The Fox Cub Bold

by Colin Dann

  ‘No, no . . . it’s not likely,’ Rollo answered, rather sorrowfully. ‘I’ll return when it’s daylight.’

  So the three animals set off again through the slush and mire. Bold’s bad leg had stiffened up again and he winced visibly for the first few metres. After that it loosened a bit, and they were able to proceed a little less slowly. The remaining snow was melting fast, revealing great patches of grass. Pools of water collected everywhere and new rivulets ran over the ground wherever it was not quite flat. Water seemed to seep into everything and soon the coats of the three beasts were soaked and matted with mud. But the night was mild and windless so that their discomfort was not extreme.

  ‘We must try and find some piece of cover nearer than that copse,’ Bold panted, ‘and, in any case, we don’t want that direction.’

  ‘There doesn’t appear to be much available except dead bracken,’ Whisper remarked.

  ‘Well, if that’s all there is – it’ll have to do,’ Bold answered. ‘We should at least be well camouflaged if we can find a thick clump. I really can’t go very far, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Of course,’ Whisper reassured him. ‘We must think of you now, first and foremost.’

  They discovered a patch of soggy dead bracken, beaten almost flat on the ground. But it was just thick enough for them to crawl underneath and conceal themselves.

  ‘Where’s Rollo?’ Bold asked suddenly.

  ‘He’s probably started on his homeward journey now we’re settled,’ answered his mate.

  However, shortly afterwards, up came the faithful dog again, carrying something in his jaws. It was the remains of the dead hare. ‘Why waste it?’ he asked, after depositing it by his friends. ‘There’s a good meal for each of you in that carcass.’

  ‘There certainly is,’ agreed Whisper. ‘Why ever didn’t we think of it?’

  As dawn approached Rollo sadly bade his friends farewell, and they watched his huge lumbering form trotting, with many a backward glance, in the direction of home. The mastiff retrieved his bone on the way, for most of it was still left and it was not in his nature to abandon such a choice morsel.

  When he was close to his home yard it was broad daylight, and he received the surprise of his life. His master, who had noticed his absence, was combing the area for his huge pet in great concern. When he saw Rollo coming towards him he was so relieved he ran up to the dog and made such a fuss of him as he had never done before. The enraptured dog dropped his bone and danced around, covering his laughing master with mud and uttering the most vociferous bellows in his joy. Then Rollo leapt his fence, still barking, while his master prepared to give him a thorough scrub. Now it was the foxes’ turn to be forgotten as man and dog renewed their friendship in a way that made them both realize that they could never ever lose it again.

  —— 20 ——

  The Parting

  Each night thereafter Bold and Whisper continued their journey. When the last of the snow had disappeared, food became more readily available. Now that the approach of spring was heralded, more small creatures were on the move. Whisper no longer made any attempt to force the pace. She knew that she and her unborn cubs depended on Bold entirely. She was more solicitous than ever for his well-being and did not comment on the fact that his pace was becoming slower and slower. Of course, Bold himself was well aware of it. Every night he wondered if his leg could endure yet more strain on the morrow; yet somehow he managed to keep on. Robber still followed their stages by day and he, too, noticed how the distances they covered were becoming progressively shorter.

  Gradually and very, very gradually, the foxes’ destination grew closer as the month of March was ushered in. They passed the ditch where Bold had first hidden after his injury. He showed Whisper the actual place where he had been shot and she looked very solemn. Then he told her of the game coverts nearby that really had been the cause of all his trouble and he mentioned Shadow the sow badger.

  ‘You’ve certainly not lacked for friends,’ Whisper remarked.

  ‘No. I have been lucky.’ Bold thought for a moment. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’m obliged to admit that I wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t had their help. Each time I’ve been in dire trouble one creature or another has come to my rescue. First of all there was Shadow; then Robber saved me from starving. Then, dear Whisper, you yourself came on the scene; and finally, poor simple Rollo. I could have died several times over without you all . . .’

  ‘But you yourself haven’t been slow to do good turns,’ Whisper reminded him. ‘And anyway, Bold, it wasn’t your fate to die too soon.’

