Chapter Text
There’s a fox who lives in the burrow down by the stream.
It’s a quiet place. There are no other sounds there but the leaves that rustle in the soft summer breeze and the gentle gurgle of the water. No other animals drink at that area in the stream either, so there’s no tromping of hooves or sounds of geese.
Everybody who lives in the forest knew that the part of the small stream belongs to the fox.
And Philza wouldn’t have it any other way.
He wakes up with a slight stretch of his paws, extending his forearms and raising his back legs. Then with a quick flick of his tail, he scampers out of his burrow and starts the day.
It’s quite easy being a fox.
A lot easier than it was being a human.
Humans came with all sorts of troubles. Work, arguments, discrimination, money, orphanages.
All Phil has to worry about is finding breakfast.
Which doesn’t take very long.
The old dame rabbit that lives down the stream near the hawthorn tree had a bunch of rabbits in her nest last spring. Now they’re all grown up and easy for the pickings.
They had come to a sort of truce, him and that old rabbit. He didn’t eat her or her offspring, and by the time her children reached a full year, long, long after they left the nest, the old gal turned her head the other way.
He got food and she got to live.
It’s as much as a semblance to friendship that this forest could get.
She was getting to be quite old now though. This year might be her last chance for bunnies. But even after her last herd, Phil doesn’t think he will eat her. She’s earned his respect. He might even help her out more now that she can’t do everything herself. Every blue moon when he’s foraging and finds some root vegetables he already brings it to her den. He could stand to do it a few more times.
But that’s later on in the year.
Right now, despite some lingering snow on the ground, it’s still on the cusp of spring. And it’s time to get food.
He cackles to himself as he goes out to hunt a rabbit.
An hour later he’s back in his den, opening his maw, and ripping into delicious meat.
As Phil thought earlier, it is quite easy being a fox.
Even if it does get a bit lonely sometimes.
But that’s the human part of Phil that yearns for somebody else. For someone to crawl into his den, for someone to bring him food, for someone to eat with.
His fox is quite content.
So he’ll just have to learn to live with the loneliness tinting the edges of his vision.
At night time, when he’s curling up into a ball, with his tail tucked under him, and warmth spreading in his den, Phil dreams of parents, wishes and things he’ll never have.
. . .
It’s quiet by the stream where the fox lives.
So when there’s a crunch of boots in dense moss, a snap of a twig, and somebody ambling over the bramble bushes, the fox immediately knows something is wrong.
He doesn’t dare do something as foolish as creep out of his hole, but he moves just a little closer to the opening, keeping his ears flicked up and alert.
“Come on, I saw a deer this way earlier. The tracks are still fresh.” A deep baritone voice rings out. While it’s been forever since he’s been human, and the syllables sound weird to his fox ears, Phil can still recall the meaning to all those words.
Hunters.
Good ones from the like of it too, because if Phil’s counting correctly, he can hear the total of six feet walk over his hole. But their very silent. If Phil wasn’t in the ground where vibrations travel easier, then he might not have been able to tell.
Then a howl rings out.
Immediately Phil ducks deeper into his den, his ears tucking themselves down and his belly laying flat against the floor.
Shit. They’ve brought hounds.
Hounds aren’t usually used for a deer hunt.
But they are used for foxes.
Already, Phil could hear one sniffing around the ground. Probably looking for a hole of some creature.
A fox hole.
Phil has to stop himself from letting out a whine. This is not how he thought his day was going to go.
He became a fox so things would be easy.
Of course, humans have to come and screw that up too!
“Are you sure you saw a stag headed this way?” Another voice asks teasingly.
“Yes I’m fucking sure Wilbur!” That voice sounded younger. But not too young.
Definitely older than Phil.
“You two are goin’ to scare everything in this forest.” Another voice booms. It’s the first one Phil heard. Deep and low. Were it not currently on a hunt for small woodland creatures such as Phil, than he might have found it soothing. “Hold up, the hounds found something interestin’.”
Just as he says this, the sniffing around his hole gets louder.
Flicking his tail anxiously, Phil waits for the hounds to pass over him.
Almost like a blanket being thrown over them, the glen suddenly goes quiet.. There’s no sound of a hound. No talk of a hunter. No rustle of a leaf.
It stays like that for a good few seconds.
Are they gone? Phil asks himself. He takes one step closer to the edge of his den. Then another. He’s close to peering out-
A giant, barking muzzle sticks itself into the entrance to his hole.
Loud, viscous yapping immediately echoes around his burrow. Filling up all the crevices and making Phil’s ears ring.
Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.
With a growl, he reaches forward with his claws and swipes at the muzzle of the dog. It draws back with a whimpering whine.
“Get back in there you wimp,” One of the human voices exclaim!
Ah hell no! Like he’s just going to wait for other hounds to intrude their dumb, gaping maws into his burrow. There’s no way.
There’s a wisp of sadness as he thinks about how he’s going to have to abandon this den.
