Phaedra: Chapter 6- Dance

Just like for the rest of the forest life, Theyr make it through the winter only barely. The warmth of the underground is little comfort to a hungry belly or a sun-starved soul. In the gloomy darkness, families huddle around their ovens, nibbling on the crumbs of food they had stored for winter. Dark eyes grow more and more weary as the piles of dried meats disappear from storage shelves. And near the end, the time of judgment arrives, and some simply slip away.

Fortunately for Phaedra’s family, they had enough food to last them. Since there were only four members and they had a large, well-constructed den there was plenty of space for food storage. The only thing bothering the family was the long weeks saying inside, safe from the snow.

Phaedra didn’t know what month it was, and she didn’t care. All she knew was that she was aching to run and play. All day long she and Mirkol would scurry back and forth between the den’s entrances, jumping off the walls and furniture. Their mother desperately tried to keep the den tidy, and Chiram helped as much as he could, but at the end of every day there was always some mess somewhere that didn’t get cleaned up.

The winter dragged on, though occasionally the skies cleared, and if the den entrance wasn’t covered by snow, Chiram would take Mirkol and Phaedra outside to release their energy. In the biting cold, the two youngsters would fidget and play, as much to have fun as to keep themselves from freezing. Their small body size made it hard for them to retain heat, and a few minutes too long in the frozen air could kill.

“Phaedra, look!” Mirkol yelled, his voice shaking slightly from the cold. He was climbing a small twig sticking out of the snow, gripping with his claws as he ascended. When he had gone as far as he could, he bunched his legs and leaped out, screaming to Phaedra, “I’m a pixie!” In midair he flapped his arms, staying in suspension for a short second, before he plummeted into the snow with a quiet “plop.”

Phaedra laughed as she jumped through the snow towards Mirkol’s little hole he’d made. Just as she got to him he popped his head up, grinning broadly and giggling. Phaedra jumped into his hole and tackled him, sending a puffs of snow into the air. Both of them disappeared under the whiteness for a moment before popping back up, shivering.

“Alright, that’s enough for now!” Chiram called to them. He could feel his own body heat being assaulted by the freezing air, and knew the children wouldn’t last as long as he could.

“Come back inside!” Chiram commanded them, and the two tiny children willingly ran back towards their warm home. They had about a yard to go before they saw something strange happen to Chiram.

He got a peculiar expression on his face, some mix between intense concentration and extreme discomfort or pain. The hair on his head and shoulders began to stand on end, enlarging his form as his eyes widened, staring at something in the distance behind the children. When they saw this happen to Chiram, Phaedra and Mirkol didn’t need a verbal warning to know that they were, at that moment, running for their lives.

Chiram was watching, his muscles frozen in terror, as a dark, rusty-orange pelt materialized from the gray matrix of brambles surrounding The Tree. With silent feet the huge animal slunk into the space and turned its sharp nose in the direction of the helpless children, watching with calculating eyes. The white tip of its bushy tail rested close to the snow as the creature’s body crouched down, angling and preparing for a leap that would land it right on top of its scurrying prey.

Phaedra’s entire body was ringing with urgency, though she still did not know what she was running from. She felt the muscles of her arms and legs propelling her forward of their own accord, her spine bunching and springing as she flew over the surface of the snow on all fours. Her eyes remained trained on her father’s face.

Chiram was watching a freight train barrel towards a boy playing on railroad tracks. He was watching an avalanche consume a hiker, a car drive off a cliff, a tsunami envelope a beachgoer. He was watching a fox about to devour his children, and he could do nothing but watch.

As she ran, Phaedra felt Mirkol falling behind her. She turned her head, just slightly, to see where he was, and lost her footing. She tripped on the deep snow, and her momentum tumbled her forward. Somewhere in her mind she saw Mirkol jump over her and vanish as she rolled through the snow, coming to a stop a few seconds later. She wasted no time, leaping dizzily to her feet to launch herself forward again.

Suddenly from the sky came two huge, black paws, landing on each side of Phaedra and showering her with snow. The terrified Theyr ground to a halt, twisted her body backwards, and leaped in the opposite direction like a released spring. Above, the hulking form of the fox flipped around, trying to follow Phaedra’s instinctive movements. She heard its jaws snap together a few inches behind her, and she spun mid-air to change direction again. The fox snapped after her, but got only a mouthful of cold snow as Phaedra flew right past its hungry nose.

