It was the night before the winter solstice, a night so cold that ice sheathed even the swiftest reaches of The River in the Narrows, where hemlocks press hard against the bank before straggling up the steep shoulder of the encroaching hill, their numbers diminishing with each foot you climb, until you pass the last evergreen sentry and find yourself standing in a beech wood. I’ve said it was cold, and it was. Bitingly cold. Finger‑ and cheek‑numbing cold. And quiet. The night was as still as The River was swift. No breeze disturbed the copper‑colored leaves that cling tenaciously to the branches in the beech wood, not even on the crest of the ridge, where the only sounds were the grumble of rushing water against ice and the barely discernible mutter from a distant cascade.

Suddenly, faint footfalls broke the silence, as hurrying paws scuffled through the thin carpet of new snow and padded over the firm crust beneath. Soon a second nocturnal wanderer joined the first. He moved faster still, weaving nimbly through the little wood, dodging the rotting windfalls that are all that remain of trees which were young back when Henry Ford was luring workers to Detroit with the princely offer of five dollars a day.

Then the woods exploded in a wild melee. Jaws snapped. Fur flew. Hooves crashed. Sphincters loosened in fear. In all, five creatures collided in the forest of that frigid night. And nearly as quickly as fate had brought them together, it parted them. Once again, only the distant sibilants of moving water broke the stillness of the beech wood on the little hill.

 
How do I know all this? I wasn’t present when the drama unfolded. In fact, I was fast asleep. But the next morning found me following the track of a fox through the woods. I’d already stalked his spoor for a mile as he traversed the ridgeline, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. We’re old friends. I’d seen him many times before the day in question, and he’d seen me. I’d even visited his den. But he’d moved house recently, and I wasn’t sure where his new home lay. That’s why I was following his trail. I certainly didn’t reckon on stumbling across a scene of battle… Read more…

 

 
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