I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud

[Red]

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

“Booored,” a young grey fox sighed, rolling against the rough bark of a tree. In the thick branches of an old oak, she was as comfortable as she would be on the forest floor. The vixen adored the trees. So many squirrels to chase, thinking they were safe in their leafy domain. The birds weren’t nearly as fun, able to escape over the trees’ canopies, but she still found enjoyment in hearing a surprised squawk every time she pounced next to a feathery flyer.

But on the slow autumn afternoon, the squirrels were busy collecting food, not nearly as complacent and did not tolerate a good chase. In fact, one bodacious rodent found the audacity to snap back as he realized she was very young and not inclined to eating him. He whirled around in a flurry of fur and nearly bit off the fox’s nose. That certainly put a damper on her usually high spirits.

So, within the confines of her fat, low hanging branch, the reddish gray fox lay, watching the colored leaves fall to the ground. She figured she should go on a proper hunt soon, actually beef up before the harsh months of winter came. But rather, her tired apathy reigned supreme over her mind, having her lie still in the tree, just waiting.

[Fawkes]

The world was still so strange to the red fox. There were still so many questions that lingered on his mind, still so many things that were unknown to him. He'd, truthfully, only recently discovered that something awful had happened to the land before he was released here. The fox had been kept in a lab, in a stuffy room, completely alone and closed off from the world. The little interaction he received was what he spent his entire life waiting for. He was wasting away, silently looking forward to the times when foul-smelling pellets were given to him. Fawkes shook his head, gagging when he remembered the taste of those things.

He shook his head again to rid his mind of thoughts from the past. It was in the past for a reason, the young canine reminded himself. His tail was carelessly allowed to drag on the ground as he noisily padded through the woodland. Blue eyes gazed out, searching the trees for nothing in particular. The young male continued to pad along, his paws crunching leaves, his tail rustling the undergrowth. Smaller creatures scattered or stopped to watch in curiosity, but the fox paid them no mind.

Fawkes was thin, and admittedly, he was hungry. But he wasn't a hunter. Hunting was difficult; it required skills that the canine simply didn't have. Being kept locked away did that to an animal. He was used to food coming to him, even if it was always disgustingly tasteless. But Fawkes was also a determined, strong-willed, and sometimes obnoxiously optimistic canine. He had confidence that he'd make it through the winter on whatever little food he could catch and whatever he managed to scavenge. It was an arrogant and cocky thought, but then, Fawkes was arrogant and cocky.

He stopped moving when the scent of another reached him. Nose twitching, the fox stretched out his neck, trying to get a better idea of who - or what - was in the vicinity. It occurred to him then that he had previously been making quite a bit of noise, so it was likely that he'd been heard. Cautious now, Fawkes let his gaze sweep around, trying to find the other creature. Lifting his tail so it was no longer dragging along the ground, the fox crept forward, attempting to be silent. Though, like many things, stealth was not his forte.

[Red]

(Sorry... NaNoWriMo is killing me...)

In the cold, crackling air, every sound was magnified ten-fold. The young fox hated it. The sounds of summer were like cotton, droning on and on, muffling anything actually near you. It wasn't as great for detecting predators around you (but bears and mountain lions are too clumsy to miss anyways), but it was not as nerve racking or tense. It created an unnecessary atmosphere of fear. A couple of rabbits could sound like a wolverine. Every time, the young fox shuttered.

Almost, she embraced the urge to leap down from the tree and scamper off into the leaves along the forest floor, just to break the wall of silence. In fact, she stood up, stretched, and bunched up her muscles to leap. But she stopped herself. A steady, crunching set of steps trotted through the forests. Whoever it was certainly wanted to be noticed. Or was he just oblivious to the fact that his (or her) strutting echoed in all the near-barren trees.

Straining to see, the young grey fox craned her neck around the thick trunk. Through the colored leaves, she spotted a red fox, probably male from the scent of him. She found it odd his pelt was not completely red, instead sprinkled with black, but who was she to talk: a gray fox named Red for her uncharacteristically rusty fur with only a few gray stripes and patches.

He first instinct was to jump down and greet the male with a cheery smile and chipper bark. But, usually strangers did not like to be surprised in that manner. The other option was to play it safe and hide in the tree, but the other wanderer seemed to have already caught onto her scent, making her detection very possible. Plus, she liked to be the one to initiate the meeting. Decisions, decisions.

On account of her boredom, Red’s muzzle grew a curled smile. Foxes weren’t called mischievous for nothing. So, without further thought, the gray fox leapt out of the tree like a flying squirrel, sailing down onto the forest floor. She landed expertly, giving herself a mental 10/10. With a loud yip to announce her presence, Red jumped out of striking difference, not putting in past the stranger to react violently. Her tongue lolled out and her front legs bowed onto the ground, showing her playful mood. “Catch me if you can, Red Squirrel!” she taunted.