The fox let out no snarls of frustration, no snorts of indignation. It only became more intense as it kept its yellow eyes trained on its anticipated prey. It was a perfect hunting machine, conditioned from birth to not lose its concentration. Even as Phaedra evaded her pursuer through her maneuverability, the fox kept time and remained only a few hairs behind. For every dodge that Phaedra made, the fox made a turn that nearly matched her speed.

It was a dance.

Over and over Phaedra avoided the sharp fangs of the fox, and the fox spun and pounced and churned the snow. Though her heart and lungs burned with cold and exhaustion, Phaedra never once hesitated or lost her speed. She did not think or reason or anticipate, she could only flee as her fear instincts told her to. Every muscle moved with certainness and subtle power passed down to her from her ancestors.

The fox was different. Though its prey drive propelled it forward, it was experience, not instinct, that told it how to catch and kill. There was a moment in time between action and reaction in which the fox had to think through its next movement, and this kept it that vital half-step behind Phaedra.

Then, a miracle occurred.  A bird cried. The fox fumbled. Phaedra broke free to run to the safety of the den, where she flew down the dark tunnel in a flash of terrified adrenaline and fur.

Still blinded by her instincts, she could not be blamed for screaming and flailing wildly as she was embraced by the arms of her father.

“Phae! It’s okay, you’re safe now!”

She heard his voice from far away, and yet it was right in her ear. Her heart buzzed in her chest, as frenzied as a hornet, as she clawed at the arms holding her tightly. She shut her eyes, kicking at the air, still screeching. Slowly, her terrified cries turned into sobs, and she collapsed, no longer able to fight.

“You’re okay, it’s okay. You’re safe,” Chiram whispered into his daughter’s ear, rocking her back and forth. Phaedra succumbed to trembling as she turned and buried her face in Chiram’s chest. She whimpered incoherently, growing weak and limp.

“Is she okay?” Mirkol’s voice came from down the tunnel.

“What happened?” asked Trie, confused by Phaedra’s behavior.

“Fox,” Chiram said simply. The one word made Phaedra squirm and cry out in residual fear, then sag into a tired heap in her father’s arms, totally spent. He held her close, trying to keep her from going into shock, while she whimpered and trembled weakly.

“Mirkol, go get Phaedra’s nest stone from her room and heat it up,” Trie instructed, suddenly running around the kitchen. She scampered over to where Chiram was sitting on the floor holding Phaedra while Mirkol disappeared down the tunnel leading to the nestrooms.

“Is-is she hurt?” Trie murmured, looking Phaedra over.

Chiram pulled Phaedra away from his chest to look her over, looking for anything that could be an injury. She opened her eyes, glancing up at her mother with an empty expression.

“I don’t think I ever even saw the fox touch her, though I can’t be sure,” Chiram said to his mate. He picked Phaedra up in his arms and started for the kitchen, where the light would be better than the empty tunnel. “It was so fast,” he continued, “I have no idea how she managed to survive…”

“Oh, Mere help us,” Trie’s voice was shaking. Mirkol then returned with the small, oval rock that was kept in Phaedra’s nest on cold nights, and while Trie put it in the oven Chiram set Phaedra on the edge of the table to check her again for injuries.

“Hey, Phae,” he said quietly, looking into her eyes, “How are you feeling?”

Phaedra blinked at him, swaying. She took a breath, glancing around the kitchen for a moment, then looked up as the room suddenly darkened slightly. Chiram followed her eyes, and through the angular clearness of the crystals in the ceiling could be seen the ruddy color of the fox’s fur as it walked over the den, searching for its missed meal. A moment later it was gone, and Chiram jumped back as Phaedra let out a loud, unexpected giggle. She chuckled again a second later, still staring up, then fell into uncontrollable laughter as the other three Theyr watched her apprehensively.

“What is she laughing at?” Mirkol asked, tilting his head curiously.

“I’m not sure, but I think she needs to be put to bed right away,” Trie said over the noise of her laughter, taking the nest stone out of the oven with a damp cloth. “Bring her, Chiram, before she falls off the table.”

After putting her into her nest with her warm nest stone, Phaedra fell asleep almost immediately, though her small giggles continued to echo through the den even as she slept.

For the rest of her life, Phaedra would never really know what it was she was laughing about.