Then he sensed his hunger. It seemed like forever since he’d eaten a decent meal. He had to get up. But when he made an attempt to move his cramped legs he only bumped into the three young foxes.
Slowly, not wanting to wake them, Ereth eased himself away from the leggy hugs of the kits. Once free, he shook himself all over—producing a soft rattling sound—then turned to look at the sleeping youngsters.
“Wanting me to be their mother!” Ereth shook his head violently. “Rabbit earwax! What I need to do is get out of here before they get up.”
Then and there Ereth made up his mind to head back to the log cabin before the trappers returned, have himself a feast of salt worthy of his efforts, then continue on. These kits could take care of themselves.
Moving as noiselessly as he was able, Ereth crept to the entryway. When he reached it he paused. Recalling how difficult it had been to get through when he came down into the den, he eyed the hole anxiously. But no sooner did he brace himself to go forward than a twinge of guilt held him back.
Murmuring “Phooey on being decent,” he turned to take one final look at the kits—just to make sure they were sleeping. To his surprise, Nimble had raised her head and was staring at him with sleepy eyes.
“Mr. Earwig, sir,” Nimble asked with a yawn, “are you going out?”
An indecisive Ereth stood by the entryway. The only response he could come up with was, “The name, banana brain, is Ereth.”
“Oh, right. I forgot. But, Ereth, are you going out?” Nimble asked again.
Ereth made a noncommittal grunt.
“I mean,” the young fox inquired, “will you be coming back?”
“’Course I will,” Ereth said gruffly. “Do you think I’d just abandon you?”
“I was only asking,” Nimble said with a friendly wag of her tail. She yawned, revealing white teeth, red tongue, and gullet.
Ereth said, “I was just thinking about . . . food.”
Nimble got up on all fours, stretched, and gave herself a shiver to loosen her stiff muscles. “Mr. Perish . . . I mean, Ereth . . . I think you’re too fat for the entryway. Would you like me to make it bigger? I’m pretty good at digging. That way you could come and go much more easily. You know, when you get us food.”
Ereth grimaced but said nothing.
The young fox trotted up to the tunnel and made her way up to the ground surface. Within moments Ereth could hear her scratching and digging furiously. Gradually, she worked her way back down. When she emerged her face and fur were covered with dirt.
“There!” she offered with a grin. “It’s a whole lot wider now.”
“Thanks,” Ereth grumbled as he moved toward the entryway. Pushing and shoving, he got through the tunnel with somewhat less difficulty than the night before.
Outside, the dazzling whiteness of snow, the cloudless sky, and the golden sun made him blink. The field before the bluff lay smooth and undisturbed. And at the far side of the field was the edge of Dimwood Forest.
Though Ereth looked at the forest trees longingly—and dreamed of the tender under-bark that he knew was there for the eating—he worried about the kits. “Where the blazing baboon balloons can I find them some food?” he asked himself with exasperation.
As he fretted, Nimble came out of the hole and sat beside him.
“Ereth, do you like snow?”
“No.”
The young fox thought about this, and then said, “Do you like anything?”
“Salt.”
After another interval, the fox asked, “Ereth . . .”
“What?”
“I may be wrong, but I don’t think you want to stay with us.”
Ereth made a noncommittal grunt.
“You know, it’ll be fine with us if you leave. I mean, I don’t think we need you.”
Ereth said, “You’re wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Ereth said, “youngsters don’t do well alone. You’re takers, not givers. If there’s no one to take from, you’ll die.”
“Oh, okay,” Nimble said agreeably.
“Look here, elephant ears,” Ereth suddenly barked, “I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat meat. I hate it. Just the thought of eating it makes me ill. So I don’t have the slightest idea how to go about getting the kind of food you want.”
“Mom used to go out into this field and listen.”
“Listen?”
“Oh, sure. She could hear the most amazing things. I mean, pretty much anything that moved. She was wonderful. There were crunchy voles and tasty mice—”
“Stop!” Ereth snapped.
Nimble turned. “What’s the matter?”
“No mice!”
“Are they bad for you?”
“Eat a mouse and you’ve had it,” Ereth snarled. “Worst food in the world for foxes. Or anyone else for that matter. One hundred percent poison.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know that.”
Side by side, the two stared at the snow-covered field.
Then Nimble suddenly whispered, “Ereth! There’s something moving right down there.”
“Where?”
“In the snow,” Nimble said. “At the bottom of the bluff. I’m pretty sure I can hear it.” She dropped into a crouch, belly low to the ground.
“It would be a whole lot better if you ate bark,” Ereth muttered.
Nimble was not listening. Ready to pounce, she began to move forward.
“I don’t want to watch,” Ereth said, feeling ill. With that he turned around and crept back down into the den.
The other two foxes had woken up.
“Where’s Nimble?” Tumble demanded right away.
“Outside. Getting food.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” groused Tumble, who bounded up the tunnel, leaving Ereth alone with Flip.
“Don’t you want to hunt for food too?” Ereth asked him.
“I don’t feel well.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I . . . I have a stomachache,” the fox said.
“Galloping goat giggles,” Ereth sneered. “Why do you have a stomachache?”
“I just do.”
“Well, that’s your problem, mustard mold. I have no idea what to do about it.”
“Can I come lie near you?” Flip asked.
“Do whatever you want.”
Flip came over to where Ereth was and stretched out, chin resting on his forepaws, large ears tilted forward, big eyes staring up at the porcupine.
Feeling uncomfortable under the gaze, Ereth shifted slightly.
“Mr. Ereth . . .” Flip said.
“What?”
“I’m . . . glad it was you who brought us the news about . . . Mom.”
“Oh,
