Hello! This is my first shot at chapters. Flames may be kindled to roast my marshmallows (or to roast Darkstripe…) but I prefer something more sugary to eat. Tee hee. And so, we begin!

I had often wondered, if I died, what would happen to my spirit? Would my soul simply disintegrate into nothingness? And vanish without a trace? Then…gone for all eternity?

Somehow, I did not like this theory. But as foxes do, I kept to myself, and did not share my foreboding thoughts with any other animal. I pondered day and night, and was afraid to sleep in the evening.

And naturally, I developed a fear of dying. I fretted over the idea, and the more I thought about it, the more I felt my heart thud with anguish.

Really? Really? Thus was all I could think to myself.

I wanted to live forever. I wanted to always smell the fresh, leafy forest around me, and always see the sweet -some days, not so sweet- sky above my head. And always be alive.

What would I ever be if I died?

For a female fox, I had plenty of worries at hand. Too many worries, if you asked me.

But then again, I lived alone with no company. No-one could ask me anything.

I still remembered my mother. She nursed me for a while, cared for me as necessary, then took me out hunting when I was old enough, left me to concentrate on a pigeon, and never came back.

Even when I was a naïve little fox cub, I always nestled up to my mother's warm belly fur and wondered about the emotion that pulsed from her.

It was sorrow and weariness, mingled together with a tint of mourning.

I wondered why on earth she felt that way. Even now, I wish I knew.

My mother never needed me. Sometimes, somehow, I knew that she often thought she was better off without me. She regretted it all.

She really did.

I bet she couldn't wait to get rid of me.

She was kind enough, at least, to take care of me until she didn't need to anymore, and until I didn't need her anymore either. She kept up her kindness for a considerably long time. She was incredibly patient. And after all, she was my mother. Even the most unwilling could never ignore that fact.

I had a sister too.

Primrose didn't even live long, but even in that short time that we were sisters I was sad when she died, and now I miss her very much. I would hear her chatter on about a dozen things while I was trying to get to sleep at night and at daytime I would see her sniffing at bushes and peering around trees as if she was trying to spot someone.

To be truthful I honestly didn't care what she was doing. My early days revolved around getting my mother's attention, because she was so distant, always staring off at the moor and mumbling words under her breath that I failed to comprehend.

By the time she left us, and the same day Primrose was killed by a hunger-crazed older fox that had been wandering the forest for moons, I had no more love for her, no more endurance to put up with her faraway stares. I felt nothing frantic when I at last realised that mother was gone for good.

Now, I am getting steadily older and am drawing closer to the line that separates life from impending death. I was scared.

How can I bear to say good-bye to life?