by Colin Dann
‘Is he so famous then?’ Whisper asked incredulously.
‘Yes, he is famous – the Fox from Farthing Wood.’
Whisper drew a sharp breath. ‘He is your father? Oh, Bold . . .’ What more was there to say? The epic journey that his father had undertaken had made him a legend among the animals. Now his son had thrown that all away. He had only clamoured for the dangers, the excitement that his father had sought to escape.
‘I can never return there,’ Bold said. ‘You must see that.’
‘I see you have been very foolish,’ Whisper said honestly, ‘and yet, what a brave fox you must have been . . .’ Her voice trailed off and she gazed at him with glistening eyes. It was at that very moment that an idea came into her mind that soon became a very firm resolve. Of course, Bold knew none of it. Whisper meant to keep silent until that idea should become a reality. She composed herself to sleep.
Bold stayed wakeful, despite his weariness. Their talk had re-opened old wounds, old regrets and old sorrows for him. He thought of Vixen, his mother – more graceful, more lithe, more skilful even than Whisper. Did she ever think of him? Yes, of course – she must do. But of one thing he felt quite certain. She would never see her bold, brave young cub again . . .
—— 14 ——
Tracked
Whisper’s mistaken idea of his own age made Bold determined to examine himself more closely. So, a few days later, when the opportunity arose, he left the young vixen sleeping in her earth, and emerged slowly and carefully into the daylight. Nothing moved in the churchyard. The ground was hard and rimed with frost, but the air was clear and it was brilliantly sunny. Bold made his way to the hole in the stone wall and slipped through; then he set his course for the canal.
He moved along the familiar paths with extreme caution. There was no sense of bravado in this daylight jaunt. The last jot of that had been dissipated long before. He reached the waterside without any trouble and, with some trepidation, peered over the bank. The water was as smooth as silk and a perfect reflection of himself appeared, undisturbed by a single ripple. Bold gazed at it for a long moment, keeping quite still. Certainly, this image was of no youngster, but of a mature fox – an animal who had had to struggle hard to maintain a grip on its existence. The visage was long and lean. A scar over one eye ran into its corner, making it appear as if it were only half open. The fur on the head and body was not a bright red but a darker, duller hue. There was no healthy shine to be seen anywhere on the coat. The damaged leg appeared shrunken and wasted against the three healthier ones and the brush, thin and tufted, hung limply behind as if ashamed of itself. But it was the eyes of the beast that told Bold’s story most vividly. There was a dullness about them and a sort of bewilderment in their expression, mixed with a sense of defeat and an overall sadness.
Bold sat down slowly and thought. What a poor specimen indeed had he become. He had been aware of the change in himself and yet, only now, did he recognize its full extent. Why did Whisper bother with a creature like him? There were other male foxes around, surely, to interest her more? Was it pity? A sort of maternal instinct? He could not be sure. Only by asking the question of Whisper herself could he understand, and it would not be easy for him to do that. For, of course, he was not sure he really wanted the answer.
He stayed no longer by that all-too-revealing stretch of water, but limped home as fast as he could. When still some distance from the earth, Bold had to take cover rather suddenly. A huge, brown dog was padding briskly in his direction with no sign of any human companion to restrain it. Bold stood amongst some almost leafless undergrowth with bated breath and a hammering heart, trusting to his camouflage. The dog came close but passed him by, seemingly bent on an errand of its own. When he was sure it was far enough on, Bold crept out and made all haste for the churchyard.
As he neared the wall two tremendous barks – terrifyingly deep and more like bellows than barks – resounded in the thin, winter air. Bold half turned, though he knew full well whence the awful noise came. The great brown dog had picked up his trail somewhere in its wanderings and was following it with an alarming rapidity. Bold stumbled to the hole in the stones and scrambled through. He did not stop to turn again. The bellows told him all he wanted to know about the closeness of his pursuer. In and out of the headstones he weaved and along the grassy ways until he was safe at the entrance to Whisper’s den. Then he turned to see the dog leaping the wall and, for all its size, taking it with the ease of a gazelle.
