Four Acts

Act One: Pain

His stomach rumbled again, sending sharp hunger pains through his gut. "I know, I know," Fox said aloud to his complaining body. "We'll eat as soon as I find anything." There was no hiding the bitterness from his voice.

His footsteps were heavy among the brown leaves. All but the pines had shed their summer wear, and the naked branches twisted up, up, up into the flat gray sky. Winter hung heavy in the air, waiting, biding her time. Each morning a blanket of frost glistened on the ground, but snow had yet to fall. Still, all the easy prey had taken leave of the forest floor, all the vegetation had died off, and it had been too long since Fox had last eaten. He'd been sick, the result of a diseased meal, and had only just regained his strength. The stashes of carcasses he'd kept buried had been raided by an unknown scavenger in his absence. Even the ticks attached to him were scrawny. His thick coat had dulled and thinned despite the cold, and he spent most of his days and nights asleep, his only peace from the gnawing pain in his belly. If he tried, he could pretend he didn't notice being hungry anymore, that the ever-present pit in his gut had always been there and no longer required his attention; but that took energy, and he didn't have any of that to spare. Desperation drove him to search for food again today: his legs shook beneath him but still he placed one foot in front of another, losing energy and hope with every step. He cursed his luck as the sun began to close on another hungry day.

Something rustled in the brush ahead, concealed by the twilight. Fox dropped down to his belly and flattened his ears: if it was a possible meal, he wanted the element of surprise; if it was a more likely foe, he needed to go unnoticed. Silent as a shadow, he stole closer.

From between the tangled branches, Fox spied a spotted cub engrossed in a game of Hunt The Leaf. It was a Mountain Lion, not more than a couple of moons old, and the fat little thing was certainly not hungry. Fox watched the young thing frolic. It pounced on a stick and tumbled over its feet and immediately bounced up again, full of life.

Fox's stomach panged again. He gathered his haunches underneath him.

On silent paws, Lioness padded through the forest. She was leaner than in previous winters. The deer herds were thin to begin with, and had left the mountains for more plentiful climes.The rabbits had all but vanished. Moon above, even the insects had died off or fled the cold. She wondered idly if she ought to seek lower ground, following the deer and elk herds to the grasslands. After all, she could hardly keep herself and her only remaining cub fed on field mice alone, and even those were hard to come by these days.

Icy fingers of grief gripped her heart at the thought of the children she'd lost earlier in the season. It had been her first litter, and she'd given birth to three cubs -- two males and one female. One male had been stillborn, gone without ever drawing breath. The female had been sickly, and had died before her eyes had opened. It was the way of things, sometimes. Her last, the one she hoped beyond hope to see to adulthood, had been left at the rocky cave she called home. She was not the only hungry predator in the woods this evening, and she couldn't risk being caught off-guard if Wolf or Bear made an appearance. In her present state, even Coyote would be serious trouble.

Still, she hadn't meant to travel this far from her cub. Necessity had been taking her further and further with each hunt, each night proving less and less fruitful. She paused in her prowling and stood in the gathering darkness, her black-tipped tail swishing with irritation. Best to turn back now; maybe she could find something to eat on the way.

It was over quickly. Later, when he tried to remember the scene, Fox's mind was a blur: he knew only there was fur, and a crunch. The next sensation he became fully aware of was the warmth of fresh meat between his jaws.

Too hungry to savor his meal, he gulped down large mouthfuls, hardly pausing for a breath between bites. The heavy scent of blood made him dizzy. Almost instantly, warm relief spread through his body; already, he was looking forward to a good long nap to digest the biggest meal he'd had in over a full moon.

Then, a scream.

There are two screams anyone, anywhere can recognize. The first is the scream of a Lioness. The second is the scream of disbelief, of heartbreak, of unhinged fury, of a mother's loss. These sounds will turn living blood to ice, will freeze any within earshot in their tracks. Every hair stands on end and every breath catches at these sounds. The brave and fearful alike will tremble. The one that caused Fox to pause mid-bite was both screams emitted from the same throat.

Fox realized what, exactly, he had done: the cub lay half-eaten before him, its blood still warm on his muzzle. He yelped and tumbled backwards.

Life in the wild is a harsh and demanding one, and so often the only rule is to survive. But there had grown a mutual understanding of the animals: never kill the children of someone stronger than yourself.

Lioness stopped at the remains of her kitten and lowered her head. She did not sniff the body; there was no point. The forest held its breath as she gazed upon her child. Fox didn't dare break the silence. Lioness was several times his size, and even in this brief repose he could see her muscles ripple under her sandy pelt. The black tip of her tail twitched. After a moment, she leveled her piercing gaze at the cowering Fox.

"You!" snarled Lioness as she charged at him. "What have you done!"

Quick as lightning, she lashed at him with one of her giant paws. She caught him in the jaw and Fox tumbled to the ground. His vision briefly went black. Lioness unleashed another furious scream, her golden eyes blazing. Fox hauled himself to his feet and bolted, his weak legs carrying him as fast as they could in any direction that might be safe. His vision was coming in bright spots against his eyes, but he didn't dare wait for it to return. He crashed through the bushes, darted around trees, and scrambled up a steep rock face, not sparing any backwards glances. A small crevice in the rocks offered a chance of shelter. He darted in, squeezing himself as far back as the rocks would allow before turning to face the rocky opening.

Barely had he done so when his view of the sky was blocked by the head of Lioness. Standing on her hind legs, she was tall enough to see into the hiding place, but every part of her was too big to reach in. She hissed, giving Fox a very clear view of her teeth.

"You coward, you monster, you fiend!" she snarled. "Face your retribution, like a real predator!"

The only thing that came out of Fox's mouth was an involuntary whimper, and the taste of something metallic.
"You will pay for this, Fox," she growled, her voice low and heavy in her throat. "With your life, you will pay."
She disappeared from view, then. Fox strained his ears and could hear her pacing below until the Moon was high in the sky. Even after she stole away, presumably to mourn her child, he remained in the crevice, embraced by stone. He stayed there, shaking from fear, hunger, and an unnamable sense of doom, until morning. Only then did he notice his face had been bleeding.