by Holly Webb
“What is that?” Cassie yelped, her voice shaking. She’d thought they were heading for open countryside, where the foxes lived, but this building was enormous. Or at least it had been. As she crept a little closer she saw that it was half ruined, only the tumbledown shell left behind.
It had been grand once though, she thought. A great circular building, with gaping holes in the walls. Cassie went closer, slipping on the snow, and peered in through one of the broken gaps. The building had an open roof and she realized what it was, what it had been. A great theatre, one of the old kind, with the stage in the middle and tiers of seats all around. She stood there, trying to imagine what it had been like, lifting her lantern to see the broken galleries and imagining them full of people.
Then she whirled round, her heart thumping as the fox let out a sharp warning bark. Someone was coming!
Cassie could hear them, talking and laughing as they trudged down the lane, probably making for the very stairs she had come up by. They must have been to one of the newer theatres along the riverbank.
The fox came creeping through the fallen stones to stand right next to her, shivering, and Cassie hid her lantern under her cloak. She didn’t want to be seen out here on her own – she could hardly explain that she wasn’t alone, she was with a fox cub. Her mother’s warnings were in the back of her mind too. These could be thieves, there was no way to tell. Cassie blinked at them through the snowfall, hesitating. Not everyone could be a robber, after all. They might take her home…
Home. Where there was a warm fire and her mother would surely have missed her by now. Father and Will would be back from the Frost Fair too. Perhaps they had gone out again already, to search for her. Cassie started up, reaching to pull out her lantern, thinking suddenly that if she called to the noisy gang passing by, they would come and fuss over her, perhaps even carry her back across the ice. But then the fox cub whined quietly, and Cassie sank back and petted her ears.
“I didn’t mean it,” she whispered. “I won’t leave you, not till you’re safe. Come on,” she added as the voices died away down the lane. “Let’s go.”
They struggled on through the snow but the short rest by the broken old theatre seemed to have made Cassie more tired, not less. It looked like they were walking into a wilder sort of country now. There were no more buildings, just a great long stretch of gleaming whiteness, with a hedge here and there, or a great ditch full of snow. It was hard to make each step when her feet were so numb with cold and several times she stumbled. The fox seemed to see that she was struggling and she came closer to Cassie, nosing gently at her legs and nudging her on.
“I was supposed to be helping you,” Cassie whispered. “Not the other way round. Are we nearly there?”
Suddenly, the little fox stood still, her ears twitching and turning, her eyes bright with excitement. She had sensed something, Cassie was sure. Could she smell her home? Her fox family?
Cassie watched as she barked, a funny little yipping bark, a sort of “Wuh-wuh-wuh!” noise. And from across the stretch of snow in front of them, another fox barked back.
Cassie’s fox raced away, dashing over the snowy ground and disappearing into the darkness. She was gone so quickly that Cassie didn’t even have time to call goodbye. She gulped back the tears that seemed to rise up inside her and pinched the back of her hand crossly. Why was she crying? She had only known the fox for a few hours but it seemed longer. Their journey had felt so important – and now it was over.
Cassie staggered on a few steps, trying to see the foxes, but there was no sign of them at all. The tears on her face felt as though they were freezing on to her skin and she brushed at them fiercely, scrubbing at her cheeks with her mittened hands. She stumbled a little, and then shrieked as the snow beneath her feet seemed to disappear and she went tumbling headlong into a deep pit.
There was snow in her mouth and in her ears and everywhere, and Cassie lay gasping. What had happened? She struggled to sit up and tried to work out where she was. The lantern had gone out in the fall, and all she could see was darkness and a faint patch of lighter sky above.
Now that she was sitting up, the hole didn’t seem to be that deep. Cassie guessed that it was just a ditch that had been covered up with snow. Even so, it was too deep for her to climb out of easily with numbed hands and feet. Slowly she got to her feet and pulled off her mittens, wincing as she tried to flex her frozen, stinging fingers. She reached up and tried to grab at the dead grasses that were trailing over the edge of the ditch, hoping to pull herself out. But the grasses were slippery and brittle at the same time, and her fingers just weren’t working. The clumps slid out of her hands and she slumped back into the ditch.