Whisper, who was of course awake, cried out as Bold almost tumbled on top of her. ‘What is it? What is it?’
‘A dog,’ Bold panted. ‘Must have followed me. A huge brute the size of a donkey!’
Whisper cowered against him, making Bold feel twice the animal he really was. ‘Don’t worry,’ he urged. ‘It could never get in here.’
The dog could be heard moving outside. Even its hot breathing could be heard as it sniffed and slavered at the hole. Then it gave vent to a series of terrific barks, airing its frustration at the escape of its quarry. The earth reverberated to each cry.
‘Oh, what can we do?’ Whisper wailed. ‘Why does it stay there, making those awful noises? Is there no man to call it off?’
‘I saw none,’ Bold answered grimly. ‘But perhaps one is out looking for it now. Keep calm – it can’t stay there for ever.’
The barks eventually ceased and were replaced by an angry sort of whine. Whisper’s rigid body relaxed a little. Bold ventured a comforting lick. At last the sounds abated altogether.
‘Will it go now?’ she whispered.
‘I expect so – to vent its spleen on some other poor creature,’ Bold muttered.
‘Well, let’s hope it won’t be back,’ she said. ‘And, Bold, thank you – for comforting me.’
Bold glowed. Perhaps there was more than just sympathy in her feelings.
‘Where did you go?’ Whisper asked suddenly. ‘You left me sleeping.’
‘To tell you the truth, I went to look at myself,’ he confided.
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘In the canal – I wanted to see my reflection.’
‘Ah. Now I understand. And I think I know why.’
‘Do you, Whisper?’
‘Is it because of what I said about your – er – age?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wish I’d said nothing. I’m so sorry to think I upset you. I just didn’t realize . . .’
‘I know. But don’t fret over it,’ said Bold. ‘It’s all forgotten now.’
‘I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt you,’ Whisper said softly.
‘Nor I you,’ Bold murmured.
They fell silent, full of their own thoughts. Whisper spoke first. ‘We must build you up,’ she said with resolution, betraying what her thoughts had been about. ‘Whatever we catch in future, you must have the greater share.’
‘No, I – ’ he began.
‘I’ve already decided,’ she said with finality. ‘You’ve had no start in life. At any rate, what start you did have was soon lost. You’ve suffered more than enough for one so young and I – I shall make it my task to help you back to health.’
‘But, Whisper, I can never be really healthy again. My leg won’t mend.’
‘No matter. You’ll have flesh on your bones, at any rate.’
Bold marvelled at her determination. ‘I’m so glad I met you,’ he said.
‘Mine was the luck,’ she countered. But she didn’t reveal why and Bold was left in blissful ignorance, at least for the time being.
Whisper proved to be true to her word. Whatever they managed to find to eat, she ensured that Bold had the best of it, even if the pickings were poor. Once or twice Bold went to the privet hedge to see if Robber had been by, but there was no evidence of it.
One day in Whisper’s den the pair of foxes were woken from sleep by the same dreadful bellows from the great dog who had troubled them earlier.
‘He still has our scent, it s
eems,’ Bold remarked grimly. ‘We must take more care when we are out of the den.’
‘Is he always going to be around then?’ Whisper asked with alarm. ‘I don’t know what he’s after.’
‘Our smell has a certain effect on most dogs,’ Bold said. ‘A foxy odour usually makes them very excitable.’ He avoided answering her question.
As before, when the dog had had enough of sniffing at the entrance to the earth, it made off. That night Bold and Whisper used a great deal more circumspection on their travels. There were no misfortunes. In fact, they struck lucky. In one garden they came across the best part of a cooked chicken tossed into a bin untasted. The rancid flavour of the meat which had been the reason for its rejection by more delicate palates, only added zest to the foxes’ meal. After they had demolished the carcass and were sitting back licking their chops, Whisper said: ‘You know, Bold, my idea is beginning to work. You’re definitely a little plumper.’
‘Am I?’ he asked with surprise. ‘I don’t feel any different.’
