Jackal and Wolf

by Shen Shixi

  Flame’s skills at playing dead were as good as those of the snow fox. This eagle was so aggressive. If she could make it believe that she was dead, she could divert its attention to herself. It would give up its attack on the bushes, and try its luck on Flame. When it came over to investigate, she would spring to life and attack it. If she couldn’t kill it outright, she could still give it the shock of its life, which would give her time to make a getaway.

  Flame climbed on to a metre-high rock by the side of the bushes. The next time the spotted eagle came swooping down to tear at the bushes, she leapt up at it with a screech, and then, apparently missing her footing, fell from the rock, hit the ground rolling, banged her head on a stone, and showed the whites of her eyes as she came to a stop lying face up on the ground. To make it look even more realistic, she bit her tongue till there was blood, then mixed it with saliva, and let it spill out of the corner of her mouth. It looked like she was spewing up blood, that she was dying, and these were her last breaths.

  Of course the eagle noticed this series of movements. Although it was aiming for the bushes, suddenly in mid-swoop, its wings flattened out, and it changed direction and went to hover over Flame. The sound of beating wings and flexing claws filled Flame’s ears. Come on, she thought. Come and get your claws into a dying jackal lying in the grass. It’s so much easier than tearing at the brambles to catch a little pup hiding in the bushes. Come on, help yourself to some tasty jackal meat for your chicks. It’s your last chance, don’t waste it. Don’t hesitate, don’t hold back, come on, quickly!

  The eagle swooped swiftly. Flame felt sure its claws would soon be on her back. She stretched out her claws and prepared herself mentally. When the eagle’s claws dragged over her chest, she would spring up from the dead, grab the smug bird, and show it just how strong a jackal’s claws and teeth could be. But, when the eagle was about a metre or so above her head, it suddenly stopped its descent, the sound of its beating wings changed direction and it started to rise again. It rose higher and higher in the sky. Then half a minute later came the sound of branches and creepers being torn apart. Flame’s eyes widened in shock. That evil bird had dived at the bushes again, and was ripping the top off the bushes with its claws.

  The eagle had seen through her plan. But how? Perhaps her pretence had not been good enough, and its eagle eye had seen the flaws. Perhaps it had fallen for another animal’s playing-dead trickery in the past, and had learnt a bitter lesson from it. Whatever the reason, it had decided not to pick up the adult on the cheap, but to go after the little pups in the bushes. Perhaps this spotted eagle was a gourmet, who selected only the finest, richest, most delicious foods, rejecting her jackal meat as unpalatable in its desire to eat the fine skin and tender flesh of the little pups.

  Whatever the reason, the spotted eagle was not going to be duped or hoodwinked. It had somehow worked out that Flame was playing dead, and that the falling, hitting her head and biting her own tongue were all part of the pretence. Flame’s efforts were without result, it was all in vain, a failure, and she felt sad and depressed.

  The situation was getting more and more serious. Half of the branches and creepers at the top of the bushes had been torn away. The eagle would have to make only another three or four swoops before it was completely torn open, and as the bushes were the only place the pups could hide, their lives would soon be in danger. Every time the eagle tore at the bushes, Flame tried to attack it or get in its way. But, with her injured front leg, she could not jump high, and she landed badly. The eagle was cunning and flew back and forth at a height of over two metres, thus rendering Flame’s efforts ineffective and useless. She was no threat to the eagle.

  The three pups’ lives were at stake. Flame needed to think up a way of averting the crisis as quickly as possible, otherwise there would be a massacre right in front of her eyes. Blood would be spilt. Keeping very still, she stared at the eagle, carefully watching every tiny move it made, as she sought to regain her ground. She noticed an important detail. When the eagle grasped at the branches and creepers, it flapped its wings furiously, and just before it ripped the top of the bushes to pieces, it paused in the sky for a second or two. For that brief moment, its body was upright, its tail and wings pointing down, reaching below its claws, its whole body not quite two metres above the ground. Even more exciting for Flame was that when its body was completely vertical like this, its head was pointing to the sky. In other words, there were a couple of seconds when the bird’s vision shifted to the blue sky and white clouds, and it would not see anything moving on the ground. This was her moment to strike. If she climbed the half-metre rock by the bushes and leapt up at that crucial moment, would she be able to bite its body, or at least its tail and wings? She felt anxious and hurried. Her chances were slim, maybe only twenty or thirty per cent. But while there was a glimmer of hope, she would fight.

