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Castor

The breeze that ruffles my fur sends tingles down my spine and tightens my throat in fear. It heralds the end, my end anyway. I don't want to die. I know that I've done nothing wrong, but I can't think of any other reason for them to take me out here West of Denver, the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. The terrain has a calming effect on me. It always does, but this time it's odd in that I know it's one of the last things I'll ever feel. It's that fox's fault a conniving voice in the back of my head says. I tune it out. I've always been good at besting my baser nature. Somehow I manage a semblance of composure as I step out of the vehicle. My paws meet the forest's pine needle carpeting, and all I can think of is the smell. I lift my nose to the mountain air suck in a breath of the freshness that makes me feel so alive. The shove the wolf gives me to get me going does nothing to dispel the mood.

"Move." His voice is oddly... American. Up to now my captors have been so similarly foreign that they could have all been stamped out by a printing press. Encountering someone who is so obviously not, is comforting. It reminds me of my father's voice telling me that if I'm good, good things will come my way. My mood darkens when I think of the last thing I heard from that voice. Banishment. I'm alone. Will my once upon a family even morn me? I don't know, but I do know that I will not go quietly into the night. My father might have been proud.

I bare my teeth at the wolf. The action lends me strength, almost as if acting tough makes it so. "Where do you want me to go, Lassie?" There isn't so much as a quaver of fear in my voice. Apparently, the wolf didn't think I had it in me. That gets him marked down as the weaker target. That isn't saying much, though. My other captor, the coyote who grabs my arm to lead me into the woods, is massive. I've got the bruises to prove it. My left eye is swollen shut, and it hurts every time I draw in a deep breath. I hope that it's my diaphragm and not a broken rib. Not that it really matters.

He's got a gun. I can feel it pressing against my shoulder as he leads me down a sparse forest trail. They didn't even bother to blindfold me. If they intended to let me live they would have done that, right? The cabin is almost surreal, but it's the opportunity that really hits me. I will not just let them take me into the night. I feel the rage building as the light fades from the sides of my vision, replaced with pure focus. I can almost envision my paw slipping into his coat. The gun coming out control and order restored, justice entertained. He reaches to open the cabin door. It's my opportunity. I take it. The gun is in my paws pointed at the coyote's chest. His eyes go wide, and my finger pauses on the trigger. Then I fell the rage, rage at the creature who barged his way into my house, rage against he who brought me to the brink of my sanity. So much rage that I scarcely felt the club that hit me across the back of my head, and then rage against the dying light as it faded from my sight and I knew no more.

When I awoke I knew something was badly amiss. There were crashing noises, and yells, and blood. I was covered in it. My red fur was matted in a deeper red, but it was the spreading taint across my white fur that really got to me. My mind told me that I couldn't possibly keep losing blood at this rate and survive for long, but I was bound tightly to a chair. That's when the roaring started in my ears, but when an old ford truck punched through the wall I knew that I was hallucinating. A fox stepped out. His fur was dark as the night, and his eyes came straight from my dreams.

"Cyril?" His eyes met mine, and I passed out, again.

This time when I woke up I wasn't dying. I was on the floor in the back cabin of the truck, but whoever put me there hadn't even had the courtesy to put me on the bench. I wasn't bound anymore, though. My paws automatically reached for the back of my head, and I groaned in pain when they found the wound. That's when I heard a voice I thought I'd never hear again.

"Buckle yourself in, Castor. It's gonna be a bumpy ride."

When I climbed into the passenger's seat and got a better look at the fox to my left I felt my hear t skip a beat. It was Cyril. I hadn't been dreaming. The high-pitched scream of the engine alerted me to the fact that we weren't safe yet. We were going fast, but Cyril was swerving around corners on what looked like a trail made for hikers. I buckled myself in.

"Thanks for coming to get me fox."

The grunt he gave me in return betrayed his anxiety. In the short time I'd know him he hadn't ever been short of witty responses, so his current lack really bothered me. It was when we skidded off of the side of the road that I knew why. This fox couldn't drive to save his live, which is ironically what he was trying to do.

Our pursuit was on us in an instant, but Cyril just hit the gas, and before I knew it we were plowing through the forest. I know the forest, and I knew that this wasn't going to end well. When I saw the ravine I was sure.

"Stop!" I tried to say it calmly, but my voice broke, and it turned into a scream. The truck flipped as it fell, and it crunched against the rocks that terminated our descent.

I was okay. Holy crap! I was okay. I looked to the fox next to me and stifled my excitement when I realized that he wasn't. He was out cold. Blood dripped down into the white fur on his muzzle, and something metallic was sticking out of the side of his leather jacket.

"Cyril?" My voice came out as a panicked whisper, "Oh, God."

The sound of engines stalling above made me think of leaving him for a treacherous second, but I couldn't. Even the idea was just plain wrong. Instead I grabbed him by the scruff and pulled him out. Great. Now what. I knew that I couldn't carry him far, and our pursuit was near.

It was the soft trickle of water from the bottom of the ravine that gave me an idea. I held Cyril's form in my arms. It wasn't good to move him after an accident like that, but I didn't have a choice. I followed the ravine until I couldn't hold him anymore. I could hear the loud roar of the river further in. I needed to get him there. It wasn't far. I knew that I could make it, but was I strong enough to get us both there? That's when Cyril's eyes flicked open. Meeting his blue gaze I knew that I had to so I gritted my teeth and reached around him again.

"Hold on to me if you can," I yelled it in his ear praying that he would hear me.

His arms tightened around me, and I managed to lift him and stumble on. We made it, only barely, but I knew success as we fell into the river, and were swept away before our pursuit.

I lay on my back with Cyril against my chest and concentrated on the lifeguard training I'd had years ago to keep both our heads above the water. Afraid of potential waterfalls I let us come to shore sooner then I really should have. By then Cyril was already awake, and shivering violently against me. He was coherent enough to drag himself out of the water, which was good because I wasn't sure if I could have managed it at that point.

"Got to get clothes off," I gasped at him.

"Seriously? I know that taking a bath with you was my idea, but this is not what I had in mind."

His paws feebly tugged at my shirt trying to get it off of me as I tugged at his jacket. That's when my fingers met blood and I remembered his wound. "Got to put pressure," I said.

His kiss shushed me, "Fuck the mob," he said pulling back from me and laying on his side.

I think that he passed out again. Anyway I balled up my shirt and put it against his wound. Then I tore his shirt to ribbons to bind it. I put him on his jacket to drag him further into the woods before getting the rest of his wet clothes off of him. I was cold, and so, so tired. Cyril came to get me though. I had to help him. I couldn't start a fire so the only help I could give him was my own body heat. As I curled myself around him I hoped for nothing so much as his survival. That's when, gently, I greeted the night.