  ‘Fate?’ he muttered. ‘And what is to be my fate?’

  ‘To lead me to White Deer Park and to see your young ones born and brought up there.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ he replied, thinking how different it was from the destiny he had planned for himself. By a strange coincidence Bold at that juncture happened to be passing a puddle of dark water where the moon and stars were reflected like a handful of diamonds and pearl. He stopped and looked at his own peering face. Shadow would have been a fitter name for him, for shadow he was of his former self. He saw himself as an animal dying of a lingering disease, for which there never was, and never could be, a cure. He actually shivered at the sight of his own image and hastily passed on. He said nothing; neither did Whisper – but the moment was charged with their own recognition of its significance. Bold knew then – finally and incontrovertibly – that he would never enter White Deer Park again. If he didn’t die in the attempt of leading the vixen to its borders, he would absent himself from her company when she was close enough to need him no more. For his re-appearance in the Nature Reserve would be, for him, an admission of failure. Only by living alone for as long as his blighted life might last could he retain his self-respect. And that was all that remained to him. He had not been independent; neither had he enjoyed total freedom. He had only survived to this point because others had succoured him when in need. But he would regain his independence at last. He could at least die alone.

  Bold gave no utterance to his thoughts and Whisper was left to think her own. Something of his feelings communicated themselves to her but she dared not voice her fears. And so they continued.

  They went close by the game wood but, this time, Bold had no intention of entering it. He did not care to renew his acquaintance with the female badger, neither did he wish to court the dangers of traps and gibbets. At length he and Whisper reached the open downland. Will-power alone had enabled Bold to keep going through pain, weakness and exhaustion. Now he knew that a few more stages would take them near enough to the Reserve for Whisper to manage alone. That night, after the vixen had caught their frugal supper, she started to question Bold again about their destination.

  ‘It won’t be long now,’ he promised her. ‘Patience and caution have brought us this far and should see us through.’

  Whisper looked at him penetratingly. ‘Can you keep going?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been worrying and worrying about you.’

  ‘Worry no more,’ Bold said. ‘I’ll last the course.’

  His cryptic remarks did not reassure her. She tried to probe his thoughts. ‘Once we’re in the Park you need do nothing but rest and eat. I’ll find us a den – or I’ll dig one myself.’

  Bold remained silent.

  ‘Will we see the Farthing Wood – er – your father?’ she asked. ‘And your brother and sister cubs?’

  ‘If they’re still alive,’ he answered evasively. He thought of Vixen, his mother, with regret. How he longed to see her once more. But it couldn’t be.

  Whisper fell silent, but she continued to wonder about Bold’s intentions. Five more days and nights passed. Then she wondered no more. She woke from an uneasy sleep amongst some budding undergrowth to find Bold gone. She jumped up and went carefully into the open. Although she scanned the landscape in every direction, there was no sign of him. The event she had dreaded had occurred. She searched the nearby wood, calling to him in the vixen
’s characteristic way. Then she started to explore further afield. Copses, undergrowth and even dead vegetation she searched, always looking for an earth where he might have hidden himself. She found nothing. Then she wondered if Bold might have returned to the spot where they had last been together, while she had been looking for him in vain. She went back to their hideaway.

  When she again found no trace of him she lay down miserably. She decided to wait, for perhaps he would return at nightfall. Dusk fell and her hopes were raised. But the night wore slowly on and she remained quite alone. She ate nothing. She wanted nothing – except Bold’s return. She slept.

  In the daylight she knew he would not come back. But still she stayed. Then, when darkness came again she knew she had to move on. Her time was approaching and now her duty to her unborn cubs was paramount. She made herself eat for their sakes and, continuing resolutely in the direction she and Bold had travelled all along, she approached the Park. As she went she still looked for signs of her lost mate wherever she thought there was any chance of finding him. But she soon realized it was a hopeless task, for by now it was obvious to her that Bold had parted from her for good. Two nights later she stood before the boundary fence of White Deer Park. Safety and protection beckoned her inside, yet she hesitated. Added to the sadness and emptiness she had been experiencing for the past few days there was now a feeling of remorse as she thought of the choice she had forced poor Bold to make. He had succumbed to her entreaties for a safe home for their cubs, whilst all along he had had no wish to return to his birthplace. He had sacrificed his own chances of survival by ensuring that his mate should reach her destination. His struggles on the long journey had been only too apparent to her, and she had seen him grow weaker with each day. Now she had lost him – for Whisper knew in her heart that Bold had gone away to die.

