IV: The Crucible of the Wild

She can still recall her first day of serious hunting outside the den as a member of the family… It was cold, it was humid, deathly quiet. Nothing at all like the simulations in the den. Of course, she reckoned, that's pretty much the way it was for all of her littermates, wasn't it? All that breeding, all those weeks of training… it doesn't really prepare one for all the hidden perils or the horrors that lie just beyond the forest's edge, sheathed behind the laurel thickets, does it? Frankly, she was amazed she ever made it through the first day, never mind the first week.

It all began when they were led out into the wild in the wee hours of the morning, when the sky was still pitch-black and the bright, pale moonlight cast an ominous web of shadows projected from the trunks of firs, cedars, junipers, and oaks at the edge of the forest. Their pitch-black silhouettes skewered the fields like black bars, diverging into dark tendrils that slithered ominously across the rural landscape, devouring everything in their path. It might have been haunting to observe how, in just an hour, the skies would turn saffron from eminent emergence of the eye of twilight and that the edges of the forest would be teeming with life.

Here a fox could detect everything from the abundance of fresh scents and audible wildlife activity: the resonant chirping of songbirds, the soft yawning of pheasants, and the covert frolicking of mice and rabbits leaving their holes in the early morning to stretch and feed. It was an ideal environment that supported the livelihoods of these humble creatures–and their natural predators.

"All right!" called the adult vixen; her once glossy red-orange coat was worn and ruffled from summer molting and excessive abrasion. The smooth snow-white fur carpeting her creamy belly was grossly tattered with missing patches, evident of months of unregulated indulgence.

"Your simulation days are over, younglings. This is a real hunt. And if you mess up, you'll really end up in a world of hunger and pain. Now get out there!"

The family was separated into two groups, the larger of which the sprightly red-orange vixen was allotted to. Mother had planned to depart from the rest of the group a little earlier with her two other daughters, whose slower development she felt necessitated her special attention.

"Remember," she asserted to the remaining members of her brood, "we're going to split up for the hunt, but I'll meet you all at the rendezvous point in the glade. Your Father will instruct you further in that regard. He is within your vicinity. You shall be coming up on him shortly. Until then, I'll look forward to seeing all of you… my little ones." She waved her muzzle in a sideways gesture, beckoning her daughters to follow. Then, in a flash, they were gone.

The red-orange vixen was left with her two stronger brothers, both of who she had always looked up to and felt reasonably comfortable in their company. The three of them stood for a while, feeling a little nervous from the quiet and sustained stillness, having been deliberately left alone by their mother for the first time. However, this tingling sense of uneasiness was abruptly dispelled, for they were overtaken by the presence of a paternal figure whose nearness had always brought them a warm feeling of security. A familiar voice let out, calmly.

"Welcome to the wilderness, younglings. It's nice to see she's finally removed you from the simulations."

He began to lead them to the peaceful glade situated a few miles from the den's location, a place he had often frequented himself whenever he wanted some rest and relaxation from the cumbersome family affair. The accompanied fledglings listened to their father expatiate on the subject of survival as they bounded through grassy fields and forestry.

"My name is Vulpes," disclosed the dog fox, "And, as you all should know by now, I am your father. I have been assigned as your secondary advisor, and will be your eye in the sky until further notice… or we all get killed."

His progeny listened in on him intently, trying to absorb every ounce of advice. Opportunities to learn from their experienced father were extremely rare within the context of their lives, considering the fact they sparsely saw him throughout most of their cub hood.

"…Once we have reached the glade each of you should split up and go your separate ways. Remember: your primary objective is to survive for the next week, but your immediate objective is to find a food source and fill up. Accomplish this through whatever means you see fit: be it hunting, scavenging, or foraging," he continued, instructively, "Use everything you've learned up to this point to get results."

Just hearing these instructions evoked their hunger, it dawned to them that they hadn't anything to eat since that muskrat last night, which was partitioned amongst the five of them. It was already evident in the fact that her two brothers, and even the young vixen herself, were beginning to salivate.

"Also," asserted Vulpes, "Please respect each other's caches. If you have any disagreements or conflicts amongst one another, then, for the family's sake, please settle them peacefully."

