The Hunter

The hunter.

A visitor. Not invited, not welcomed, but entertained all the same. He comes in request, leaves in either satisfaction or frustration.

I wait for him.

From the light snap of the twigs and the soft thud of the clumps of wet leaves that scatter the forest floor, I know he is weighing each step, trying to be careful, trying to make it through to me without a sound. It should be an insult to me that a human could underestimate my hearing so outrageously, but for a careless soul like me, always looking for entertainment, it only serves as an episode of humour.

My ears cock; my tail lifts. With poor eyesight, I watch the opening of trees that start the pathway to our den, not able to track him with my eyes, but perfectly with my ears. Sunlight filters in thin, fading streaks through loops and corkscrews of patterns through the canopy of green leaves, hinting only with a teasing, subtle warmth at the world that lies above. The ground is plump with damp leaves and clumps of grass, stray roots struggling their way across the dirt and leaf covered floor. The smell of wetness, rain, autumn and winter wrapped into one mingled scent reaches my animal nose with memories wrapped up tight, imprinted on my mind.

With patience and impatience I wait for him to come. My legs feel light as if there is no ground underneath them, as if, I could move and find myself in midair. My whole body is light and the wind ripples my silky red fur back as the forest whispers words that only those of our kind have learned to decode, with careful ears and a love for all around us. One like him, who brings destruction, ignorance and plain lack of wit, shall never learn to hear those words.

I wait, and wait, and I know I will be rewarded, for his footsteps draw closer into my hearing. In the dim light I know I will not see him well, only a softly illuminated figure in the thin wisps of sunlight that manages to break through the roof of trees. I don’t need to see him, though, for his image is nothing to me. All that matters is what reaches my ears.

He pauses, as if to gather his bearings, as if to check that all is in order for him to proceed. Oh, how I wish to simply give up the game now, to shoot out of my hiding place in the thick clumps of bushes and simply tear between his legs, scaring the daylights out of him! It always serves as worth it to surprise those of his kind with a dose of our true intelligence and humour. But I like to play with my food before I catch it, though perhaps he should be the one talking about food. After all, that’s what he’s here for.

His tread becomes heavier as his stride brings him closer. I feel my legs quiver with anticipation and my nose twitches with excitement. This is my favourite game. Danger, excitement, the wind tearing not only through your lungs but your heart and soul too, all your senses mixed up and confused, screaming out loud; what more could you ask for?

He is close enough now. I make my move.

Slowly, carefully, I cock my ears to check he is as far away as I hope; only a few feet. I always check, though I already know that my hearing shall never fail me. He is the correct distance, and so I rise up quickly, shooting through the bush, tearing through the danger of open space and quickly escaping into a clump of bushes.

His breath heavies with excitement and I hear the click of the gun as he follows me, already forgetting, in his unobservant mind and unused senses, where I’ve gone and what path I followed. I wait, ever patient, for the dim witted tracker to catch up.

When he does I make my move again but this time I turn my head to stare at him, before darting tantalizingly close and then whipping away fast to a cosy small den burrowed in the dirt, formed by two rooves of thick tree roots.

This time he makes no move though I can tell that his excitement is driving him onwards. He is waiting for me to make my fatal mistake, to move, or to let him get a clear shot. Little does he know that I’m waiting for him to wait for me to do that. If that makes sense.

Finally his impatience, arriving too soon, without good reason and in disproportionate quantity as always – fills him too much to bear and he moves again. Tracking the crack of twigs and thuds against the forest floor, I tear out of my hiding place and yelp once, in one high pitched, tiny scream, to make him think I’m panicking, slowing down, before I fool him again and once again dart out of his line of vision.

But he finds me this time, his eyes automatically working faster now that he wants me more. If only he could retain that idea; of working harder when you want something - and apply it to every other aspect of his life, he would be a hundred times more agile, flexible, quick witted, and durable. But of course, he could never understand that.

For now though, he has morphed into a more intelligent of his kind. He treads so softly, with just one step, before whipping his hand out in breaking pace to tear apart the bushes that hide me from him.

