Page 19 of Blacktail

She has no den, he realized. No shelter. Not even much of a sleeping hole. His mind flashed back to the last storm of winter, just before the full moon. It was a bad one, the kind where even bunnies stuck to their burrows. It went on for days. He’d been chilly, yes. But in his mother’s den the wind was broken by the deadfall. Curled in Mother’s old sleeping hole was—well, not cozy…but warm enough. But here…on her chain…there’s nowhere to take shelter when the wind bites deep.

“Where do you sleep when the snow comes?”

She cocked her head, confused. “I mean…right here-ish? Or sometimes over there, beside the wall.” She nodded toward the wall, then at the shallow sleeping hole near the end of her chain. “It depends on the wind. If it’s from the south here, from the north there…you get the idea.” She rested her head on her forepaws. “It’s comfortable enough, I suppose. For the most part. But every now and then I wish they’d let me stay in House. It—”

“House?”

“Hmm? Oh.” She nodded at the pile of wood and stone just beyond the length of her chain. “That thing over there. That’s what they call it.” She settled in, crossed her forepaws, and lay her head on them. “Aaah.”

Blacktail looked at the den of her masters. Not that it was a proper den—something like a cave, or perhaps a sleeping hole under a deadfall—But it filled the same need as a den. This is where they sleep, he thought. It is where they go to feel safe. He studied the thing—tracked its straight and unnatural lines, sniffed its muddled morass of chemicals, oily food, man-stink…perfume…other things as well. He was close enough to feel the warmth of it, not quite so intense as a living beast, but more than a rock or a tree. As he watched something inside, the walls clattered. A moment later, laughter. Man. Woman. A young-ish child.

Very well then, Blacktail thought. House. He didn’t quite snarl, but something in him stirred.

Her head perked up. “What’s the matter?”

“Hmm?” He turned back to her. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“Do tell.”

Blacktail was new to courtship, but he had good instincts for a scrap. He took a long breath, turned back to face her, wagging his tail in wide, slow arcs. “I was thinking that my wife should not be bound like this.”

“Oh? Oh really?” She stood up, pulled away from him. “Well. Well. I’m terribly sorry. Just, oodles of sorry. Tell me, O Woodsy Stranger, how shall I redress this wrong? How shall I best alter my life to suit you?”

“You should come with me,” Blacktail said. “I’ve got a great hill. Top notch, really. Everyone says so. There’s plenty of game, a nice clean stream—mountain runoff, you know, very fresh. Everybody loves it there. Why, just this morning some jerk came by and—”

“Me? Me. Starving in the woods, a common trash bandit? Ha! See here, country pup—you’re a nice lay. Annnnd…I won’t deny you’re easy on the eyes. But you presume a lot.”

Blacktail stood and glared down at her. He was at least a head taller than she. His eyes flashed in the moonlight. “My mother killed for that hill,” he said. “Many times. I have, too. I am no trash bandit.” He turned to go.

“Wait!” she said. “Please, wait.” Her tone was softer now. “I’m sorry. Really. My mouth works a lot quicker than my brain. My mother always said so.”

Blacktail stopped. After a moment he turned back to her, twitched his tail once. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. Really. But I should still go. The sun will be up soon. I doubt that your two-legs would welcome me here. Or—who knows—maybe they would?” He showed his teeth in a way that frightened her a bit. “They might try to put me on a leash.”

She considered this. “I see your point. That probably wouldn’t end well.”

“No. Probably not.”

“Very well. Go. But will you return? This evening? I really am sorry for offending you.”

Blacktail smiled, his nostrils flaring at her scent. “Tell me your name, then.”

“My mistress calls me Renren.”

Blacktail didn’t much care for the sound of the two-legs’ name on this fine creature, but that was hardly her fault. “A pretty name.”

“See you this evening, then?”

He wagged his tail, then bounded over the garden wall and back into the wild.

—

On the way back to his den Blacktail stopped for a quick lunch in the woods. Perhaps not coincidentally, he found himself in the mood for squirrel. Bite you, Car. Afterward he lay down to sleep, but found that he could not. His home seemed emptier than it had when he woke the day before. The memory of Renren’s scent weighed on his mind. I will visit her when the moon rises, he thought. Best not to appear too eager.

He managed to wait until late afternoon before setting out. By twilight he lay hidden in a patch of brush, staring at her den with his head on his paws and a wistful grin on his face. When it was dark—just—he picked up the rabbit he had brought her and hopped the wall again.