The Chase

She had been chasing the fox for three days now.

She hadn’t meant to, in the beginning. Her only wish was to get a closer look. He had flashed past the corner of her eye, his fur rippling in bursts of scarlet and orange as he rolled through a patch of sunlight. She had never been so enchanted before as she was when watching that little fox scurry through the underbrush of her forest.

But he had kept moving, and she found she could not resist his pull. Her skirts caught on thorns and thread-like branches tugged at her hair as she followed the swift thing, day turning to dusk and dusk giving way to night as the pair tucked through the woods. She stopped when he stopped, his tongue lolling out of his pink mouth, watching her with golden eyes.

I see you, those eyes seemed to say.

He didn’t seem to mind, though. He wouldn’t let her get close, as she had tried a handful of times. She would tiptoe so achingly close before he would dart away, not even a brush of his whisper soft fur gracing her fingertips. The fox would let out a barking laugh as if he thought it a game. He didn’t realize he was breaking her heart in two every time he ran from her.

During the nights she would build a fire, the crackling of flames creating a lull to their chase. A truce settled over them like a fine mist while they warmed themselves through the evening. She didn’t worry about food or water; these things were infinitesimal in comparison to the fox.

Then dawn would come, and they began anew. Her feet had become scarred and cracked, leaving a trail of blood behind them as they went. The fox noticed. He would huff and swish his fluffy tail around, as if annoyed that she would disturb the forest in such a way. She felt no pain despite the brambles that embedded themselves in her heel. She only had eyes for him.

He led her through groves, and rivers, through patches of wildflowers and thickets so dense she was worried he would lose her. But no, there he was, waiting for her at the edge every time, taunting her with his gaze.

At times she swore he spoke to her.

You should stop now, he would say, his sharp fangs poking out from behind his maw as he looked her over. You’ll die chasing a pretty thing like me.

“You’re wrong. You are my prize, fox. And I will not stop.” Her voice didn’t sound like her voice anymore. It came out in a rasp, scratching, clawing its way out of her throat until she choked on it.

The fox laughed again. You see? What is beauty but a false image of sanity, poised to curl around your ankles like a snake?

He was wrong. He had to be wrong. His words could not stop her from catching him, cunning as he was. She lunged, hoping to catch him by surprise, but he leapt out of her grasp with ease.

You do this to yourself.

Her thirst and hunger transformed, merely becoming wings for her feet to drive her ever further. The forest around her became strange and unfamiliar. She had never gone this far before, and yet the fox still danced this way and that as if he had the curves of the world etched into his memory. Her ankles twisted over every branch and unstable rock. He seemed to only grow in endurance the further she chased him.

She began to plead with him. “Just let me catch you. Just once. Can’t you see how much you’re hurting me?”

You don’t have to chase me. You do not need me.

“I do need you. What am I without you? I can’t seem to remember.”

His golden eyes were pure sunlight, painful to look at. How pathetic to settle for so much less than you deserve.

The nights grew colder, her toes turning blue with each sunset. He watched her from across the fire. At times she wondered if he had become part of it, his red fur and golden eyes melding with the flames until he flew in front of her, threatening to burn. His laugh felt like needles in her ears. And still, she chased.

She did not remember her name. She did not know of family, or passions, or hope, or touch. She could not recall the taste of spring water, or the comfort of a bed. Her arms and legs felt smaller, somehow, as though she had left them behind in the thicket. She did not mind the change. All she knew was the fox, this monster that had enraptured her. Hope was a foul taste on the back of her tongue, and she longed to spit it out. She tried, and yet still it curled in her belly, spurring her on until it cramped her side and left her gasping for breath.

He led her to an open meadow. She watched as he bounded over flowers and moss, over small quails and chittering mice, barking out his mad laugh to make sure she didn’t lose him.

Her foot curled onto the soft grass, and burning pain exploded in her shoulder.

The meadow held her as she was rocked to her knees, collapsing face down into the earth. The wind stopped howling in her ears. The fox let out one last laugh before darting into the surrounding forest.

Never trust a wild thing, my love.

Her blood watered the flowers as she took her last breath.

The hunters approached her, one of them towing her side with the edge of his boot. “What a pretty fox. My wife will adore her pelt.”

“Sure will. I was hoping we would see one today. Was it just this one, or weren’t there two of them?”

“No, just the one.”

“Oh well. She’s beautiful.”