“So where are we headed?” Digger asked as he and the two
younger foxes took off.
“We’re taking the scenic route,” said Singe. “Sightseeing.”
“Yes, you’ve said that already,” said Digger. “I just
wondered where you’re headed first, and when you plan to stop and rest. It’s
been a long night, after all. Surely you aren’t planning to travel much further?”
“We’ll stop when we want to stop,” said Singe.
“We were thinking maybe the lake,” said Spark at almost the
same time. Singe threw him a dirty look.
It seems like a good place to rest,” said Singe.
“Fair enough,” Digger
said. “The closest side is a little over an hour from here by air.”
“We know what we’re doing,” said Singe. Digger decided to
drop the subject and observe the duo. They had been careful to fly at least a
short distance in front of him as though to say “We’re in charge here,” so he
had a good vantage point to observe. What stood out most to him was the way
they flew. It seemed like they couldn’t quite control the size of their wings,
and they bobbed up and down a bit as they flew. They reminded him of young kits
who hadn’t quite mastered flying yet.
I have heard of some
conditions that can impair a fox’s use of magic, which can in turn make flying
and wing control difficult, he thought. But
in conjunction with everything else, I’m afraid the real answer might be much
more sinister. What if they aren’t real flarefoxes at all? I’ve heard of
shapeshifting dragons . . . could the dragons have something against us? The
thought scared him beyond words, and he resolved to never let the pair out of his
sight. I musn’t even sleep. Now why
didn’t they send someone else with me so we could take turns sleeping?
Due to Singe and Spark’s slower flight, it took a little
longer than Digger had predicted to reach the lake. The sun was peaking over
the horizon as they arrived. The three foxes took a long drink, then Singe and
Spark declared they were tired and found an out-of-the-way spot to sleep.
Digger lay down a short distance away from them and shut his eyes, leaving one
half open. He lay like that for a long time, fighting off sleep himself. As the
sun rose, more and more foxes began to congregate near the lake, providing
extra noise to keep him awake. His vigil finally paid off when Singe took a
peak at him, stood up, and crept over to Spark. Digger twitched one large ear
towards them, hoping to catch whatever the duo might say.
Spark said something too low to hear, to which Singe said,
“No, not here. There are too many others around. Let’s just go.” Spark nodded,
yawned, and stretched, and the pair slipped away.
Digger briefly considered chasing and confronting them, but
decided he was more likely to wind up fighting monsters he couldn’t handle than
getting information that way. Instead, he slipped after them as quietly and
unobtrusively as he could manage.
The first thing he noticed was that they never took to the
air. Instead, they kept their wings as low as possible. Digger did the same,
not wanting to attract their attention. The other thing he noted was that they
took a very winding, confusing path, even splitting up at times and meeting
back later. Clearly they wanted to throw off any trackers. Whenever they split
up, Digger chose to follow Singe. He seemed to be the leader of this operation.
He nearly lost them a few times when
they slipped into crowds, but he always found them again. It wasn’t too hard to
pick out a fox afraid of using his wings.
If they’re so afraid
of using their wings, why don’t they just shapeshift? I suppose we are out in the open. There aren’t that many
people around, and they are keeping to the outskirts and shadows as much as
possible, but still . . . if anyone saw them, their gig would be up. Either
that, or I’m completely off. That would be nice. I’d rather we were dealing
with a rogue bunch of foxes than shapeshifting monsters.
As nearly as he could tell with all the twisting, turning,
and backtracking, the two foxes were headed in a northerly direction. I guess it makes sense, he thought. There aren’t nearly as many foxes in the
north, so it would be a good place to meet up with others. But there also isn’t
nearly as much water.
Indeed, the longer they traveled, the fewer flarefoxes they
passed. Sometime after midday they reached an area where no one else was in
sight. The sun was blistering hot overhead, and there wasn’t much of a place to
hide. Singe and Spark sat down to rest, and Digger melted into the yellow
grass, hoping they wouldn’t see him.
“Here’s as good a place as any,” Singe said.
“Are you sure we weren’t followed?” asked Spark.
“Oh, we’ve been followed, alright. Here’s as good a place as
any to show our curious tracker our true form. Then we can deal with him.”
