Run with the Wind (3 page)

Old Sage Brush sniffed at the remains of the duck, and eased his weary old body down on to the warm earth of the den. Vickey got up and approached him. Her hind leg gave way under her, and she dropped to the ground with a yelp of pain.

‘Now, Vickey,’ he said, ‘how did you get yourself into this mess? And Fang, what happened your throat? You sound hoarse.’

Bit by bit they told the old fox how they had come to be injured, and when they had finished, he said to Vickey: ‘You want to be more careful. You had no business being in the meadows at that time. And as for you two, you should be ashamed of yourselves, trying to kill each other.’ He stopped and smiled to himself. ‘Hmmm, I suppose I did the same myself when I was young, and she is worth fighting over. But she’s right, you know. Times have changed. We’ve got to stick
together now. It’s them or us.’

‘That’s what we wanted to talk to you about,’ said Vickey. ‘That and the legend of Sinna.’

‘All in good time,’ replied Old Sage Brush. ‘First we must eat. Black Tip, it’s up to you again I’m afraid. My old bones are too tired, but if you forage around for something, I’ll try and get these other two back on their feet. I tell you what, the farm dogs haven’t the guts to go out far in the snow. Take yourself off down to the meadow at the end of the farm. The farm ducks only lay in the morning and you can bring back a few eggs. Don’t touch the ducks themselves. They’ll kick up too much of a fuss and bring the farmer on to us. Hurry now and make the best of the snow. As long as it’s falling it’ll cover your tracks.’

It was news to Black Tip that farmyard ducks only laid in the morning. Yet the old fox seemed to know what he was talking about. So off he went, keeping to whatever cover he could find to avoid being seen against the snow.

When Black Tip had gone, Old Sage Brush turned to the others. ‘Vickey,’ he said, ‘you must exercise that leg. Otherwise it’ll stiffen up completely and you’ll never get it back to normal, and a stiff leg is no use to you if you’re running for your life. Now’s an ideal time to get out and stretch it. And Fang, the air’s clear and pure now that the snow has come. It’ll do your throat good to get out for a while. You needn’t go far, and the snow will soon cover your tracks. Off you go
both of you, while I rest up for a bit.’

As Fang and Vickey limped painfully up out of the quarry, Old Sage Brush called after them: ‘One more thing. If you meet Black Tip, don’t be eating anything out there. Bring it back here where it won’t be seen.’

Black Tip was agreeably surprised to find that the ducks had laid their eggs in the meadow, just as Old Sage Brush had said they would, and with the snow reducing visibility and quickly covering his tracks, he made several trips. On his last trip, he caught up with Vickey and Fang returning to the quarry. He was delighted to see how much good the exercise had done them. So was Old Sage Brush, and he told them they must exercise from now on until they were strong enough to fend for themselves again.

The old fox flicked his tongue around his mouth to lick off the remains of an egg yolk. ‘Now, Vickey,’ he said, ‘what’s all this about?’

Vickey looked at Black Tip, then at Fang. Whatever about Black Tip, she knew Fang was sceptical about the whole thing. However, she plucked up courage and raised her fine muzzle in a way that said: ‘You can think what you like, but I’m going to say it.’

‘Well?’ urged Old Sage Brush.

‘We’re fed up with the way we’re being treated,’ said Vickey ‘We want to learn the secret of survival.’

Four

Under Beech Paw

T
here was something odd about Old Sage Brush that neither Black Tip nor Fang could quite figure out. Perhaps it was his strange habit of never looking them straight in the eye. Whenever he was talking to them, he seemed to look up at the rim of the quarry, or beyond it to the sky, as if it was from some great unseen power out there that he drew his wisdom. When Vickey told him what they wanted, they thought he would burst out laughing. Instead, he just gnawed at a mallard bone and said nothing.

‘Vickey said you told her the secret of survival is to be found in this valley,’ ventured Black Tip. ‘Can that be so?’

Old Sage Brush looked skywards again, as if making up his mind whether he should take them into his confidence or not. Then he nodded, saying: ‘Perhaps.’

‘And those who find it?’ wondered Vickey. ‘Will they learn how to live in peace with man?’

Before the old fox could answer, Black Tip said: ‘I was always led to believe we will only find that sort of peace in the after-life.’

‘We’ve all been led to believe that we’ll find a happy hunting-ground in the after-life,’ said Old Sage Brush.

Fang raised his head as if about to say something, but decided against it.

‘I’m sure Fang was taught to believe in the after-life too,’ continued Old Sage Brush, ‘even though he’s an unbeliever now …’

Fang raised his head again, surprised that the old fox should have correctly guessed the reason for his silence, and mumbled something in agreement.