The foursome continued their journey across the woodlands, an old-world mixture of conifers and deciduous trees and birches, and their arrangement satisfyingly untidy and natural. Vulpes took the lead, using an ancient animal highway whose path had been ingrained in the memories of the forest's inhabitants through generations, for eons of time. Their pattered cantering crunched the decaying floor bed, blanketed with yellowing and reddening leaves, which told of the changing seasons. With sharp noses and erect ears, the young foxes acquainted themselves with their world and its richness, for all of its scents and sounds, its firs and balsams.

"Okay, we're near our destination - look out!"

They were only minutes from approaching the remote glade when Vulpes, having detected some foreign scent in the air, abruptly decelerated his trotting to a steady tread, and then paused in front of a suspiciously overturned patch of topsoil that could easily be mistaken for sod. The others, who were just moments before stepping over that same piece of turf, skidded to an abrupt halt.

The dog fox, however, could notice the scratched V-shape of torn earth, which was characteristic of another fox's cache: its apex in front of a thistle and its sides directed away towards a nearby copse. However, instead of unearthing the V and investigating its contents, he approached it with an extreme degree of caution that outwardly appeared unwarranted.

Something unsettled Vulpes, and he knew from experience that this was no ordinary cache. It was a slight whiff of some foreign substance, the way the surrounding turf was so flat and smooth as if a canvas tarp had been laid over it, or just how the cache had been situated that simply seemed too obvious, too textbook. Vulpes concluded that Man was involved. The red-orange vixen and her brothers, having never experienced anything like this, didn't know what to make of the situation. Instinctively, however, they sat and observed.

"I will be providing you with support and useful information as necessary. Like, for instance…"

Vulpes suddenly turned around and started the laborious process of forcefully digging with his forepaws, as if he spontaneously decided to create his own cache adjacent to the one they were observing. He had positioned his body so that the clots of grit and soil he dug out landed onto the mysterious cache. The three followers, albeit surprised, were nevertheless perplexed by this sudden industry. Nearly a minute of digging had passed when they began to worry if something had gone disturbingly wrong with their father, then suddenly…

Snap!

Suddenly, as if a demo charge had been set off, there was an explosion that scattered bits and pieces of dirt projecting in all directions. Something had shot up through the loose dirt like a maw, clasping its jaws with that terrifying noise. Reflexes kicking in, the three observers synchronously bolted up into the air and landed on all four feet, fleeting away like thin flickers of light. It was only seconds afterwards were their fight-or-flight instincts allayed, having realized that neither of them was being pursued and that their father, nonchalant and confident in his safety, had not moved an inch from where he had been digging. He continued:

"…These metal foothold traps will bring you a slow and painful death. Please try to avoid them."

The three turned around and eyed Vulpes very closely. They were surprised to find him completely fine and unscathed. The idea of something springing out of the ground only to snap once and give up its chase completely, unable to pursue a potential victim that is standing only six feet away from it, was completely foreign to them. The directed their muzzles towards the miniature crater left behind from the explosion, searching for the perpetrator. From what they could see, it appeared to be two artificial jaws made of this hard, unyielding substance, attached to a chain made of more of that substance, which was then nailed to a wooden stake in the ground. The bravest of them approached the unresponsive object and nosed it a bit, sniffing the cold, hard material that is iron. Once he was convinced that the device was indeed lifeless, the others joined in to inspect.

The younglings were entirely baffled by this insidious and unseen enemy. They could not comprehend, if something so deadly and well hidden could ambush an unsuspecting creature, why it restrained itself to a static position on the ground. Furthermore, they had been told, in all of Mother's lessons, that everything that would try to hunt them in the wild was alive. It was apparent that, unlike her mate, Mother had little to no experience in dealing with the treachery of Man. The concept that an inanimate object could catch and hold its prey indefinitely was an academic one at best, inapplicable to the understanding of a wild animal. Nevertheless, these young students acknowledged that there was still much for them to learn about survival in the wild.

"These traps aren't designed to kill you," Vulpes asserted, "but instead hold you down until something else can." He recalled the tragic memory of his long lost brother, who suffered an agonizing death under the endless torture of the unrelenting jaws, which only bore deeper into his flesh as he struggled to escape. Vulpes then could only watch as the trappers arrived to claim their victim, just before he had to slip away into the leafy shadows of his birthplace…

"Please be careful when treading into unexplored or unmarked territory, and be especially wary of overturned dirt or crushed thistles and grasses," he added. Before continuing towards the glade, Vulpes contemptuously urinated and defecated on the whole affair, which he knew could have easily claimed the life of one of his own kind.

