“What . . . what . . . do you think?” Flip asked Ereth in a quavering voice.
Ereth hardly knew what to say. Twice he opened his mouth and tried to deliver his prepared speech, only to have the words stick in his throat.
“Are you trying to say something?” Tumble demanded.
“I was going to say, ‘Giraffe gas.’”
The young foxes looked at one another in puzzlement.
“What?” Tumble asked.
“I said, ‘Giraffe gas’!” Ereth shouted.
For a moment no one said a thing. Then Tumble demanded, “Mr. Perish, how come you’re here?”
“The name,” the porcupine yelled, “is Ereth! As for why I’m here . . . Well, I . . . I like taking walks. That’s why.”
“In all that . . . snow?” Flip cried.
“Do you have a problem with that, dribble nose?”
The foxes looked at one another again. Nimble giggled. Flip grinned shyly. Even Tumble—though he seemed more reserved and serious than the other two—smiled.
“I guess not,” Flip replied.
Ereth shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Look here,” he began, trying to find the courage to speak the truth. “I’ve got something to say to you. Something . . . really important.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Nimble said. “We’d really like to hear it. What is it?”
“It’s . . . it’s . . . Oh, sugared snail spit . . . I . . . spoke to your mother.”
“You did! Where is she? Why hasn’t she come home?” the kits cried out.
“She . . . she . . . won’t be coming home,” Ereth blurted out.
The young foxes stared at him in bewilderment.
Ereth swallowed hard. “And that’s . . . because . . .”
“Because of what?” Tumble asked sharply.
“Great gopher underpants!” Ereth cried out. “What makes you think I know?”
“Because you just said you did,” Nimble pointed out.
“Moth milk.” Ereth sighed. He stared at the kits. They were gazing at him with rapt attention. Nimble had her mouth open, panting gently. There were lines of anger over Tumble’s eyes. Flip’s eyes were full of tears.
The emotion was too much for Ereth. “Sour snake sauce on spaghetti!” he suddenly cried. “Forget it!” Whirling around, he scrambled for the entry tunnel.
“Mr. Perish Doormat,” Flip called after him, “did . . . did something happen to Mom?”
Ereth stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he turned back to face the young foxes.
“We . . . need to know,” Flip said.
“No, you don’t!” Ereth snapped.
“We do too!” Tumble insisted.
“No!”
“But why?”
“Because,” Ereth shouted with complete exasperation, “oh, fish feather fruitcakes . . . because your mother is dead, that’s why!”
CHAPTER 10
Ereth and the Kits
THE THREE YOUNG FOXES gazed at Ereth with eyes full of disbelief. No one spoke.
It was Flip who finally stammered, “Would . . . would you repeat that?”
“Sorry,” Ereth grumbled. “I . . . ah . . . didn’t mean to say it that way.” Flustered, wishing he could be anywhere else in the world but where he was, he backed up a step. “And I wouldn’t have either if . . . you hadn’t made me. I mean, I’m . . . sorry. I am. . . .” His voice faded away.
“But,” Flip asked in a quavering cry, “did you say that Mom . . . died?”
“Yes.”
“How . . . how do you know?”
“It had nothing to do with me,” Ereth said. “I was an innocent bystander.”
“Died?” Nimble echoed, her voice rising tremulously.
“I said yes, didn’t I?”
“But how’s that possible?” Tumble wailed. “Moms . . . can’t die. They’re supposed to take care of us. Always.”
Ereth swallowed hard. “There is this cabin. With salt. And it’s my birthday. Except that has nothing to do with it. Only, because I was there, I heard her. She . . . stepped into a trap. And . . . she . . . couldn’t get out. She bled . . . badly . . . too much.”
“Did . . . did you speak to her?” Flip asked. “Before she . . . died?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?” Nimble asked.
“Look here,” Ereth sputtered. “I never had to . . . do this before. Never wanted to. And I . . . oh, spread peanut butter on a pink poodle!” he screamed. “I don’t know what to say!”
“I don’t care what you have to say,” Tumble barked angrily. “Just tell us what she said!”
“Oh, right,” Ereth muttered. “She . . . said a . . . lot of things. Mostly . . . sentimental slip-slop. No! I didn’t mean that. I mean, well, she said you were helpless. That you couldn’t take care of yourselves. Wanted me to find you and tell you . . . what happened. Asked me to take care of you. It was all . . . well, ridic—I mean, sad. And I suppose I will stay . . . but only until your father comes home. Understand that? Only till then. That’s what she said.”
“Nothing . . . else?” Flip asked after a moment.
“Well . . . she also said . . . she . . .”—Ereth almost choked on the word—“loved . . . you.”
Nimble stared at Ereth dumbly. Tumble, tail between his legs, backed away. Flip’s eyes filled with tears.
Ereth turned away and shuffled into a corner. Hearing nothing from the trio, he looked back over his shoulder. The young foxes were gazing after him as if they could not believe what had been said.
Then Flip slowly lifted his head, squeezed his eyes shut, opened his mouth, and let forth an earsplitting, dismal yowl that saturated the den with its misery. The two other foxes did the same until all three were howling together. Howl after howl they cried, filling the den with their anguish. On and on they went, with such a volume that Ereth, becoming fearful that he would lose his mind, spun about and shouted, “Stop it! Stop it at once!”
As if a switch had been flicked, the foxes ceased their cries and just sat and sniffled.
“Food!” Ereth cried in desperation. “You have to eat food.”
The foxes looked at him blankly.
He said, “You said you hadn’t eaten all day.”
“That was because Mom . . .” Nimble stopped in midsentence.
“Right,” Ereth snapped. “She went out to get you some. Now, just tell me, what do you eat?”
Tumble shrugged. “Whatever she brought us. Chipmunks, moles, and voles. Rabbits if she was lucky. Mice, too. They’re great appetizers. But then I’m very particular about what I eat.”
Ereth grimaced. “I hate meat eaters,” he said.
“Well, we love meat,” Tumble threw back defiantly. “It’s what Mom always gave us.”
“Don’t you eat anything else?”
“Bugs,” Tumble snapped.
“Oh, green goose cheese!” Ereth cried with disgust. “How about some decent food? Like . . . like vegetables.”
Nimble wrinkled her nose. “Only if we have to. You know, berries and stuff. No offense, but we like meat a whole lot better.”
“In fact,”
