Fox and Rabbit

Chapter 1

Dawn came pale and gray, with birds twittering outside. Work started early on the farm; there was no sweet morning sleep or lying in bed. Gabriel got dressed in plain pants and a worn wool sweater, then pulled on his holed socks and boots. Downstairs, his mother had already found something to fuss about in the kitchen. She saw Gabriel and smiled, her cheeks flushed from the oven's heat. "Bonjour, mon amour."

"Bonjour, maman." Gabriel let her ruffle his hair and kiss him on the head. Once he'd needed to reach up on tiptoe, now he needed to bend down for her. She looked him over and shook her head with a tsktsk. "You're so thin, my boy. Have some breakfast."

"I'm alright, Mother," Gabriel said, pulling on his coat. "Quit fretting, you'll worry yourself sick." He left the kitchen before she could object with yet another anxious plea and stepped out into the cool morning. The rooster perched proudly on the rooftop, crowing a wake up call to the valley. He gave Gabriel a beady glance and ruffled his feathers. Gabriel walked to the barn, where he lifted the heavy wooden bar and opened the doors. Inside, it was warm, and smelt of hay and animals. To city folk it could be an unpleasant odor; to Gabriel it was the soft smell of home.

He led out the lead cow. Her bell jingled, and the other cows followed slowly, gentle lumbering creatures whom the boy had befriended through his childhood. He took them out to the pasture. The grass was still damp with dew as he climbed to the top of the gentle hill. He counted his cows to make sure they were all there, then turned to face the valley. Light was spreading across the sky, chasing away the last hints of stars. A herd of sheep grazed on a farm below. The small church with its white walls sat silent upon the hill nearby. The brass bell gleamed in the early dawn. Gabriel would have liked to stay and watch over the quiet, quaint little kingdom of flowers and farms, but he trudged back through the pasture to find his father.

He was by the chicken coop, cursing under his breath and poking at a trail of bloody feathers. "Fox," he grunted.

Gabriel studied the paw prints in the dirt. "Could be a coyote."

"Well, why don't you go find out then, boy?" His father shoved the musket into Gabriel's hands. "Make yourself useful."

And so, musket in hand, Gabriel set off for the woods. He followed the trail of feathers, splattered blood and flattened grass. The sun had risen. He shrugged off his coat and carried it over his shoulder. When he reached the woods, he was grateful for the shade of the tall trees. Golden sunlight rippled over their shivering green leaves and cast dancing shadows across the ground. Gabriel came to the stream and walked over a fallen log. The water rushed and bubbled beneath him. Birds sang and fluttered above him. He peered down at his blurred reflection for a moment. He wiped a smudge of dirt from his nose and continued on his way. He started humming some made up melody.

There were paw prints on the wet bank of the stream, but the trail seemed to end there. The water must have washed away the blood and feathers. Gabriel looked around, then looked again and then some more. There was no sign of a den or bones or anything anywhere. His father would not be happy if he returned empty handed. Then again, his father was never happy. Gabriel considered finding some random poor fox or coyote to blame and bring home, but quickly realized it was no use. They would be asleep or hiding away now in the bright day. He slumped down onto the ground, hopeless. The grass was thick and soft, and smelled sweet. He wanted to lay on the plush green carpet and fall asleep under the swaying trees and their swaying leaves. The sun would hop and skitter over him in warm yellow shafts. The animals would watch the strange two legged boy from their hiding places and wonder.

Gabriel looked up at the trees. Maybe if he climbed high enough, he would see the rearing buildings of Paris. If only he could catch just a glimpse of the city. If only.