For a moment, in the surprising reality that I haven’t managed to outsmart him this time, we stare at each other. And perhaps, this is the part that my heart thrills in most, though it isn’t clotted with excitement, or challenge, or game. Instead it is infrequent, rare, a rich luxury so sweet it can seem like a dream. One of those moments when two beings connect, for a fraction of a second, for the split second it takes for a star to make its shine in the night sky. But they connect, all the same.

He gazes into my golden amber eyes, smouldering like coals in the darkening dusk of the deep burrowed forest, and his breath stops altogether because in this split second, in this lapse of time, he realizes that everything he has learnt in life is wrong.

Human beings are not the most intelligent species on earth.. Fairies can cast spells. Your dreams can come true. Love conquers all, not intelligence, or strength, or durability. You can see the happiness in everything and anything around you, no matter how scarce it seems. And animal and man can connect.

All you have to do is believe. All you have to do is open your eyes, be willing to see it, to live it, and it will come to you in a wave of maddening insanity and deep calming knowledge, wisdom and craziness at once, rolled up into a delicious lapse of time, reaching into your heart and whispering words of truth into your soul. It takes you by surprise every time, even for those as watchful as a night owl, as strong as a big cat, or as stealthy as me, a fox. As big as an elephant, as intelligent as a man, it doesn’t matter. None of us know anything until we understand that we have to believe.

And when we do, we know everything.

He sees it now. I see it to. In a hypnotic trance, and yet a nature defying rush, I know that right now, he wouldn’t shoot me for the world. He would rather give up everything he has, to simply stay gazing into my gold glowing eyes and share this moment until the world was at its end.

And in turn, I would never run from him now, for he fills me with powerful curiosity and love for all around me. So incredible, the creature that is man. Such knowledge in one that can be so ignorant. Such strength in one that can be so gentle. Such power in one that can be so loving. I marvel at the strike of brilliance and overwhelming love that possessed nature when he presented us with magnificent gifts that defy all darkness.

In this time all is silent, all is still. It is one of those moments when the world simply stops, and even if you howled out to the heavens themselves, you would hear no answer, because all the answers are within yourself. It’s the moment you wish you could press yourself into and remain inside forever, but of course it never lasts more than perhaps a second, two, if you’re blessed with time’s  kindness.

Because after the split second when we stare into each other’s eyes, he draws the gun back, cocks it and points it at me.

And with adrenalin pumping through my veins and the wind rippling my fur back just like I knew it would, with the whispers of the forest sweet in my ear and the scent of autumn and my mother and the other pups all filling my nostrils, I turn and bounce, it seems, through the world itself, landing in a  perfect arc out of his vision again.

He fires, only once, in hopeless ignorance. And I run, with nothing but the pulsing of my heart filling my flesh, with no words but those of the trees and the thin sunlight and the flecks of early snow atop the trees, with nothing in my sight but the beauty of everything around me. I run and run and run.

Back to my mother, who will be both outraged and affectionately amused, lovingly worried and irritated at the same time, to find that I have been playing this game again. Back to the pups, younger than I, whose eyes will look upon me with awe and admiration, but also scorn for what they perceive as my carelessness and free will.

But what’s the point of living if you can’t play with death? To flirt with danger when you’re wrapped in the midst of safety, to seek out music when you live in peaceful silence, to prey on the company of those who want your skin to hang in their living rooms when you could be wrapped up warmly in your mother’s den. That’s what life is. To live life safely is not to live at all. To live life within a barrier is only to imprison yourself, cutting yourself off from all you could be and all you could do. And I am only a fox, but I know that and I will know it forever. The forest told me.

And so I will come back tomorrow, looking for another excited human carrying a gun. Another hunter. And I will do it again and again and again, until my breath stops coming and my heart stops beating and the wind stops rippling through my fur.

One day he could catch me. I know. One day he could cock his gun too fast, be closer than I hear, rips the bushes apart too swiftly for me to run. And on that day, my life will end and my legs will stop quivering with excitement, and my eyes will stop glowing with the rush of life.

But the forest will never stop speaking to me. Even in my dreams, even in my death, it will always whisper.

To flirt with danger is to flirt with death. I know that. Oh, I know, mother. I know, pups, I know.

I know.

I know that one day, the hunter will catch me.

I know. But for now, I think I’ll just run.