Page 35 of Blacktail

“If we can stay alive until the sun goes down, we’ve won. Men are useless at night, even with the dogs.”

Blacktail glanced up and saw that the sun was just above the tree line. I think we can manage that. “You’re a sneaky one, Slipper, even for a fox.”

“You’re right, I am.”

They slipped on toward the ridge, silent as two ghosts. But when they reached the base, Slipper suddenly ducked behind a bush.

“Piss,” Slipper said. “Farts. Shit.” It wasn’t an outburst, more of an observation. His voice was tense.

“What is it?”

“There’s a pair of slave dogs guarding the ridge, and a two-legs. I didn’t think to see them this close to the man-dens.”

“Can it make gunshots?”

“Aye.”

“We might kill them,” Blacktail said, “if they’re all that lie between us and escape.”

Slipper glanced over, saw that he meant it. He looked back at the ridge, considering the idea. “No,” he said finally. “You couldn’t get close enough. Gunshots. If he can see you, he can kill you.”

“What, then?”

Slipper was silent for a long moment. “We must go to ground again,” he said finally. “We’ve no other choice.”

“But the hounds—” Blacktail twisted his head to look back over his shoulder. The hunting packs were gaining, gaining.

“Aye, the hounds might find us, or even just a lone two-legs with sharp eyes. But…” Slipper paused for a moment, listening to the baying pack on their trail. “We’ve no other choice,” he repeated. “Come, I know a good bolt-hole.”

They stepped into the cold stream—thankfully it wasn’t very deep—and padded their way across as quickly as they could without splashing. Not far up the ridge Slipper stopped in front of a knot of tree roots, covered in icy leaves. “There. Do you see that hole? It’s deeper than it looks. There’s room for both of us, I think.”

“Yes.”

“Take care to leave no tracks in the snow. You must be in the hole in a single bound.” With that, Slipper made the jump himself.

Blacktail took a long look, plotting the arc of his leap, then jumped neatly inside, disturbing nothing. When they were hidden in shadow, Blacktail twisted around so he was facing outward, then backed in as far as he could.

“Careful!” Slipper said. “You’ll bury me in your ass. Here, let me move to the front.” He scrambled over Blacktail.

They rested for a time, listening to the pack of hounds circle outside, sometimes near, sometimes far. The sound of their baying fell away a little. Blacktail mostly heard the sound of his breath and Slipper’s. Even that sounded noisy in the small space. When they find us, I’ll try to kill the two-legs, Blacktail thought. Their hearts are weak. If I am fierce, I may frighten it so badly it forgets how to make gunshots. Without their magic, they are nothing. And after that— He choked the thought off. After that, he would be found. He might kill the two-legs that found him, but he could do nothing against the one after that.

The cold walls of the gully clenched tight against his ribs.

“My mother died in a trap,” Slipper said. “Did I tell you that? They say the two-legs use the fur of foxes to warm themselves in the winter. That can’t be true, can it? Not even the two-legs would kill someone just to cut the fur off them, would they? Do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Blacktail said, though he did. He thought that terror had driven the little fox to babble, but he also knew that without Slipper’s help he would have been dead long since. In these last moments he would not give offense. “I hope not.”

“Her fur was beautiful, though,” Slipper said, smiling a little. “And she told the most wonderful stories. A great one for stories was my mum. Did your mother ever tell stories?”

The bay of the hounds had grown close again. They were certainly within the sight of the bolt-hole, perhaps only a few paces away. He could hear them casting about, following their noses. He spotted a puff of breath in the cold morning air. “I barely knew my mother,” Blacktail said. “She died when I was very young.”

“Ah,” Slipper said. He didn’t seem to have heard. “Once my mother told me of Diver Eye, the hawk, and her hatchlings. Do you know that one?”

“No.” Blacktail thought for a moment to hush him, but then decided there was little point. They were done for either way.

“Diver Eye built her nest atop a great mountain. From there, she could see all the valley below, and hunt as she would. None who lived under her were safe. She snatched up mice and cats and even some foxes, for this was the old age, when giant hawks were as common as fleas in the summer. So the story goes, anyway.”

Outside, one of the hounds spoke. “No, this way! I think I smelled something over here!”