“Th-th-this is stupid,” Cassie told herself, her teeth chattering. “It isn’t deep. I can get out. I can.”
But she couldn’t.
Cassie wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging herself hard and trying not to cry. She had been scared of the dark and the flurrying snowflakes but that seemed like nothing. Now she was actually, properly frightened. What if she never got out? The snow could keep falling and cover her over. What would her mother and father think? They’d never even know what had happened to her. That seemed almost worse than never going home and Cassie pressed her fist hard into her mouth.
She had to get out!
She struggled up again and yelled, “Help! Please! Help me, I’m stuck!” Then she stopped, listening hopefully, and shivered as a strange echo of her own cry came back. No one else answered her but Cassie shook her head determinedly and called again.
She kept shouting for what felt like hours, until her throat hurt and the cold had stripped away her voice. No one came.
She leaned against the edge of the ditch, sniffling hopelessly, but then she heard the crunching patter of little footsteps, coming closer.
“Is that you?” she whispered hoarsely. “Little fox?”
There was a scrabbling noise and a shadowy patch of deeper darkness appeared above her. The fox cub whined softly and Cassie made a sort of gasping noise, halfway between a sob and a laugh. “I thought you’d gone. You came back for me.” Then she added sadly, “But I don’t think you can get me out.”
The fox cub seemed to agree. She sniffed all the way along the edge of the ditch, treading carefully so as to avoid sliding in herself, and then whined again. Cassie wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but the whine sounded rather desperate.
Then the fox pattered away and Cassie felt her eyes fill with tears. Being left again felt almost worse than the first time.
Except that the fox cub hadn’t left. Cassie could hear paws padding over the snow, more paws this time, and there was yipping and whining too, as if the foxes were talking to each other. Had the little fox brought her brothers and sisters to help?
“What are you doing?” Cassie whispered. Then she squeaked and held up her arm to shield her face as a spray of snow and dirt spattered over her. She stood as far back as she could, blinking bemusedly.
It took her a few minutes to work out their plan and then she began to laugh weakly. They were so clever! They were digging her a path out – a shallow slope to climb up, instead of the steep side of the ditch. The foxes were rescuing her!
It took a good half an hour of digging while Cassie watched, trying to remember to stamp her feet and rub her hands together to keep as warm as she could. But it was hard when she was so tired. All she really wanted to do was to curl up in the corner of the hole, pull her woollen cloak over her face and go to sleep.
The foxes wouldn’t let her. When she huddled down, her own little fox with the white tail tip jumped down into the ditch and barked at her, and then pulled on Cassie’s cloak with her teeth. She even hissed and Cassie stood up hurriedly, worried that she might nip.
“I won’t go to sleep,” she promised wearily. The fox cub stood with her, guarding her watchfully, as the other foxes went on digging at the side of the ditch.
At last the foxes retreated a
nd the cub pulled on Cassie’s cloak again, dragging her towards the little path they had made. It was still slippery and muddy and hard to climb, but Cassie grabbed on to the grasses, sure this time that if she slid back, the foxes would help her up. She could feel them watching as she slipped and squeaked and scrabbled. Probably they weren’t sure why she was so bad at it, she thought as she dragged herself up on to the snow field once more. They could have been out of there in one jump.
“Thank you,” she said, blinking hard and trying to see the foxes through the darkness and swirling snow. Four small dark shapes were outlined against the snow – and then three of them slipped away.
“What shall I do now?” Cassie asked the last one, rather helplessly. She needed to walk home but she wasn’t sure if she could, now that she was so cold and tired.
The fox beside her was silent and then she let out one sharp warning bark. Cassie peered around, wondering what the fox was worried about. Then she gasped – there was a light, coming towards them!
