. Tod never strayed too far from his home (Or any of his homes that he stayed in at random intervals, for that matter.), and generally wove his way back to it in a series of unrecognizable patterns. His being just over the not too terribly distant rise, it wouldn't take much effort for the fox to return to his house, but it might if he were to try to conceal it properly. So that perhaps a certain badger wouldn't find it so easy to doze in one of his clean, freshly laundered beds.
An exasperated huff left the fox's muzzle, and he began walking again, light padding noises following in his wake.