‘You see,’ said the old fox, ‘all creatures have been taught to believe that something better awaits them when they die. Who knows, maybe even man believes the same, although how he feels he deserves it, is beyond me.’

‘But the secret of survival,’ urged Vickey. ‘What do you know about it?’

‘I know such a secret does exist for those who wish to seek it,’ he told her. ‘It doesn’t enable them to live in peace with man, but it does enable them to live.’

‘And it’s to be found here in this valley?’ asked Fang, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

Old Sage Brush nodded. ‘You see, Vulpes, being the fox god, and therefore being wiser than any of the other gods, did something special for the fox,’

‘What was that?’ asked Black Tip.

‘He realised that the time might come when, like the wolf, foxes might be in danger of being wiped out. So he created a valley where they could learn the secret of survival and so live to perpetuate the species.’

‘Do you think the time has come for us to learn that secret?’ asked Fang.

‘Perhaps,’ replied the old fox.

‘And perhaps you are the one who can show it to us,’ suggested Black Tip.

Old Sage Brush shook his head. ‘Alas, I cannot help you.’

‘Why not?’ asked Black Tip. ‘You may be old, but you are very wise.’

‘You don’t understand,’ said Vickey. ‘Old Sage Brush can’t show us the secret of survival or anything else. I thought you knew. He’s blind.’

Black Tip and Fang were flabbergasted. They knew there was something odd about the old fox, but how could he be blind? He had arrived on his own, and with such skill that he had taken them unawares.

‘Vickey’s right,’ said Old Sage Brush. ‘I lost my eyes a long time ago. Man got fun out of it. I got everlasting darkness.’

‘But how did you survive?’ asked Fang in a mixture of pity
and admiration.

‘Fortunately the great god Vulpes endowed us with a sense of smell and hearing that few other creatures can surpass and man cannot match. Strange as it may seem, the loss of my eyes seemed to sharpen my senses, and my wits.’ He rested his head again and sighed.

‘Sage Brush,’ said Black Tip rising to his feet. ‘You can still show us the secret of survival.’

‘How?’ asked the old fox. ‘Even if I wasn’t blind, I’m too old.’

‘Let me be your eyes,’ said Black Tip, coming forward.

‘And me your strength,’ said Fang, joining him.

The old fox thought for a moment. ‘And Vickey, what about you?’

Vickey smiled. ‘What can I be?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Old Sage Brush, ‘you can be my inspiration.’

‘Of course I will,’ cried Vickey, her soft amber eyes sparkling with delight. ‘Of course I will. Does that mean you’ll help us?’

The old fox stroked his whiskers with the back of his right forepaw, and replied: ‘After such an offer, how can I refuse?’

‘But will we have to leave Beech Paw?’ asked Vickey, suddenly having second thoughts. ‘Beech Paw is my home. This is where my cubs are — those that have survived.’

‘No longer than we do on hunting trips,’ he assured her. ‘Don’t forget, Beech Paw is my home too.’

It was agreed that there was no time to lose. Old Sage Brush suggested that they should take any other foxes that wanted to come, and pointed out that they would have to learn the secret of survival by the time the yellow flowers were on the gorse. The old fox was merely expressing an instinct, and yet the others knew exactly what he meant. They’d have to do it well before Vickey’s cubbing time.

‘But how will we get other foxes to join us?’ asked Fang.

‘A meeting,’ suggested Black Tip.

‘Yes, there’ll have to be a meeting,’ said Old Sage Brush. ‘I tell you what we’ll do. Black Tip, you go out again. Do a wide circle, inviting other foxes to an important meeting under Beech Paw at the wide eye of gloomglow. Ask them to do likewise, then we’ll see how many turn up and if they want to come with us. Off you go now, and take care.’

In the days that followed, Vickey and Fang, acting on the old fox’s advice, took as much exercise as they could without going too far from the quarry, so that they might recover fully and build up their strength for whatever lay ahead. Black Tip kept them all well supplied with food, and Old Sage Brush in his own cunning way, soon had him wrestling with Fang. While it was supposed to help Fang exercise, Vickey could see there was more to it than that. Often Fang would get the better of Black Tip, and the whole thing helped to heal not only his broken body, but his injured pride, and by the time it
came for the meeting under Beech Paw, the two had formed a firm friendship. Vickey had no doubt that this was exactly what Old Sage Brush wanted.

Beech Paw was a well-known meeting place for foxes. It consisted of a circle of five large beeches, and was called Beech Paw because that was where many a fox’s paw-print was to be found. Sometimes a dog fox would slip off for a secret appointment with a vixen there. Or if a dispute arose over territory, that’s where it would be settled. It was situated at the upper end of the long row of beeches, the end farthest away from the farmsteads.

