The Sly Fox
The world was hushed, wary of the new day.
With his father’s bow rested in his hand, Thomas walked into the crisp air. The immediate danger had passed with the night’s passing tide, but an unease still hung over him, a subtle but unshakable tension that pricked at his skin like the cold.
He followed the tracks of a boar, heavy and deep, the earth beneath them pressing back against the weight of the creature’s passage. The boar had passed near the cottage the night before, and though it was only a wild animal, it felt like an omen of something dark moving in the world.
The trees grew thick as he ventured deep into the forest, their bare branches tangled overhead, blocking out much of the light. A strange hush seemed to settle over the woods, as if the very earth were holding its breath. The air grew colder, and Thomas felt the creeping sensation of being watched. Every crack of a twig underfoot seemed unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence. He paused, scanning the shadows, fingers brushing the bowstring in a tight grip, but nothing stirred.
And then, a flicker of movement. Something small, a flash of red, gone before he could catch a full glimpse. Not the boar. Too quick. His heart began to race, the tension crawling under his skin. His breath caught as he stepped forward, moving toward the thicket of holly where the flash had vanished.
There, nestled among the bushes, was a fox. Its fur gleamed bright crimson against the stark whiteness of the snow, too vivid, too striking. Its eyes, however, were what held him—the sharp, knowing gleam within them seemed to burrow deep into his mind, cold and calculating. For a moment, Thomas thought he saw the glimmer of something else in those eyes—something not entirely animal, but other. There was a hunger there, a hunger that felt ancient and far darker than anything he had known.
The fox didn’t move. It just watched. Silent, still, and so very aware.
A voice slid across the wind, smooth and soft, but carrying an edge that sent a shiver down his spine.
“Don’t kill that boar. It will do nothing.”
It was the fox. Clear, precise, and undeniable. There was no one else in the woods. He hadn’t seen it move, hadn’t heard it. Just… there, as if it had always been.
“There is a way to fix things,” the fox spoke. “The boar’s death will not help you.”
Thomas swallowed, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. There was something unsettling about the way the fox spoke, as if it already knew what he was thinking, as if it had known for a long time.
“You do not understand,” the fox said, its voice low and laced with something sly. “The light you cling to is so, so fragile. A wrong moment of a flicker, and it disappears. The shadows are waiting for you to make a mistake.”
Thomas gripped his bow tighter, his heart pounding. “What do you want?” He turned towards the fox, staring, glaring, his voice twisted in a kind of anger yet fear.
The fox’s gaze flickered to him, and for the first time, and smiled. It was not a kind smile, but one that curled at the edges, sharp and predatory.
“I want to save your family,” it whispered, its voice a caress that felt like a knife pressed to his throat. “That light is so beautiful, so pure, so unearned. I want it.”
The words were soft, yet they landed like ice on his chest, cold and suffocating. Thomas’s breath caught in his throat. The light. What did the fox want with it? What was that light, really?
“I know what you did,” the fox continued, its eyes gleaming with something dangerous now. “I saw the light flaring and pushing the shadows back. You think you understand it, but you don’t. Not really. It is not a thing that can be contained. That light.. must feed.”
Thomas shook his head, the words turning over in his mind like a storm. “What are you saying?”
“The balance is delicate,” the fox purred, its voice a whisper now, as if it were speaking directly into his soul. “It feeds on life, on sacrifice. But more than that, it needs light. You…”
The fox took a step forward, its fur a blur of crimson against the pale backdrop, but it did not move like any creature he knew. It was fluid, almost unnatural in its grace, as if it flowed through the air rather than moved through it.
“And you,” the fox continued, a slow smile spreading across its face, “you are something very… unique. You are a light that shines precious. Somehow, you are a light that has kept the darkness at bay. I wonder…”
The fox’s gaze turned sly, calculating, as it tilted its head. “What if it were mine?”
Thomas froze, his blood running cold. The weight of its words sank deep into his bones. It wanted the light. The very thing that had protected them, the magic that had held the shadows back. It wanted to steal it.
“Do you know what happens when the light is taken, Thomas?” The voice in his mind was now soft, coaxing. “When the magic is drained and the light is stolen, the shadows—oh, they will rise again. But with the light, I could keep them at bay. With the light, I could protect your family. Your family would be safe.”
Thomas’s chest tightened, but something deep inside him recoiled. He could feel the fox’s presence closing in around him, a pressure that threatened to crush the air from his lungs.
“The light is yours to give,” the fox whispered, its voice smooth and deceptive. “And I would take it from you. Willingly, of course. For the sake of those you love.”
The fox’s eyes gleamed, dark and hungry. It wasn’t just a creature of the forest—it was something older, something hungrier, and it wanted the very essence of the magic that had kept the darkness at bay.
“Give it to me,” the fox coaxed, its voice now a velvet purr. “Let me take it. And you, Thomas, will be the one to protect them. You will be the one to save them, to keep them safe forever.”
Thomas’s grip on the bow tightened. His skin crawled as the words washed over him, but his heart screamed for him to reject them.
With a swift motion, Thomas raised the bow, eyes narrowing.
The fox’s smile widened, revealing sharp teeth. “You don’t understand,” it whispered, voice darkening. “It will consume you, all of you, if you refuse. The light is mine, Thomas. And you will give it to me—one way or another.”
The world seemed to tighten around him, the shadows growing longer, and the woods felt alive, pulsing with the weight of the fox’s hunger. But Thomas knew what he had to do. He would not let the fox steal the light.
He nocked an arrow, the tension in the air thick as the hunt began, and he knew, deep in his bones, that he would never be the same again.
Leave a Reply