"Also," he continued, "Please note that, as a general rule in life, if something seems too good to be true… then it most likely is."

He warned them to be wary of easy findings, especially those that were discovered out in the opening, like the false cache he uncovered. Depositing that well-found knowledge into the bank of their memories, the three reached their destination. Vulpes stopped and turned around, facing his brood attentively.

"I will be monitoring your progress from here on out. As you may already know, your mother is closely watching your other two sisters, who are currently hunting in a pasture not too far from here. They will return to this location by the end of the day. If you need anything specific, please feel free ask either of us for assistance, when we're in your vicinity."

Vulpes paused to scratch his muscled body with the fluidity of a cat.

"However," he added bluntly, "don't expect any handouts."

The glade was a quiet place; a peaceful break of flat greensward within the dense brushwood of the forest carpeted only by a few thistles, brambles, coneflowers, and honeysuckle. It was an ideal setting for an afternoon slumber, especially because a soft mound in the center served as a great vantage point from which a fox could detect any incoming danger from the edge of the woodlands that ringed the glade.

As the three scanned their surroundings, their hunger, which had augmented their urge to kill things, was now insurmountable. Just within the wood's edge there were mice to snatch up whole, rabbits to pounce, and woodchucks to tear apart.

"Remember," Vulpes conferred logistically, "the objective remains: survive this week outside the den on your own accord. I will be issuing further recommendations as you go. Good luck out there."

With that, he faintly slid off into the shadows of the woods surrounding the glade's precincts, his fatherly presence phasing out of their view in the same manner it had entered. The adolescents immediately acknowledged this prompting and went straight into the new business of hunting independently.

Over the next several hours the fledgling hunters practiced their craft, prudently investigating all the properties of this entertaining world. They understood the importance of concealment and patience within their practice: in creeping up upon a wood mouse discovered from a distance, lying in wait for long moments at a time motionless behind the juniper-bushes, and then springing triumphantly upon the tiny gray victim. They all seemed to inherit a keen endowment of ancestral knowledge; that innately acquired proficiency in the art of stealth and swift killing, which goes by the name of instinct.

As a general rule, wild creatures do not maintain their focus on any one purpose for long. Having well supped after the long ordeal of hunting, the red-orange vixen took to exploration on her own for some time. Not very far from the enclave of her familiar hunting grounds she froze, motionless, staring at the ground. A trail of solid footprints told her of some animal whose stupendous size and stature embedded huge depressions into the loose soil. Especially near the center of the great tracks clung the residue of a strange smell that of which could not be identified amongst the forest kindred. What kind of creature with such feet could be roaming their wilderness? It behooved her to find out all about it, and perhaps learn to avoid encountering such a monster. Perhaps this was related those metal jaws she encountered earlier? Having had considerable time to ponder these queries, she decided to discover for herself what business was taking place here in the woods.

The trail took her outside the enclave of her familiar hunting grounds to the fringe of her parents' range. At length it came to a terminal, which crossed a well-marked runway of a neighboring fox. The forest mulch was trampled and compressed at this point, which narrowed into a small space enclosed by a thick bush on either side. At the end of this enclosure lay the frozen head and neck of a chicken.

Never before had she seen such a dainty morsel, but whatever it was, it smelled deliciously tempting. Had she the equanimity of her father, she would have yielded more caution, especially due to his warnings about unexpected blessings scattered generously about the forest ways. However, her curiosity and raw instinct got the better of her, and she investigated the prize intently.

Using her father's take-home lesson from earlier, she crouched, warily scanning the surface surrounding the morsel for any disturbances. She found none; the chicken had been placed squarely on the floor without overturning any earth. Sure of her safety from any foothold traps, she stood up and resumed her approach, walking right in.

"Wait-!" cried a recognizable voice, which was too late.

Whip

While she succeeded in ruling out the threat of any foothold traps within the vicinity, the vixen had failed to notice a bright hoop of copper wire faintly gleaming before the green fir-twigs. There was a sudden snap of the strong and malleable material, and then a terrible grip clutched her. She instinctively jolted, but was stopped in her tracks, unable to move forward as a stick of white birch bent towards her. Fear rattled her throat as she turned her head to identify her lifeless assailant.

