The Ninth Day of Midwinter

“She’s quite easily startled,” Greta said as she led them through the forest. “It’s best to speak to her softly. I think she understands most of what you say to her, but it’s difficult to tell.”

“What’s her name?” Gabu said.

“We don’t know if she has one. She still hasn’t said a word to us.”

The snow in the meadow had continued to melt since yesterday, and while the ground was still completely covered, it had been noticeably less deep this morning than it had been before. The snowgoat and the snowwolf were now deformed blobs. Here in the forest, however, the shade of the trees had sheltered the snow, and it looked much the same as it had done a week ago.

“Please remember that you’re only looking after her temporarily, at least for now,” Greta said. “If we still can’t find her parents, or any other foxes to raise her, then we’ll see how things go. Until then, I wouldn’t recommend thinking of yourselves as parents.”

“We understand,” Mei said. “We’d love to think of her as our own, assuming things go well between us, but we know that she’d be better off living with other foxes than with us.”

“What if she gets attached to us and doesn’t want to leave?” Gabu said, hiding the hopefulness in his voice well enough that Greta probably didn’t notice it.

“If we find her parents, she would have to be returned to them,” Greta said. “Assuming, of course, that they have a good explanation for why she was left alone in the forest for several days with no one to look after her. If it’s a choice between you and another fox family, however, I don’t see any harm in letting her decide for herself.”

“Who’s been feeding her?” Mei asked.

“I think Sarah has been asking the local carnivores to catch prey for her,” Greta said. “You’ll be able to take care of that, I expect,” she said to Gabu, who nodded solemnly.

When they had talked before about potentially adopting children, Gabu had been against the idea of adopting a carnivore. But, for better or for worse, there was now a young fox in the world who needed feeding, and if someone was going to feed her, it might as well be them. It was either that or decide that no one should feed her, and that wasn’t an option that Mei was at all comfortable considering. If he decided that one carnivore wasn’t worth the lives she would take, where did that leave Gabu?

Eventually, Greta stopped walking and turned to Gabu and Mei. “She’s right over there,” she whispered. “You’d better go and introduce yourselves.”

The first thing Mei saw was the deer standing watchfully in the clearing. It took him a moment to remember where he’d seen her before; she was one of the deer who occasionally provided assistance to Greta in her role as the definitely not leader of the Emerald Forest, particularly when dealing with crowds of disgruntled animals. This assistance was invariably non-violent, but often with the implication that this fact could change at a moment’s notice if need be. So far, partly in thanks to the aforementioned implication, need hadn’t been.

And then Mei saw the fox. She was hiding behind the deer’s legs, almost curled up into a ball. Most of her fur was a rich light brown, except for her face, which was already starting to develop the orange and white pattern adult foxes had. She was staring at Mei, her eyes wide and apprehensive.

The deer smiled and urged them forward. Gabu did so, approaching the little fox gingerly, and Mei followed at his side. “Hello,” he said in a soft, slow voice. “I’m Gabu, and this is Mei. We’re going to be looking after you for a little while. Is that okay?”

The fox, still hiding behind the deer’s legs, started up at him and said nothing. The deer bent down and nudged the fox towards Gabu and Mei with her head. “It’s okay,” she said. “They won’t hurt you.”

Slowly, the fox walked on shaky legs towards them. She sniffed at Gabu, and then at Mei.

“Hello,” Mei said, smiling down at her. “Do you have a name?”

The fox looked up at him and blinked once, her face impassive. Her eyes were blue, unlike the amber of Takkan’s and those of all other foxes Mei had seen.

“I’ve been calling her Kon-kon,” the deer said. The fox turned her head in response to the name.

“Kon-kon,” Mei repeated, trying out the name. “It sounds nice.”

“Do you want to come and see our cave, Kon-kon?” Gabu said. “It’s where you’ll be staying.”

It took some trying, but they eventually managed to get Kon-kon to follow them. Saying her name repeatedly helped. Greta and the other deer, Sarah, followed at a distance. A few times, Kon-kon turned and ran back to the two deer, at which point Sarah would say, “Go back to Gabu and Mei, Kon-kon,” and the fox would do so. She was a fast learner, it seemed, if stubborn.

When they arrived at Moonrise Hill, Kon-kon went inside to investigate, returning to the cave mouth a few moments later.

“This is our home,” Gabu said. “We’d like it if you would stay here with us until we find you a family, or longer, if you like.”

Kon-kon didn’t say anything, but seemed happy to stay in the cave. When Gabu and Mei came in themselves, the fox went to the back of the cave and curled up into a ball. She remained like that while Gabu and Mei lay down on either side of her.

“We’ll leave you to it, then,” Greta said from the mouth of the cave. “Let us know if there are any problems.”

As the three of them lay there, Mei felt a growing sense that things weren’t going quite how he’d expected them to. He’d imagined this as a deeply emotional moment, meeting for the first time the child whom they might someday soon think of as their own. And yet, he felt unable to relate to the small ball of light brown fur curled up beside him. She certainly didn’t think of him and Gabu as her new parents; they were just the people who happened to be looking after her at the moment.

Regardless of how he felt, he and Gabu now had a responsibility. What did a child need? Mei listed the things off in his head: food, water, shelter, play. He looked at the young fox, too timid and anxious to engage with the world around her, and added one more to the list: stability. Gabu could provide food, their den could provide shelter, and either the snow or the river could provide water. As for stability, that would depend on a lot of things that were still uncertain right now. That only left play, which Mei felt he should be responsible for since Gabu would be taking care of the feeding.

“Kon-kon,” Mei said, “do you want to chase me around the hill? That could be fun, right?”

As Mei was now coming to expect, Kon-kon watched him intently as he spoke, but offered no reply.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Gabu whispered, as if under the impression that a fox’s ears wouldn’t pick it up. “We don’t want her to grow up thinking that other animals are for chasing.”

“Um,” Mei said, “isn’t that exactly what we want her to learn? She needs to know how to hunt, after all.”

“Yes, but not…” Mei heard the word that Gabu stopped himself from saying. But not you. “But not right now,” Gabu said instead.

Mei noticed how Kon-kon’s head turned to watch whichever of them was speaking. It felt as if she understood every word. That made Mei feel awkward about talking about her as if she wasn’t there. “Do you know what a goat is, Kon-kon? You can nod your head for yes, or shake your head for no,” Mei said, demonstrating both gestures.

Slowly, Kon-kon moved her head from side to side, still keeping her eyes fixed on Mei as if he was about to attack her. Gabu watched with fascination.

“A goat is what I am,” Mei said. “Goats eat grass and go, meeeeh, which is called bleating. Gabu,” Mei enunciated his husband’s name very intentionally in the hope that Kon-kon would learn it, “is a wolf. Wolves eat meat, the same as you, and make a sound called howling.”

“Awooooo,” Gabu howled, much more enthusiastically than he had done the last time he was asked to demonstrate what sound a wolf makes for the benefit of a small child.

“Gabu is a wolf…” Mei said, making it clear from his tone that the sentence was not finished.

Gabu took the hint. “…and Mei is a goat.”

Kon-kon continued to look at them. “Can you say my name, Kon-kon?” Mei asked hopefully. To his slight disappointment, but not to his surprise, Kon-kon said nothing. “You’ll talk to us when you’re ready,” Mei said, putting on a smile and hoping it was true.