  When the eagle’s head was up, and there was a blind spot in its visual inspection of the ground, Flame took her chance. She surged to her paws and leapt into the air with all her might. Given her injured leg, this was a very risky thing to do. If she missed and bit the air, she might land in the bushes, where the brambles would scratch her body, and the tree stumps would break her bones. If that happened, she would not be able to fight any more. She would not be able to protect the three pups, and she would not be able to prevent the eagle pecking at her. She was risking not just one life, but four.

  Jackals are intelligent animals, and Flame’s plan was thorough. The eagle’s tail at its lowest was the highest point she could reach when she jumped. Flame leapt at the tail feathers in the most ungainly fashion. By taking the eagle completely off guard, she was able to drag it into the bushes, where the branches and creepers caught her wings like ropes – an unexpected bonus. The eagle recovered from the shock, released its claws, let go of the branches in its grip, flapped its wings madly and screamed. As it rose, its wings hit the top of the bushes, shattering a few feathers, which darted about in the sky. Flame held on to the tail feathers. She could not believe the strength of this bird. It was taking Flame with her – slowly and with difficulty – as it tried to climb up into the sky. At the same time, it was swinging its claws back and forth, mercilessly grabbing and tearing at Flame. The claws slashed at her neck like sharp knives. She could hear it happening, and could smell the thick, pungent blood seeping from the wound. A searing pain raged through her like fire. She pressed her jaws tighter together: those devil’s claws could rip her neck and slash her throat, but she would not let go. Her situation was not good, but it was far more dangerous for the eagle. The eagle would find it very awkward to fly with a jackal hanging from its tail, and would not be able to stay up in the air for long. Sure enough, the eagle grew tired. It dropped height, then rose again, battling away in the sky for its life. If Flame could hold on, it would soon use up all its strength, and would fall to the ground exhausted. She could then unleash all the power of a predator, and finish it off.

  As they moved through the long narrow valley the spotted eagle flew lower and lower. When Flame’s feet touched the grass and gravel of the land, she would be one step from victory. She stretched out to catch the ground as they landed, to get a grip and drag the eagle down. Her claws scraped along the ground, grasping at the earth, pulling at the grass roots. Although the eagle was flapping its wings, its body had stopped in mid-air, unable to fly any more.

  Both sides waited for a moment, then the eagle gave an almighty screech, and flapped her wings like mad. Flame felt the force that had dragged her into the air disappear. She fell back, rolled over a couple of times, and tried to get back on her feet. With half a dozen black feathers still in her mouth, she looked up, and saw the spotted eagle manically flapping its wings, flying up into the sky as fast as it could. A mouthful of tail feathers were all that remained of their vicious combat.

  With feathers drooping from the corner of her mouth, Flame growled ferociously at the sky. The spotted eagle with its bald stump o
f a tail did not come back. It cried mournfully and flew off into the curling mist of the snowy mountains. Although Flame hadn’t been able to kill the eagle, she had certainly taught it a lesson. Never again would this spotted eagle dare to fly over Buddha Belly Cave looking for food. The eagle flew further and further into the distance, until it was just a black dot, and disappeared into the mushroom-like clouds.

  Flame had been dragged about three hundred metres. With her neck sore and hurting, she staggered back towards Buddha Belly Cave. The three pups were huddled together in the bushes. ‘You can come out now, the air raid’s over, everything’s fine again,’ she told them with the gentlest voice. The little things climbed gingerly out from the bushes. They nestled beside her, still trembling with fear. Now and then they would look up to the sky with eyes full of terror. When a few dry leaves blew down from the tops of the trees in the autumn wind, it scared them. They huddled together and nosed their way under Flame’s chest. ‘Don’t be frightened! When I’m here, no one will harm you!’ She put her leg round the pups and drew them closer, and lovingly licked their foreheads.