‘Don’t you feel – just a little bit stronger?’ she said. ‘You do look it!’
Bold was rather flattered. ‘Well, I . . .’ he began. ‘Yes,’ he went on, ‘it’s not so much strength as – er – well, some of my old confidence is coming back. And that must be due to you, Whisper.’
‘Perhaps I’ve helped,’ she said. ‘And if so, I’m very glad. For, after all, that was what I intended.’
And, indeed, as the days passed Bold did gain weight and stature. Even his damaged leg troubled him less. His appetite had improved, his step was less laboured but, most important, he felt differently about his future. He no longer lived from day to day. He looked forward to the end of the winter when food would be easier to find and he and Whisper (he always thought of them together now) could leave the environs of the town and return to the open country. Once again, there seemed to be some purpose in his life. In this new hopeful mood he decided to look for his friend Robber to see how he was making out.
Soon after dawn the next day Bold was on the move, first making quite certain it was safe to be so. In the pallid winter light no other living thing seemed to be wakeful. No bird sang, no small animal rustled a twig or dead leaf. Bold alone shivered in the freezing temperature. He limped around all Robber’s usual haunts and finished up at the privet hedge without receiving sight or sound of him. There he left a message in the shape of a morsel of food so that his friend the crow should know he had been around.
On the way back to Whisper’s side, Bold found a stale loaf of bread thrown out for birds to peck at. Never one to miss an opportunity for some extra mouthfuls, particularly in times of scarcity, he ate the bread. Hard and indigestible, it lay heavy on his stomach and it was with a slower pace that he went towards the churchyard. He thought he heard some muffled barks in the distance but as he was close to home he thought no more of it. Mechanically Bold lurched towards the hole in the churchyard wall he and Whisper had made. For a moment he seemed to lose his direction. Then he turned and went along the wall, looking for the loose stones underneath the hole. He paused and looked around in bewilderment. There were none to be seen. A feeling of alarm gripped him. It was now well on into the morning and, while he had been on his wanderings, the wall had been hastily repaired, obviously by human hand.
As Bold stood looking at the wall with the horrible thought in his head that there was now no way in which he was capable of passing beyond it, the barks he had heard earlier were again audible, only much closer. The fox knew instinctively what creature was uttering them. In a feverish haste he continued along the wall and round the corner, vainly searching for some weakness where he might perhaps be able to force an entry. Not a chink of light showed through the stones.
The huge dog came bounding onward, eagerly sniffing at the familiar odour. Bold heard its approach and began scrabbling frantically at the wall, hoping to dislodge it. Miraculously two large stones loosened and fell inwards to the churchyard, leaving a hole through which Bold could pass his head. Now he kicked and hacked in fury with his three good legs. The hole grew fractionally in size as the seconds tripped away. But it was all too slow. With only his head and neck properly through the new hole, Bold heard the dog arrive on the scene, roaring triumphantly. He tried to back, but now the cruel, unyielding stones held him fast. With his back and hindquarters exposed to attack from the rear while he faced into the churchyard, Bold could see the den entrance only metres away. But it might just as well have been kilometres. He could not budge and any second he expected to feel the vicious fangs of his pursuer fastened at last into his helpless body.
—— 15 ——
Rollo the Mastiff
Robber the Carrion Crow had spent a lazy morning. He had enjoyed wheeling in the icy air, alighting occasionally to march in characteristic fashion over the steely ground in search of a hardy worm. He made no special effort to hunt for food as he wasn’t very hungry. Carrion was plentiful in the hard weeks of winter if you knew where to look for it. It was only by chance that he visited the privet hedge. He had not thought of Bold for some days, convinced that their paths would no longer cross now that the young fox had found a mate (for Robber took this to be the case, unquestioningly). But for some reason a picture of Bold limping painfully across a field came into his mind’s eye. It was then that the bird flew to the hedge bottom. Sure enough, there he found the titbit left by Bold earlier that morning. It was only a piece of skin and bone – hardly an edible morsel at all. But Robber knew that the fox had not left it there as a delicacy. He must now find his friend.
