Suddenly he stopped. Directly ahead, but hidden by a cornice of snow, he heard the sound of thrashing and clanking, followed by a soft whimpering. This was followed by a piteous “Please.”
Whoever had been calling was not only still in trouble, it sounded as if he was growing weaker.
Ereth lifted his nose and sniffed. An animal was right in front of him. The question was, what kind? He couldn’t tell because another smell filled the air. Though this second smell was familiar, Ereth could not quite grasp its nature. “Wilted wolf waffles,” he muttered, “what is it?”
His frustration abetted by curiosity, Ereth took two more leaps forward in the snow, then stopped and gasped in horror.
CHAPTER 7
Ereth Makes a Promise
ON THE GROUND LAY a slim fox with tawny red fur and a long, bushy tail. The lower part of her delicate, pointed face and much of her muzzle were white. Her few remaining whiskers were as black as her nose. Black too was the outline of her almond-shaped, orange-colored eyes. Her pointed ears were limp. All around her, the beaten-down snow was red with blood, for the fox’s left front paw was gripped in the jaws of a steel spring trap.
In an instant Ereth understood: she had been caught in one of the traps that the hunters from the cabin had set.
The trap consisted of a pair of metal jaws, which—once sprung—had crushed the fox’s paw, biting savagely through fur, flesh, muscles, and tendons. All were exposed. The amount of blood that lay about suggested the fox had been trapped for a long time. It was the blood that had confused Ereth’s sense of smell.
Just to look upon the scene turned Ereth’s bone marrow colder than the snow.
The fox, not yet realizing anyone else was there, whimpered softly to herself as she tried to move her paw. Though extremely weak, she managed to lift the trap an inch or two. It was connected to a stake by a metal link chain. When the trap moved the chain jangled. Her effort—small as it was—was an enormous struggle, so much so that after a painful moment, she dropped paw, trap, and chain and lay panting with exhaustion.
As Ereth, horrified, continued to watch, the fox leaned forward and tried to gnaw at the chain, then at the trap itself.
“Murdering mud malls,” Ereth growled under his breath.
His words were just loud enough for the fox to hear. Slowly, she turned her head.
Her nose was dry, caked with blood. Her whiskers were bent and broken. Her eyes were so glazed over with pain and tears, Ereth was not certain she grasped that he was there. “Can . . . can I . . . do anything?” he managed to say.
The fox cocked her head slightly, taking in the words as if they came from a distant place. This time Ereth was sure she saw him. “I’m . . . caught . . .” she said in a weak voice. “Please help . . . me.”
Ereth, fighting waves of nausea, drew closer. The smell of blood, the sight of the fox’s mangled paw, were making him feeble. “I’m . . . awful sorry,” he whispered.
“Yes . . .” was all the fox could reply.
Gingerly stretching his head forward, Ereth attempted to bite the chain, the trap itself, and the spike which held the trap to the ground. Bitterly cold, iron hard, the metal would not give.
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
“All day.”
“Mangled moose marbles,” Ereth whispered with fright.
“It’s been . . . so long,” the fox said.
“I . . . see.”
“The moment it happened I knew I would never get free,” the fox went on. The snow, fluttering softly through the trees, clung to her fur like a delicate shroud. “I’m going to die,” she said after a few moments. The words took a great deal of her energy to speak.
For once in his life Ereth did not know what to say. Though he wished there was something he could do, he had no idea what it might be.
“But—” the fox went on, gazing at Ereth with dark-rimmed eyes, “I want to ask you . . . to . . . promise me something.”
“Oh, sure,” Ereth blurted with relief. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
“You’re . . . very kind,” the fox whispered.
Ereth was about to ask her how she knew he was kind but decided against it.
“Not far from here . . .” the fox went on, speaking with increasing difficulty, “is my . . . den.”
“Yes . . .”
“In the den are my . . . three kits. They’re only a few months old.”
“Three kits?” Ereth echoed, not grasping what the fox was leading to.
“Two sons, one daughter,” the fox explained. “They don’t know . . . what’s happened to me. I went out in search of some fresh food for them when . . . I stepped on this . . . trap and . . . got caught.”
“Salivating skunk spots,” Ereth whispered. In spite of himself he looked anxiously about in search of other traps. How many had those humans said they set? Was it sixteen? Twenty?
“The snow hid it,” the fox went on. “And . . . took away its smell.”
Ereth licked his lips nervously.
“Would . . . you,” the fox continued, “could you . . . be kind enough . . . to go to my kits. They . . . need to be told what’s become of me.”
“I . . . suppose,” Ereth stammered, taken by surprise.
“They are very young. Helpless,” the fox went on. “If you could just . . . take care of them . . .”
“Take care of them!” Ereth cried.
The fox blinked tears. “It would be so generous. Just knowing that you . . . would . . . I might . . . die with some measure . . . of peace.”
“But . . . buttered flea foofaraws!” Ereth cried. “Where’s . . . where’s their father? Isn’t he around?”
The fox turned away. “I don’t know where he is,” she said. “He’s . . . gone off.”
“Puckered peacocks,” Ereth said indignantly. “That’s not right. Or fair. I mean . . . it’s absolutely un—”
The fox turned and gazed at Ereth with such sorrowful eyes he shut his mouth and wished he had