“Are you there?” someone called, and Cassie stepped forwards.
“Yes…” she whispered. But she wasn’t sure if she was only imagining the light and the voice.
“Did you hear something?” It was a man’s voice, low and worried.
“I-I’m here…” Cassie faltered.
“Thank the Lord!” The light came closer, and in its glow Cassie saw an old man and woman, well wrapped up in coats and cloaks. “I told you, Josiah! That was no fox crying, it was a child!” the woman said, surging forward and putting an arm round Cassie’s shoulders. “Poor little thing, she’s frozen near to death! Where did you come from, sweetling?”
“I was lost – on the river…” Cassie mumbled, her words half swallowed by shivering. “My mother…”
“That Frost Fair, it’s no wonder,” the woman said wisely. “Such a crowd and all capering about. You come back with us, child, and sit by the fire to warm up. Your mother must be worried to death. We’ll take you back home in the morning, don’t fret.”
They led Cassie away across the snow, fussing about hot soup and possets with herbs to ward off the cold. But as they came to the door of their cottage, Cassie looked back. A little way behind her, just out of the lantern light, was a fox, watching carefully. And as the old couple drew Cassie inside the fox slipped away and Cassie saw her white tail tip disappear into the snow.
Cassie blinked and yawned, and then looked around in confusion. She must have fallen asleep at the kitchen table in the cottage, she thought. She had been drinking warm milk with honey and spices from a thick pottery cup, sipping at it sleepily. The old woman had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and given her a basin of warm water to help thaw out her cold feet. Sleep had wrapped Cassie up warmer than the blanket, though. She was pretty sure she hadn’t finished the milk…
Now she was cold again – leaning against something hard and icy. She sat up, rolling her stiff shoulders and trying to work out where she was. The room was dark and strange, and Cassie’s heart began to thump as she tried to see what each odd lumpen shape meant. Then there was a small sound from the corner of the room, a whistling, muttery little sigh, and all at once, Cassie remembered.
She was home. That was Lucas, her baby brother, shifting around in his cot. She was in her own bedroom. She must have gone to sleep sitting on the window seat, leaning against the cold glass and looking at the snow.
But then, the Frost Fair? And the fox, and their journey across the ice? It had happened – she had been there…
Perhaps dreams always felt real. Cassie gulped down a surge of disappointment, a sense that she had lost something precious and strange.
“I made it all up,” she whispered to herself. “From talking to Mrs Morris and seeing Frost in the snow.”
She frowned. Had that been a dream too, then? Going out of the flat and following the fox cub through the snowy streets? Cassie patted at herself. She was wearing her thick onesie, but not her coat and she didn’t have wellies on. Actually, her feet were icy – that was probably what had made her dream about her feet being so cold crossing the frozen river. She wriggled her toes to try and warm them up a bit, but they still ached. Cassie slid down from the window seat as quietly as she could, thinking that she’d get back into bed and warm up, but then an eerie wailing made her turn around and look out again.
Frost was there, standing in the snow and gazing up at Cassie’s window, just as she had been earlier that night – and one night centuries ago. Cassie rubbed her eyes. It was hard to work out what had been a dream and what was real. Outside the little fox was pacing up and down, still letting out those unearthly cries. Cassie had heard the noises before, in the distance, but she had never heard Frost cry like that before. She sounded frightened.
Cassie pressed her hands against the glass and stared down at the fox in the snow, wondering what to do. Frost sounded as though something was desperately wrong, and she was padding back and forth below Cassie’s window and wailing. Cassie couldn’t leave her there, not crying like that. A strange half memory of a huge dog and a terrified cub made her catch her breath. She had to go down there.
Cassie hurried out into the hallway, listening for her mum. There was a faint sloshing sound from the bathroom – was she still in the bath? Then again, how long had it actually been since Cassie had first gone out? Maybe only minutes. Or perhaps it had never happened at all.
