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The Red Fox
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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Tue, Jan 17, 2017
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Fiction
Paranormal
"To you I'm nothing more than a fox like a hundred other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you'll be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world." ~ Le Petit Prince The air seemed to chill a lot more now and tiny flakes of snow begun to fall. The clouds seemed to twist and the winds sped up a notch, I felt goosebumps rise up my arms and neck. I shivered, a blizzard was obviously brewing and my horse was nowhere. I sped up my pace but paused immediately. Standing in the snow beside an old withered cherry tree was a dazzling red fox, his eyes closed and enjoying the cool snow falling over his fur and onto his nose. I made a low whistle, Foxes aren't stupid but but cool enough to run away once startled. Unlike wolves and Tigers. His glowing beautiful Amber eyes pierced through mine, almost forming a glare like I had interrupted him. He begun to slowly approach me, but one thing I noticed. A trail of blood followed him.
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In a dark and deep land lives young Marjorie, a woman desperate for something more than her conventional life in her tiny village, Core. She aches for something dangerous, something like the dark forest, Mirkwood, which borders her home. Yet, there is a curse which haunts her people: a Wolf. For the last eighteen years, he takes one innocent life. Fate seems to change at the hands of Vivian, a Wardeness who promises Core a safe passage through Mirkwood. For a moment, Marjorie has everything she has ever wanted: An escape from a fate set in stone... until the Wolf set its dark intentions on her. Now, she is forced to decide: Will she defeat the Wolf or will she willingly be devoured? __________________ The stranger turned to face her. This close, it was easy to see his handsome features. From his high cheekbones to his piercing gray eyes, he was unlike any sully-faced villager. Instead, he wore his beauty with a casual grace, as if he were clueless to the plumpness of his lips or the flat, smooth surface of his chest. "Am I a what?" The man cocked a thick, dark brow up. He pushed his right hand into the pocket of his trousers, but not before Marjorie caught a glimpse of the heavy jewels on his fingers. He drowned in an opulence few villagers could afford. "I take that as a no," she said. "What is your name, stranger?" He looked to her, and then his gaze traveled to where men and women continued to fling themselves around the heat of the bonfire. You don't belong here, she thought.

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