Phil’s lived here for three years now.
It wasn’t much, but it was home.
Now humans came and were taking it away. Just like they had his human one.
With a yipp, he launches himself out of the hole, immediately taking to the forest. Completely ignoring all the hounds and people, he starts to run as far as his legs can take him. Not even daring to look back. His paws drum against the untrodden earth kicking up leaves and dirt.
Immediately he hears a whistle and a howl following behind him.
Then another sound reaches his ears.
Hooves.
Shit, they had horses this entire time?!
Their thundering beat rings out throughout the forest. No doubt every animal can hear them now. Oddly, the first thing he thinks about is the old dame rabbit in her hawthorn tree. He hopes she doesn’t leave her burrow today. She’s too small a kill for hunters like these, but the hounds weren’t as picky if they were hungry.
Idly, he wonders if he’ll ever see her again.
“It’s a fox with blonde fur!” A hunter’s voice exclaims through the woods.
They’re closer than he thought!
He tries to run even faster, but it’s been a few years since he’s had to even run this hard, and his legs are already on fire. Panting heavily, the fox jumps over a small branch trying to find a way to escape. But all around him is forest.
And the hunters were already so near.
Chances of survival were dwindling by the minute.
Shit.
Then, like a switch flicking on, an idea comes to Phil’s mind. Immediately he changes his course for the river.
Behind him, the hunters do as well.
The hounds yip behind him. One gets particularly close. He’s faster than the others. Far ahead of the rest of his pack. Phil tucks behind a tree and can’t help the snicker he has when the dog collides with it’s rough bark.
Hehe, get wrecked mate.
When the water of the giant river is in sight, the fox’s heart soars. This move in itself is a gamble, but it’s one that he’s willing to take.
Besides, he’d rather drown than be ripped apart by hounds.
The river is running quickly from the recent rains, and the roar of it’s thunderous currents fills his ears.
There’s a high probability Phil’s not going to be able to swim in the rapids.
With a running leap, he launches himself into the water, feeling the liquid wrap around his fur and paws. Kicking his legs as fast as possible, he tries to stay underwater as the current pushes him to the side. Fuck, he’s being swept away faster than he can swim!
One his paws finds hold in a rock and he uses it to propel himself a little ways forward. Water fills his nose and he chokes.
Ah shit! He needs air. He breaks his muzzle out of the water for a quick second. Gasping in a breath of air as the currents sweep him back under.
Neighing and whining comes from the bank behind him. So the horses and hounds were afraid to enter the deathly torrents. Good. At least that part of the plan worked.
There’s a round of shouting that Phil can’t hear. The sound of rushing water deafening him. Finally, there’s a still part in one of the currents, and Phil takes the time to jump up on a rock sticking out of the water. All four of his paws are crammed on the small surface.
He takes a second to turn and look back at the hunters.
An arrow whizzes by his head.
Oops.
Maybe it’s best to not look back.
“What a shit shot Wil!” A cackling voice exclaims.
“Shut up Tommy!”
The fox launches over to another rock above water. He feels something brush past his tail.
“Oh so I have a shit shot!” This-Wil seems to teases
“Look, he was standing still when you were shooting, I almost go him mid-leap.”
He jumps a third time. Then a fourth and finally he’s on the other side of the river. He shakes his fur with a wheeze. He didn’t die-
Wait-
He didn’t die!
He bounces on his feet excitedly.
Fox cackles ring out as he keeps shaking his fur. Phil didn’t think he was going to survive that. Whew! That was so close. (Closer than he would have liked!) There were so many shots that missed him!
Mirth worms its way to his heart, and before he can blink, the teenager is standing on two legs on the river bank. There’s a rippling sensation under his skin that he hasn’t felt in a very, very long time. Distantly, he realizes he’s in his old clothes, back from the before, but he doesn’t pay attention to it as he turns around and faces his pursuers.
Three men stand on the other side of the raging river.
Mouths slack open and eyebrows raised. They sure weren’t expecting his two-leg form huh? Serves them right. The assholes. They ruined a perfectly good fox burrow. It’s going to take him forever to find another one even half that good.
It’s only now that Phil’s quite a distance from them that he finally gets a good look at the three. Crowns adorn their heads and their outfits scream of money. Oh, so not only were they pricks. But they were rich pricks. Phil feels no shame in taking joy in their surprised faces.
He raises his arm in a jaunty wave.
“Better luck next time! Yeah mates?”
His voice echoes through the space, and he sees one of the men, a guy with long, pink braided hair take a step forward. But before he speaks, Phil shifts back into his four-legged form and rushes back into the forest.
He’s hungry and he needs to find a new place to burrow before sun down.
Life’s quite easy being a fox after all.
And he doesn’t think those men will come to chase him anytime soon.
Phil bounds into the forest completely missing the dark look the three share. The way their lips quirk up in delighted grins. And the wanting, aching word that passes through the air.
“Mine.”