She pulled on thick socks and her boots, and a coat over her onesie, tucked the spare key in her coat pocket and turned the latch as carefully as she could. Then she sped down the stairs to find the little fox.
As Cassie burst out of the front door, Frost came trotting eagerly towards her, her white-tipped brush swinging. She stood there impatiently, obviously waiting for Cassie to follow her, and then she set off around the back of the building, towards the bin room.
“What is it?” Cassie murmured, glad that at least Frost wasn’t leading her off into the streets again. Even though it had been amazing to see the Frost Fair, Cassie didn’t think she wanted to go back. Or at least not yet.
Frost stopped and looked round at Cassie almost triumphantly, as though she had done something very clever.
“But what…” Cassie started to say, and then she realized that there was something in the snow just beyond Frost’s paws. A pile of old clothes, it looked like, until Cassie went closer and saw that it was a person, lying there huddled and frozen.
“Mrs Morris!” Cassie yelped, and she crouched down next to the old lady in the snow, gently pulling at her shoulder. “Mrs Morris, are you all right? Did you fall? What happened?”
Mrs Morris didn’t answer for a moment and for a horrible second Cassie thought she might not be breathing. But then she turned her head a little and whispered, “You… Cassie?”
“Yes! Are you hurt?”
“I’m not sure. I slipped. My knees… I can’t get up.”
“I’ll get my mum.” Cassie patted Mrs Morris’s arm. “Don’t worry. I won’t be a minute.” She jumped up and looked at Frost. “Stay here with her,” she whispered. “You’re so clever. You knew she needed help, didn’t you?” Then she leaned over Mrs Morris again. “Look, don’t worry if I’m gone a little while…” and she raced away.
As Cassie dashed back up the stairs, panting, she saw her dad at the door of the flat, just getting out his keys.
“Dad!” she yelled.
“Cassie?” Her dad turned round. “What are you doing out here? It’s ten o’clock!”
“I know…” Cassie leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath. “I heard someone calling and Mum was in the bath, so I went to see what it was.” That was actually true, Cassie thought. After all, Frost was someone too. “It’s Mrs Morris – she’s fallen over in the snow and she can’t get up. You have to come and help her!”
“Mrs Morris?” Cassie’s dad was already hurrying down the stairs. “I hope she hasn’t broken something. How long has she been out there?”
“
I don’t know.” Cassie jumped down the stairs after him. “She wasn’t talking when I first found her, but then she woke up a bit. Do you think we ought to call an ambulance?”
“We probably should, if she’s been there a while. And it sounds as if maybe she was unconscious.” Cassie’s dad took in a sharp breath as he saw Mrs Morris lying there in the snow. She looked awfully small, Cassie thought worriedly. Small and fragile.
“Mrs Morris?” he asked gently. “Can you hear me? It’s Chris, Cassie’s dad, from the flat next door. Can you move at all?”
“I-I don’t know…” Mrs Morris’s voice was thin and wavery, and Cassie’s dad stroked her arm comfortingly.
“Don’t worry. Best not to try, I reckon. I’ll call an ambulance.”
As he stood up and patted his jacket for his phone, Cassie saw a dark shape skitter backwards and disappear into the shadows. Frost had stayed on guard, just as she’d asked.
“Thank you!” Cassie whispered out into the snow.
“When are you coming back home?” Cassie asked. The hospital wasn’t as scary as she’d thought it would be, with the flowers and Christmas cards on the table by Mrs Morris’s bed, and the other people in the ward chatting to their visitors, but she wouldn’t want to have to stay there.
“Soon, they say. Maybe as soon as tomorrow. I didn’t even break anything – I was so lucky. They just wanted me to stay in hospital because I’d got so cold,” Mrs Morris explained. She smiled at Cassie. “I’m so grateful that you found me! It could have been a lot worse if I’d stayed out in the snow much longer.”
