Chapter 2
A quick leap over a small hillside moved the kit forward to his father's pasture. He had no idea what time it was, but judging by the sun, it looked to be about eleven in the morning. Even though he was already tired from helping his mother with breakfast by dragging the dead calf from the shed to their home, he kept going, sprinting across emerald fields wet with rain and glistening in the morning sun, which tried desperately to peek through any break of clouds.
Only a few more minutes of running, Fox told himself. He knew the area by heart now. Right next to him was the edge of a very dense forest, complete with its share of animals and trees. When his father let him leave early, he'd spend most of his time there, pretending to be a soldier in the Unonian Royal Army. It was his dream to become a soldier of the Unonian Army ever since he was six years old, when his father told him about them. He said they were always loved and appreciated, and, most important, they protected people from the Mafia, who would do anything to destroy Uno, according to him. So, with a mind full of stories and ideas, he raced forward, letting the scenery blur passed him.
Fox passed over the final hill and saw his father standing next to a hover bike and staring out into the distance, with two other men by him. Next to his father was a Careinian Car, the same one that spoke to his father yesterday. But he wasn't smiling or laughing this time. This time he spoke in a deeper tone, almost as if he was afraid of what he was saying. Fox turned his head and studied the other man intently. The other fox was wearing the traditional Unonian army uniform. His green and black uniform was a sharp contrast to his father's clothes. He was talking about something, but Fox could not make out the words. Fox couldn't believe he was this close to a Unonian soldier. But he couldn't let himself be seen in case they were speaking about something important, so Fox crept into a small ditch and watch the three men.
Fox noticed his father looked sick, almost depressed, and watched as he got up to lean against the bike. They seemed to whisper, as not to let anyone hear. Impatient, Fox waited for them to stop talking. He continued to observe his father, and saw that he abruptly stood up and rubbed his forehead, muttering something under his breath.
No man will hurt my family, Fox thought. He picked up a large stick next to him, which was longer than he was tall, and began to pretend he was a powerful warrior, like those in the Unonian Army his father told him about. He said they were the heroes of Uno, and that no soldier feared any enemy. Not only was it Fox's desire to enlist in the Unonian army, but also he wanted to impress his family, which he loved dearly, and protect them from harm. He twirled the stick around and stabbed the ground with it.
"Take that, Mafian man! You can't hurt us!" he shouted as he slashed through the air. He whipped the stick around his lean body and set it in front of him, almost as if he was blocking an attack from an evil man. Occasionally, Fox would look up to see if his father was watching him, but he wouldn't even turn around.
Finally, Fox gave up. Feeling bored, he wandered toward the forest to look for other adventures, twirling his stick as he walked. He blocked out his father's sad looks and stepped through tall grass, using his stick to whip the grass down in front of him.
When he made it to the forest, Fox pretended to kill the Mafian troops with his stick and showed them no mercy. He loved to play this game because he always wanted the chance to show himself that he could be brave and strong. He loved to please people also. If he wasn't overworking himself for his father, he was taking some of the burden off his mother. It made him feel good – helping people, and he didn't mind taking a comment here and there if he wanted to.
Cutting through the air, he waved the stick like a sickle. He liked the sound it made as it ripped the air in front of him. With each swing, he felt more and more like a soldier of the Unonian Royal Army. He couldn't wait to don the sharp looking tunic, pants, and boots. One day I'll be the one to protect my family, he thought as he struck the long stick against a polvenu tree.
Soon, however, he became bored with playing that game, so he climbed up a tree and became a lookout for his imaginary army. Another game was starting up.
"Jerimijo! Hold your gun steady!" Fox shouted at an invisible fox. Squinting his eyes forward, he gazed out into the dark thicket, trying to make it so that his breathing was inaudible. "Steady men," he whispered as he held up a hand. "I hear something… a lot of something." Only the rustling of leaves and the sound of birds dared disturb the kit's silence. He scanned the area intently, waiting for that one moment when enemy soldiers would show themselves and invade.
"Mafians are invading the south wall!" Fox shouted as a group of birds scattered from a nearby tree. "You three, follow me!" Jumping off the old tree, he raced over and began to slash his stick at the invisible intruders with unyielding force. More were racing around the area, going after his men like the winds of a thunderstorm. They tore around Fox, but the kit refused to give up. "You will never sack this fort!" Fox screamed as he blocked two attacks from his left and bashed a Mafian to his right. Then, moving deeper into their lines, he cruised through the droves of soldiers until he met their commanding officer and beheaded him.
But this game started to lose its luster too. When he decided to return to his father about a short while later, he leaned his stick up against a tree and darted back to the field. Leaving the forest in no time, he raced over hills and valleys covered with unending green grass. But, as he passed over a large knoll, he was surprised to see his father running toward him.
"Fox! Come here a minute!" he boomed. Fox could feel his father's voice echo through the sea. His voice was rich and full, truly a unique characteristic. The young fox ran toward him without hesitation, confused as to why he wasn't at his post.
"Yes father?" Fox asked.
His father grabbed his son's shoulders and leaned into his face. "Fox, remember how I told you not to wander off without me knowing where you are? The world is a dangerous place. It is filled with perils one your age cannot see or know." He sounded panicked now, but Fox didn't know why. After all, he was only in the forest playing games he played almost every day.
"I'm sorry, Father, I will remember next time." Fox assured, hoping to escape another lecture.
His father paused and then sighed. Laying his eyes upon his son, he studied him, like he wasn't sure if he had ever seen him before. Fox thought he might have cut himself, but he didn't ask. "I did not call you for that reason. Fox," his father finally stated. "I wanted to tell you how much you mean to your mother and I. You have been a great help to us, and you will soon mature into a man."