He had a rough idea of the whereabouts of the vixen’s den. He flapped into flight, coasting and flapping alternately as he steered a course through the air. He heard the dog’s barks quite plainly and for some reason (he knew not what) he associated these noises with Bold’s message. So he flew towards the noise, saw the huge beast bounding over the ground, and followed it straight to the churchyard.
When he saw Bold’s predicament, the crow’s heart sank. It seemed as if his young friend had set a trap for himself. What could he do to avert disaster? The dog could swallow him at a gulp. But perhaps he could delay things. He dropped downwards. The dog was balancing itself, preparing to leap the wall, and so Robber assumed it was going to attack Bold’s head. As the dog jumped, Bold began snarling in a futile way from his stony prison. The dog made no attempt to snap at the fox, but simply gambolled around while it continued to bark deafeningly. Robber flew at the massive beast, lunging with his beak in a brave attempt to discourage it. Of course, it paid him no more attention than if he had been a gnat.
The din, meanwhile, had awakened Whisper who at once found her companion was missing. Fearing he was in danger, she crept timidly to the entrance hole and looked out, where she saw the scene being enacted.
Bold saw her emerge. ‘Keep away, Whisper!’ he cried urgently. ‘Go back! Go back!’
But Whisper came on. She could not stand idly by while Bold was helpless.
‘Robber, make her go back,’ Bold pleaded. ‘She’s quite safe in her den.’
Suddenly the dog stopped its racket and stood quite still, as Robber flew towards the vixen. In a voice as deep as a cave it said: ‘What’s all the fuss about? You’re not afraid of me, I hope?’
Bold’s mouth dropped open. He couldn’t speak.
‘I only want your company,’ the dog went on. ‘I tried to catch you before but I was too slow, and you wouldn’t come out of your den. My life is very lonely. I have no companions at all. Not like you – you must have friends galore.’
Bold couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was too absurd. This huge, powerful beast – stronger than a man – had come to him in friendship. But, even then, what did he expect of him?
‘I don’t understand,’ he muttered. ‘How can I help you?’ He saw that Robber had succeeded in persuading Whisper to approach no further and that the bird was, even now, preparing to launch another dive-bombing attack on the supposed en
emy.
The dog began: ‘Can’t I just come and converse with you? It would mean – ’
It broke off as Robber came sailing valiantly in and raised one massive paw to dispose of the interfering nonentity. Bold was too late to stop it. The dog gave Robber what was intended to be a warning cuff, but the blow of such a powerful beast fell like a sledge-hammer on the poor crow who immediately crumpled into a heap on the ground.
‘Robber! Robber!’ cried Bold agonizingly. ‘Look what you’ve done, you brute!’ he snarled at the unwitting dog. ‘You’ve killed him!’
Whisper now came running up. The dog looked at the foxes aghast. ‘I can’t have done,’ he moaned. ‘It was only meant as a tap.’
‘You don’t know your own strength!’ snapped Bold. ‘And he was only trying to help me!’
The dog looked stupidly from one animal to the other, and then at the little black body, insensible on the hard ground. Bold thought he had the measure of this great beast who seemed to be a bit dull-witted.
‘Do something useful, at any rate,’ he barked. ‘Get me out of this!’
While Whisper bent over the fallen bird, sniffing gently at the coal-black feathers, the dog began to batter its huge feet against the stones of the wall. In a trice the hole was large enough for Bold to free himself. He made straight for Robber. After some tense moments he looked up at Whisper gladly. ‘Why, he’s only stunned!’ he cried. ‘He’s beginning to stir.’
The dog lolloped over but Bold said: ‘You’d better keep back. We don’t want any more accidents.’
Whisper was amused at the meek way the animal at once sat down, looking towards Bold as if waiting for the next directions from a creature only a quarter of its size. But, above all, she was proud of Bold who seemed to be entering a new phase of living up to his name.
‘Is . . . is it – er – he all right?’ the dog asked tremulously. ‘I really didn’t mean to do it, you know.’