  If Flame had been feeling awkward about Sweetie bringing her food and looking after her, there was no need to feel that way now. She had held her own in this battle and had saved the three little pups. She was not on the scrapheap yet; she had saved the day!

  Chapter 17

  The trees shed their green mantle, and the snow line marched down the mountain. Winter had arrived. Looking for food became more and more difficult. The three pups had finished suckling, and had moved on to pieces of meat fed to them by their mother. More and more food was needed, which meant Sweetie had to go out almost every day. There was barely enough for the family to get by.

  After a heavy fall of snow, Sweetie braved the weather and went hunting, but her luck was down, and for two days in a row she found nothing to eat. Without food to nourish them, the pups were little more than skin and bone. That night, despite their mother’s encouragement, they would not go to sleep. They crowded round Sweetie howling and begging for food. Sweetie held her head forward and shook her neck, to regurgitate some chewed food, but nothing came out. She hadn’t eaten for two days now, and her belly was empty as could be. There was nothing to conjure up to feed to her whimpering pups. Then, little Raven pawed at Sweetie’s face and bit her hard on the muzzle. Perhaps he was complaining about his hunger; perhaps he was impatient for the food to be served? His pup’s teeth were small, but his bite was vicious. Sweetie leapt back in pain, gave a threatening growl, brushed him off on to the stony ground, then pushed Coldwind and Sleet away from her as well. ‘I’ve nothing to give you. Leave me alone!’

  Animals are like humans. When things are going badly, it’s all too easy to lose patience, to become irritable and cross. The three pups whimpered and moved around the cave like lost souls. Flame caught beads of water that dripped from the stalactite at the back of the cave on the tip of her tongue and fed it to the pups to try and calm them. But water is not meat; it moistens the lips but cannot fill an empty belly. The little things were so hungry they were gnawing at stones, digging up earth, and begging for food in any way they could think of. It was excruciating for the adults to see them like this.

  This went on half the night, and then something worse happened. The three pups got to that overtired stage. They were wide awake but needing to sleep. They clambered about with wobbly legs, slipping and tripping every few steps. They were weak with hunger, and Flame knew from experience that if they didn’t find something for them to eat before dawn, then they might not live to see the day.

  Sweetie was anxiously pacing up and down inside the cave. She was clearly restless and agitated. Then she stopped by the mouth of the cave and stood looking out at the vast mountains. The snow was still falling, the north wind was howling. Looking through the snowflakes in the blurry sky, she could see lights twinkling far away in the narrow valley between the mountains. It was Doufuying, where the humans lived, and where there were so many animals of special interest to jackals and wolves. Sweetie’s eyes narrowed, as though preparing for the kill. Even the soft fur on her tail was standing up at the ready. Flame could feel her chest tightening. She had taken Sweetie to Doufuying in the past, and she had seen the fat hens, the portly ducks and the chubby piglets. Flame could tell from the unusual way Sweetie was behaving, that she was going to risk a hunting trip to the village. While there is breath in her body, no mother will watch as her child starves to death.

  Flame knew what going to the village to look for food meant. Humans have knives and guns, and hunting dogs that are fearlessly loyal. Sweetie would be gambling with her life. Her chances of success were slim, as low as one in ten, and her chances of failure were massive. It was more dangerous than picking grain out of a fire, or snatching food from a tiger’s mouth. If anything unexpected happened, the three pups would die, and she would too. No, she could not let Sweetie take this risk. She moved to stand in her way. But it was too late; Sweetie was out of the cave with a growl and a sweep of her tail. It was not long before she disappeared into the snow and wind of the dark night.

  The three pups were faint with hunger. Flame drew them close to her. Right now the only thing she could do was hope and pray: pray that Nature would show mercy and let Sweetie hunt down food at Doufuying without any hassle, and hope that she would bring the prey back safe and sound.