Fox gazed up at his father as he paused and glanced up at the sky, almost to hold back a tear. Then he laid a hand on his son's shoulder and gazed into his eyes. "Why are you telling me this now, father?"
His father shook his head. "Remember that your mother and I love you. Never forget what we taught you: about love, fighting, justice, and mercy. They are very important, and I want you to know them so that you can avoid making the same mistakes I did. Don't forget them, and never forget who you are. Never give up my son, trust your instincts. Trust the Lord too, because He will never fail you." Fox looked up at him with uncertainty. His father kneeled down to his level and placed a hand on his son's cheek, stroking it gently while sniffing his nose slightly. "Where I go, you cannot come. There are bad things happening around us, and I must go alone."
"I'm not a coward. I will go too, father." He stared at his father, whose smile quickly turned into a glare.
"Fox, listen to me," his father whispered. "Run, run away from this place as fast as you can and hide in the woods until I come for you." He shook his shoulders hard. "Do as I say! Obey your father, Fox! Run... Run... that's it, as fast as you can! Run!"
At the moment his father shook him, Fox bolted out of sight, not even pausing to casually glance behind him. He had no idea what was going on or why his father spoke to him like that. Who were those men talking to his father a few hours ago? What did they want? What were they here for? Did they have something to do with this? Fox obediently sprinted into the forest, running with fear in his heart. What's happening? This hasn't happened before. Maybe that's because father said bad things were near.
He sped into the dense foliage and grabbed the big stick he was playing with earlier. He decided to continue running until he found a place to stay for a while, closer to Selena. Scenery became monotonous, but soon he began to reach woods familiar to his liking. Leaning up against a dead tree to catch his breath, the kit re-examined his stick, trying to take his mind off of what his father told him. He took out his pocketknife and began to cut away at the stick to make the pointed end sharper. This was a long and time-consuming task, as the stick was made out of a hard wood, and his knife - which once belonged to his father - was dull. In mid-cut, Fox paused and glanced at the knife. He remembered that his father gave him this knife just a few years ago, when he killed his first cow on his ninth birthday. This wasn't a difficult task to accomplish, but it symbolized the beginning of him maturing into a man. Though it was costly, his father also let him kill his best cow, because he wanted his son to "have the best."
Fox started again and tore through the stick, determined to make him a weapon to wield against the Mafia. He recalled that his father told him not to trust a man who supported the Mafia, because they were evil. He ordered Fox to stay away from them, so Fox did as he was told. But it wasn't as if Fox had ever remembered seeing a Mafian before. His father supplied him with the profile, though. Chain mail shirts fit around their dire frames, complete with guns and heavy pants. They knew no mercy, and would do anything to threaten Uno's future. Even though he was told this, Fox still couldn't believe that those people could be so evil.
Even as the sun slowly disappeared from the horizon, Fox was still working diligently on his weapon, his knife slowly chewing away at the bits of wood from the stick. He wanted to help his father and know what was going on. Doing what was asked of him was probably the best choice of action, he reasoned. Finishing the final touches on his spear, he got up and walked along the rolling creek that divided the large forest, and drank some of its glistening water with cupped hands. He was always puzzled as to why this water tasted better than the water at home. It tasted less like metal and was more refreshing than the latter. Discoveries like this made Fox feel important, like he knew information that was useful and helpful to others. After wiping his muzzle, he stood up and searched for more adventure.
The night grew darker and darker and the moon suddenly became the only light in the sky. The forest was ominous, but Fox knew that he had to be brave since that was what his father would want him to do. Never give up, trust your instincts. Fox grew tired and lay in the grass; the coolness of the ground helped him concentrate on the day's confusing events. Something was wrong at home, he reasoned, since it wasn't every day he slept away from home - this was the first time that he could remember. Fox gazed at the treetops where he lay. Nothing looked out of place in the forest. After all, it was still just the woods, just without any lights on. Pausing to see if he could hear something, Fox's ears perked up. Perhaps there was someone who needed his help or assistance? Fox loved to be helpful - loved to help his mother with the dishes, or his father with the cattle, or just about anyone else. He enjoyed helping others, but he did not ask for anything in return, which made him special and different from the other children of the village.
Nothing. Not a sound at all. He placed his stick over his chest, just in case a Mafian soldier would lunge from behind one of the trees and try to ambush him.
Suddenly, he heard something in the distance. Fox knew it wasn't crickets, for they buzzed when the night grew darker than this. This sound was something different, like shouts, possibly coming from near the village. Fox's ears focused on the voices that became louder as each second crept by. His heart raced as panting soon came from his muzzle. The shouts soon turned into a collection of screams and cries, from what he could hear.
Fox got up and ran to see if he could get closer to the sound, stepping on the dead roots and rocks he had avoided so many times in his life while exploring the forest. But after he dodged another limb, Fox stopped dead in his tracks. No sound again. Not even a whisper. He stood, puzzled for a minute, and looked around, examining anything he could detect with his eyes. Not much could be seen in front of him; even his hands were hard to see. However, as Fox squinted forward, he detected a small orange glow emitting from somewhere in the distance. Now he could begin to hear other sounds - cracking sounds coming from the direction of the glow, along with distant screams. It was too far away to notice anything else.
Fox lay down on the forest floor and looked up at the sky. He couldn't help but worry what was happening. All of this seemed so new to him. He worried until he couldn't keep his eyes open any more - and he soon drifted off to sleep on the cool forest floor.