The morning light woke him.
It hurt his eyes through the lids. He squinted them tighter. That hurt even more.
His whole head hurt. Like it had hit on a plucking rock.
(Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree, eating all the gumdrops he can see)
What? What was that? What was a kookaburra?
He peeled his head off the rock, red fur and redder blood sticking to the stone like bad honey. Why wasn’t his body moving? He slid his body forward, biting back a growl as the stick buried in his flank pulled out. His back foot was twisted, but he could still limp.
Where was he?
(Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree, Merry merry king of the bush is he)
Who is? I am, he answered automatically. I’m the king. Whoever he was. Sticks and stones will break my bones, but the kookaburra could suck on his furry red eggs.
His head throbbed worse than the day after that one time he had lost a challenge, and ate a bucket of Crazy Berries to settle the bet.
What challenge? What were Crazy Berries?
He limped through the woods, towards a buzzing he was pretty sure was outside his head. He came across a few animals. Some shouted angry things at him. Like he cared. Who gave a deer’s droppings about bears? They were too big to snap up in your jaws.
He broke out of the woods. He was in a clearing with muddy grass and picnic tables and a parking lot with vehicles, humans going in and out of a building that smelled like a shovelful of
(Laugh, Kookaburra!, Laugh! How great a life you lead!)
He shook his head. He yelped in pain. He hurt, but what mattered was his thoughts were clearing.
What had happened to him? Who would pay?
Then he remembered. It was that bird. That grub-digging bird would suffer for what he did.
What was that bird’s name? He barked a quick laugh. Yes, that was coming back to him too.
Siras Gumtree. He would suffer. How short a life he’ll lead!
First, though, he needed healing. These animals — these humans — were tools sitting idle against the tree. They were there to be used.
He limped to the parking lot. A family was around a — what was it called? It was like a den and a bus rolled into one. He approached them.
“Flat tire?” he called.
The male human was working on the tire, his female yapping something over his shoulder. The cubs, a boy and a girl, were chasing each other nearby. The boy stopped when he saw him, screeching in delight, “Look! A doggie!”
The man huffed, eyes shut in effort as he threw his whole weight into tightening a nut.
“Nah, just went soft. Just had to make sure —” The man turned around, seeing him. “Uh!” He wiped his fingers hastily on his shirt, leaving dark pawprints on the fabric. “That’s a fox, kids. Not a doggie. You look hurt, Mr. —”
“Fox Reynard. F-O-X. Fox.” He smiled at the family. Isn’t that what humans did, to show they were friendly? He showed all his teeth.
“He needs help,” the female human said. It was less a statement, more of an order for the male. Fox widened his smile. The tools were in motion.
“You look like a kind family. You mind giving a poor wounded forest animal a ride?”
The family was around him now: the two cubs cooing in delight, the boy cub trying to touch his fur. The mom held him back, but she looked as taken as the rest of them. The girl clung to her mother’s pants; she was shy, but as Fox looked her way, she tried to bury her face in her mother’s leg to hide the smile. The man wiped his hand on his shirt, bending down, extending it to Fox.
“We’re the Pearsons. We’d be pleased to give you a ride wherever you need to go. Just coming back from a family vacation. Camping. Communing with nature — you know. Didn’t see as much wildlife as we’d hoped. Now you come to us … how lucky are we?”
Fox barked a laugh, a high, yipping laugh. It hurt his side, but he couldn’t stop. Look at this stupid plucking family! They were holding their breaths, begging for the scraps of his attention!
He extended a paw, shaking with the male. “Lucky indeed.” The cubs squeaks delight. They thought it was a trick the wild animal knew, shaking paws. They were right.
They got into the vehicle. It was a den of sorts, for humans; smaller, less sophisticated that his own.
Wait, what was his den like?
The male fired the moving den up, starting off down the highway. The woman barked orders at the man, listing animal hospitals from her phone. The man had a half-immunity to her bark. Fox could admire it; his fur, too, grew thicker against the winter wind. The man looked back over his shoulder.
“What happened to you?”
“Bad luck happened. Took a gamble, had a bad turn.”
Is that what happened? Fox wasn’t sure, but it sounded right.
The human acknowledged him with a primitive grunt. It sounded non-committal, but Fox read a lifetime into it.
“You a gambling man, Pearson?”
His mate gave him a severe look. The man wet his lips.
“From time to time … I like to place a bet … here and there.”
Of course he did. Every life was a wheel of fortune — it’s only purpose was to spin.
“How about a little wager, then? Help pass the time?”
The woman glared at her mate. The male ignored her.
“What did you have in mind?” Fox was sitting on the blue couch, across from the boy, who was fiddling on some device. To turn any wheel, you just needed a lever, and know where to push.
The man looked back. Fox gave him another one of his reassuring smiles, hackles and all.
“Oh, I’m sure we can think of something …”
He would use these humans, use any animal that came down his trail.
Because what was nature but a test of wills?
And whoever was strongest, drags the rest along behind him.
END