  Flame hadn’t eaten for two days either. She was feeling light-headed and seeing stars before her eyes, and could feel her stomach convulsing. The three pups were lying there beside her. If she wanted to, it would be the easiest thing in the world to eat one of them: one crunch for the head, then gobble the rest down. But this never occurred to her. Jackals and wolves have a strong sense of family, and although Flame did not have a blood tie with the three pups, she had seen them being born and had watched them growing up. They might not be her own family, but she would rather starve to death than harm them in any way.

  In the middle of the night, the snow stopped falling, and Venus rose. In the calm of the night there seemed to be a dog barking. Flame thought she must be mistaken, and listened out carefully. Yes, it was a dog, and the noise seemed to be coming from Doufuying. She was worried. Had something happened to Sweetie? She jumped to her feet, and hobbled out of Buddha Belly Cave. Everything was covered in ice and snow. It made Flame even more unsteady than usual. Time and again, the bitter wind tried to blow her to the ground. She slipped and slid on the snow, and struggled through the valley by biting hold of brambles, and using every means available to her. She had to get closer to that barking. She wanted to help Sweetie.

  Groping around in the dark, she eventually made her way through the valley, and came to the fork in the road that leads to Doufuying. In the light of the snow and the stars, she could make out two dark shadows in the distance, one running after the other. The shadows gradually loomed larger and larger, until she could see quite clearly that it was Sweetie racing away at the front, dragging a very young piglet behind her. Hot on her heels was a big dog with mottled fur. In the light of the snow Flame could see quite clearly that Sweetie was being chased by none other than the big-eared dog that had bitten her previously. It was the big sheepdog, tall and strong, the pack leader of the hunting dogs of Doufuying, as ferocious as they come. Flame had encountered him the year before when she sneaked into the village and stole the chicken. He had spotted her, and had ripped through her teats. She still had the scars. Bitter memories do not fade. She had never expected to see this dog, this rogue, again.

  Sweetie’s situation did not look good. The piglet weighed over five kilograms, it was still alive and struggling, kicking out, and slowing Sweetie down.

  In the distance, Flame could hear the whole pack of dogs barking and there were countless flame-torches moving about in the snow. The human hunters and the pack of hunting dogs would catch up with Sweetie in no time. The big-eared dog would bark and attack her. Its aim was clear: it would catch hold of Sweetie and wait for r
einforcements.

  It is generally the case that one dog can’t deal with a wolf by itself. The big-eared dog, while it was certainly a fine specimen of a dog and had all the courage of a sheepdog, was not a true match for Sweetie. But she had not eaten for two days and, more crucially, she had been trying to carry the piglet back to the cave. She was not looking for a fight, and was worried that the hunters and the pack of dogs might catch up with her. She just wanted to shake off the big-eared dog, keep hold of the piglet and run. She had stolen, he had chased after her. He now had the upper hand. In her mind, Flame could feel his claws tearing down her back, and drawing blood. The hunters and the pack of dogs were not far behind. Sweetie was in serious danger. The dogs would surround her, and the bullets would swarm at her like hornets.

  Finding a rock by the side of the road, Flame crouched on her haunches, ready to leap down and attack. She knew that even if Sweetie could drag the chubby piglet back to Buddha Belly Cave, it wouldn’t be the end of this crisis. Winter had only just arrived, and the pressures of a long and hungry cold season lay before them. If Sweetie managed it this time, she would risk going to the village again. When death rears its head, all animals will take risks. But Sweetie couldn’t expect success every time. That would be unattainable. And the villagers who had been robbed of a chubby piglet were bound to be angry and to curse their hunting dogs for being as clumsy as pigs, for taking the food they gave them but being lazy good-for-nothing idiots. Who knows, perhaps they would kick them or lash out at them too, to teach them a lesson, make them more alert, more on their guard, ready for ambush. Before long, Sweetie would be on the wanted list.