  She stood forlornly on the threshold of her new world with the most bitter regrets gnawing at her conscience. Yet she felt that Bold had accepted her wishes because he himself wanted his cubs to be born in safety, even if he had decided it would mean his own life was over. She found the selfsame gap in the fence from which Bold had left his old home, and entered the Park. Giving herself a shake, she set her mind to the task of finding an earth. There was not much of the night left.

  As dawn crept over the Reserve Whisper took cover. She had encountered none of the inhabitants of her new home as yet, and now she automatically took her usual precautions. She was very tired and was glad to rest. During the day she woke briefly to see a herd of white hinds stepping daintily through the grass. She had never seen such large animals before but she knew there was nothing to fear from them. Bold had long ago described all the animals she might meet at her journey’s end.

  In the evening she resumed her explorations. A wooded part of the Park attracted her. Under an ash tree a small animal had built a hole. Whisper began to excavate with the intention of enlarging it into a den. As she halted once from her work, she found another fox watching her. It soon became apparent that the animal was another vixen; very young; and in the same condition as herself.

  ‘I’m sure I’ve never seen you in this wood before,’ said the vixen, in a not unfriendly way.

  ‘No – nor in the Park,’ Whisper added.

  ‘Oh? You’ve come from the outside?’ Her astonishment was obvious.

  ‘Yes, from outside. You see – I’m soon to have a litter of cubs and I wanted protection for them.’

  ‘Indeed! May I ask how you know of the Nature Reserve?’

  ‘Why not?’ Whisper decided to cast caution to the winds. ‘Their father was born here.’

  The vixen gasped. ‘Born here . . . but . . . but . . .’ she stammered, ‘where is he now? Oh, tell me where he is!’

  Whisper realized she might have encountered one of Bold’s relatives. ‘I don’t know,’ she wailed. ‘He parted from me whilst I slept. I don’t know where he is now, but – oh! he’s outside the Park somewhere. He didn’t want to come back here . . . in spite of his mate . . . and his unborn cubs,’ Whisper ended miserably.

  ‘Describe him to me, do!’ begged the other vixen. ‘It’s very important.’

  Whisper bowed her head. ‘I’m afraid that would serve no purpose,’ she said with a sad expression. ‘You wouldn’t recognize the description. But I know he was known here as Bold.’

  ‘Bold!’ cried the vixen joyfully. ‘I knew it! My brother cub!’

  ‘Your brother? Then you must be –’

  ‘Charmer,’ interrupted the vixen. ‘But tell me everything, please, everything! Oh, we must find him and bring him here. Our father and mother – and my own brother – all live here still. He must come back, he must!’

  Whisper felt more downhearted than ever. How could she tell Charmer that her brother might be close to death? Before she could say anything, Charmer was asking her name.

  ‘Bold gave me the name of Whisper,’ she answered almost inaudibly, so great was her emotion, ‘because of my stealth.’

  Charmer’s eyes shone. ‘Our cubs shall be cousins, Whisper,’ she said excitedly. ‘They will grow up together.’

  ‘Do you have an earth in this wood?’ Whisper asked.

  ‘Yes, just a few metres from here. Shall I help you prepare yours?’

  Whisper declined her offer. ‘You’re very kind,’ she said, ‘but I prefer to manage things myself as far as my family goes.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Charmer. ‘You’re quite right – and I’ll leave you. Do I have your permission to inform my parents of your arrival here?’

  ‘By all means,’ Whisper answered sweetly. ‘They and I – and you, too – have a mutual bond. They have a right to know.’