Into the clearing from behind the bushed appeared another fox. It was Vulpes. The old fox sighed deeply as he approached his imprudent daughter.

"You have no idea how fortunate you are…"

Indeed he was right: the snare, which was designed to strangulate its victim around the throat, had instead wrapped around her right foreleg. While the girth of the loop tightened to the diameter of her foreleg as a result of the pressure from her jerking, it was still possible to slide out in reverse. She realized this after minutes of fruitless struggle in the forward direction, and escaped death with only the abrasive discomfort of losing a slight amount of fur ruffled from the bristles of her right foreleg.

"Have you learned nothing from what I say?" said Vuples, disappointed.

"No, you see that I was following this path and…" she was interrupted by a reproving nip, followed by a stern scolding from her father.

"I fear the day you might get skinned for your carelessness… You can't just go around searching every tidbit you find without a thorough investigation. Didn't you notice how oddly the food had placed at the center of this strait? I was proud to see you inspected the perimeter for footholds, but you failed to detect that snare." He faltered. "I- I should have stopped you earlier."

She was astounded by her sudden enlightenment of the fact that her father had been trailing her the whole time, watching. He deliberate abstained from interfering as a test to see if she could manage on her own against the deceptive trap she had discovered. Needless to say, she failed him.

"I'm so sorry… I didn't know."

"Never mind that - let's just head back. I hope you've learned a valuable lesson today…"

He conceded the prize to his daughter, which she gobbled down greedily, and then led her back the pathway from which he came, outwardly expressing his morbid disapproval. Deep inside, however, the old fox was trembling. He almost lost a part of himself today, which was spared by the pivotal caprice of destiny that is luck. He had his doubts about whether Fate would be so lenient in the near future.

The remnants of late summer still lingered, floating over the fields like a fading breeze. The dry, rustling grasses were alive with bugs, which hum, click, and crackle, and make amazing leaps between blades and stalks that are insect-miles apart. Grass snakes, being ectothermic reptiles, basked on baked clay prior to seeking out the nests of hay where field mice were panting in suspense. Finches hopped about the patches of turf in search of discarded seeds, meticulously eyeing every orifice within the loose soil. These fields were thriving with life, an abundance and variety of specimens available for those with the patience and discipline to study closely. In the eyes of a fox, anything that was large enough to cause a conspicuous twitching of grain strands from beneath the tufts of grass was sure to be a square meal, not to mention an easy kill.

Being covert hunters, the foxes preferred silence above the clamoring voices of the forest inhabitants. To them, silence was the music of life. It was through silence an experienced fox, using its exceptional auditory senses, could detect the faint grinding and gnashing of an industrious rabbit as much as a hundred feet away. Taking advantage of this trait, alongside a superb sense of smell almost comparable to that of a bloodhound's, each of the fledglings busied itself, working independently in pursuit of his or her explorative whim, intent on stalking some small creature, such as a beetle, woodchuck, vole, or cricket.

Daytime molted into the night. Having filled her small stomach near its maximum capacity, the young vixen rested within the glade. A couple of her siblings continued hunting into the early morning, but returned afterwards. Mother arrived more exhausted than ever before, with her tagged behind the sharp-eared little vixen and her accompanied sister, whose furry coat had begun to sport a fulvous contour. Mother barely cast one filial glance at her red-orange daughter before finding a spot to rest and succumbing to fatigue.

The young vixen sat upright and gazed into the starry night, reflecting pensively. She had made it through her first day, albeit with a few close calls. Now tired, she retreated into the heart of the glade. After a few minutes of searching, she curled up in a soft depression beneath a juniper bush, partially veiled from the outside world. The stippled glistening of the moonlight filtered through the leaves, partially illuminating her glossy coat, which was now fully developed. Chill drafts surged into the branches, shaking the leaves and fluttering her fur a bit. A shrill symphony of crickets resonated in the background…

The vixen fell asleep. She dreamed fox dreams of her cub hood, which now seemed so far in the past. As the blackness of night enshrouded her, she dreamed of her first few weeks in the dark. She was racing against her littermates down the long, shadowy passageways of the den towards the light at the end of the tunnel. She barely made it halfway before being lifted by the scruff of her neck, then carried back and deposited into the nursery compartment by her glaring mother. She dreamed of her siblings, who were rivals back then, but now…