When the moon had taken on a fullness that foxes know as the wide eye of gloomglow because it is round and resembles the colour of their own eyes, Black Tip led his three companions to Beech Paw, and there in the hollow between the trees they waited to see who would answer their call.

It was a strange sight, four adult foxes sitting together in a circle of beeches by moonlight, and for a while it seemed their wait was to be in vain. January was just gone, but the biting wind of winter was far from spent as it whistled through the trees and seared across the frosted fields. Above the heads of the waiting foxes, brown crinkled beech leaves clung stubbornly to the nodding branches, defying all efforts of the wind to dislodge them and rustling a brittle refrain. Among the leaves, and almost as numerous as the stars, the husks that held last year’s beech-mast gaped open to the sky.

Fang was about to say something, when a pair of eyes peered over the rim of earth that had formed between the trees. Then there were other eyes, and others, and cautiously, one by one, a dozen foxes stole silently into the circle.

Having intoduced themselves, Old Sage Brush told the new arrivals of his concern for the way the fox was being slowly exterminated, and he asked for a report from them on the situation in their areas. Foxes, of course, don’t know counties the way man knows them. Nevertheless, they were able to tell Old Sage Brush that in the Land of the Horse where there was little cover and less food, things were bad, and in Cow Pasture and Crop Land they weren’t much better. Even in Heather Plains, Sheep Lands and High Ground, they were coming under increasing pressure, and in Wood Land and Lake Land where they might have been expected to fare better, all creatures were being made welcome, except the fox.

‘Just as I thought,’ said Old Sage Brush when they had finished. ‘Well, that’s why we’ve asked you to come here. We feel the time has come when we must learn the secret of survival.’

Several foxes lowered their heads and sniggered. Having been so sceptical themselves, it was no surprise to Black Tip or Fang that what the old fox had said should be greeted with less than enthusiasm. On the edge of the circle, there was a stealthy movement in the shadows as two or three
foxes who considered they were wasting their time, slipped away. Some others clearly thought the whole thing was a joke, and felt they might have a good laugh if they stayed. A few listened and said nothing as if they were prepared to hear Old Sage Brush out before making up their minds one way or the other.

Old Sage Brush answered much the same questions that Black Tip and Fang had asked him, and he explained as he had done to them, how the great god Vulpes in his cunning, had provided for just such a situation as foxes now found themselves in.

‘I too have heard of this story,’ said one fox. ‘But I was told that the secret is known only to the Great White Fox.’

‘It is true,’ answered Old Sage Brush. ‘Foxlore does speak of a great white fox. But it also speaks of courage.’

There was silence, then another fox asked: ‘What more can you tell us about this legend?’

Old Sage Brush sat back, and raising his greying head to the wind replied: ‘It was with the wind that Vulpes created this Land of Sinna for us — the very same wind you hear in the trees above us.’ He eased himself down and continued: ‘It was a long long time ago. Vulpes realised that some day his species would face extinction. So he caused a great wind to blow, a wind greater than anything you could possibly imagine. It tore up the trees and ripped open the land and it took the mountains and reshaped them to form the Land of Sinna.
He put a great white fox to rule over it, and he called him Sionnach, and he entrusted him with the secret of survival.’

‘But that was a long time ago,’ said a young vixen. ‘Who knows the secret now? And how will we know where to find it? We cannot hear it. We cannot smell it.’

‘There is only one way we can find it — and find our way back to Beech Paw,’ the old fox replied, and looking at the night sky, told them: ‘We must follow the brush.’

Now, man, when he looks at the stars, sees the one thing that perhaps more than any other has helped to shape his destiny. That is the instrument that has spanned two cultures and transformed him from a hunter to a farmer. It is only natural, therefore, when he turns to the stars for guidance, he says, follow the plough. In the same way, when black people escaped from their slavery in the southern states of America and looked north to freedom, they saw in the stars the single most important thing to them — the ladle that gave them food. So they said, follow the ladle. However, when foxes look at the same stars, they don’t see a plough or a ladle. Instead, they see the form of a running fox, with the last three stars forming a magnificent tail. And so on winter nights a wise fox will say, follow the brush.

Those assembled under Beech Paw had never before heard such wisdom, and it is no exaggeration to say that at this stage they were overawed by what the old fox had said. Then one fox who knew something the other foxes didn’t
know, spoke up and asked: ‘But who is to show us this secret, old fox? Surely you don’t suggest one who is blind?’

At this news there was an uncomfortable murmur among the other foxes.

‘It is true,’ said Old Sage Brush getting to his feet. ‘I am blind.’

Some of the foxes on the fringe rose to their feet, looked at each other and shook their heads as if to say: ‘Oh, we might have known there was some catch in it,’ or ‘So we’re supposed to follow a blind fox?’ They reckoned they had heard enough, and turned tail and disappeared over the rim of the circle.