  ‘I will come and see you again, Whisper, to hear your story,’ said Bold’s sister vixen. ‘I hope we might be friends. My brother chose his mate well.’

  —— 21 ——

  The Farthing Wood Fox

  Bold’s last look at Whisper was one of tenderness as she lay dreaming. Her limbs twitched occasionally and from time to time a flicker passed over her face as she followed her imaginary adventures. Bold watched. He was glad he had been able to bring her thus far, though at such cost to himself. Now she would have no difficulty in completing her journey. He stood up shakily and looked out on the sunlit countryside. Spring was approaching. In but a few weeks he would have been one year old.

  Bold knew he would not live that long now. But his cubs would be born and the whole cycle would begin anew. Now he must make himself scarce. He had not long to reach his hiding-place before Whisper might come looking. With one last affectionate glance at his mate, he hobbled away.

  From a high, high branch of a poplar tree, Robber the Carrion Crow watched Bold turn his back on the vixen. He watched in earnest as Bold limped slowly over the wet ground. Where was he going? He decided to investigate. Maintaining a discreet distance to the rear of the fox, he flitted from one tree to another, always keeping him in view. Bold went towards a spinney of silver birch through which he and Whisper had passed the previous night. To and fro he went through the dappled tree-trunks. Robber surmised he was looking for something. He flew closer. Bold had found a hollow log – all that remained of an ancient beech tree. It lay on its side, encrusted with lichen, moss and fungi. As Robber flew up, the fox bent and slunk inside. Robber perched on top and waited. Bold did not re-appear. The bird assumed he had found something to eat inside – or that he was sleeping. He fluttered to the ground and strutted to the open end of the log. He could then see his friend quite clearly. Bold was lying with his head on his paws, but was still quite awake.

  ‘Robber!’ he exclaimed. ‘Wherever did you spring from?’

  ‘I didn’t “spring” from anywhere,’ the crow answered. ‘I flew here – as usual. Bold, what are you doing?’

  ‘That’s my affair,’ came the reply.

  ‘Of course – if that’s how you feel about it,’ said Robber haughtily, and made as if to go.

  ‘No – stay. Robber, stay,
’ Bold said hastily. ‘I’m sorry. Why shouldn’t you know?’ He paused.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m going no further,’ said Bold slowly. ‘Whisper must finish the journey by herself.’

  ‘But why, when you’ve come so far?’ asked Robber.

  ‘Look at me,’ said Bold, ‘and look hard. How much do I resemble even the beast you once knew?’

  Robber shifted his feet awkwardly. ‘But I’m sure, once you reach the Reserve again you’ll soon –’ he began.

  ‘I’ll soon be dead,’ Bold cut in harshly. ‘Let’s be realistic. I’ve brought my death closer forcing myself on and on, night after night. I’ve done what I promised –I’ve shown Whisper the way. Now her cubs – our cubs –will be safe. But I won’t ever see them.’

  ‘That is a very sad remark,’ Robber said.

  ‘It’s true nonetheless. Even if I should continue from here, I should never survive long enough for that.’

  Robber looked away uncomfortably. ‘She’ll come searching for you,’ he said.

  ‘I know she will. But she won’t find me,’ Bold answered. ‘I’m going to block up this entrance.’

  ‘How ever can you do that?’

  ‘Oh, there’s plenty of dead leaves and grass and such like I can rake together.’

  ‘I don’t like the thought of it,’ said Robber. ‘You might perish in there.’

  ‘You know, Robber, by all the laws of Nature I should have perished already,’ replied the fox fatalistically. ‘Do you remember my boast of living the True Wild Life? Well, I haven’t. My life has been as protected outside the Reserve as it would have been inside – only in a different way.’

  ‘Not true,’ Robber disputed. ‘You wouldn’t have been shot in a Nature Reserve.’

  ‘Foxes have been shot – even there – by poachers,’ Bold informed him. ‘But what’s the point of arguing? You’ve been a good friend to me.’ He got up and stumbled to the end of the log. ‘I’ve no time to lose,’ he said, beginning to scrape together the leaf litter where Robber stood, into a pile.