Forest.
There once was a duck who had grown tired of life on the poor little farm he had always lived on, in a poor little village impoverished by famine and hard luck. So, the duck struck out on his own and went off a-wandering. Now the whole countryside round about had been hit hard by the famine, and most barely had enough to live on. The duck soon learned this, asking at each village he passed on his way, how things fared there. Every time, the animals he met outside each village all told him the same story, that the duck would be welcome, so long as the farmers should eat him first, instead of the other farm animals. That did not suit the duck at all, so he kept wandering along until he came to a great big forest at the foot of a mountain.
“Perhaps I shall find some seeds or berries in there,” he said to himself, “for I am so very hungry now that all my provisions are gone.”
So into the deep dark forest the duck went. He could hear a few forest creatures calling to each other, but mostly he didn’t understand them. It got darker as he went farther in under the dense canopy of trees, but he could still see enough to walk along without running into things. He didn’t see any seeds or berries, though. It looked like all the seeds and berries had been eaten up, even the most dry and tasteless things that might grow on dull grasses, and everything off the thorny bushes and brambles. It got more and more quiet as he went along, and it seemed that very few creatures were about in that part of the forest.
Suddenly the duck saw, in the dim light, a glowing pair of eyes in the underbrush.
“You are far from home, aren’t you?” a sly voice said.
“Maybe I am, and maybe I ain’t.” the duck retorted cautiously.
The voice laughed, and where the eyes had been, a little pointed snout poked out of the bushes, followed by some red cheeks and pointy ears. Then some paws snaked out, followed by a lithe body of reddish-brown fur with a long luxurious tail. It was a fox, who sat casually and began licking his paw and cleaning his ear as though he couldn’t care less who was about.
“Fair enough,” the fox said, “I only asked because I wondered if you might be lost, and looking for someone to give you directions.”
“No, of course not.” insisted the duck, watching the fox warily.
The fox watched him back, cleaning his other ear and looking at the duck sideways through the corner of his eye.
The duck cleared his throat. “I suppose I might ask, though, since I happen to be passing through, whether things have been as difficult for everyone living in the forest as it has been lately for the villages over the hills?” The duck looked the fox over. “You look well.”
The fox chuckled, and then stretched out slowly with a smug look on his face, waving his well-kept tail. “Well, there’s some who have had trouble finding food, and some as have not.” He rolled over and then sat up again. “Are you hungry? Perhaps you’d like to come to dinner. You can meet my family. I’m sure the kits would love to make your acquaintance. They always adore having visitors for dinner.”
“Oh, does that line generally work for you?” The duck asked, casting about for the best way to leave by.
“You have no idea how well.” The fox said, and laughed more heartily than before. “Incidentally, if you are looking for a way out of the forest, I recommend you go that way.” Whereupon the fox pointed his snout in a direction the duck hadn’t considered, since it looked denser and darker still.
“I’d wish you luck,” said the duck, preparing to leave, “but I doubt you need it.”
“Are you sure you aren’t one of my cousins, come in disguise to play a joke on me?” the fox said, laughing.
The duck backed away in the opposite direction from the one the fox had suggested, keeping an eye on him and laughing curteously.
“I suppose you aren’t.” The fox cried, rolling over in fits of howling laughter. “I’d wish you luck, but I don’t think it’d help if you go that way!”
The duck ran away faster then, and even though he was sure the fox wasn’t following him, he ran and ran until he was exhausted. The forest didn’t seem as dark this way, but the undergrowth was very dense and he had scratched himself on countless thorns while running through the brambles.
“This must be what a pincushion feels like.” he mumbled to himself, looking around gloomily. He was completely lost now, and also hungry, thirsty, and cold.
“I’d consider regretting having ever left the farm,” he continued to himself, “but I was like to be made into soup if I’d stayed. But what good will it do me if I die here? I’d be no better off.”
And so the duck picked himself up, exhausted though he was, and wandered about for a while, looking for water. At length, parched and almost ready to give up, he came across a tiny muddy trickle of water in what looked like it had once been a small creek. He laid down there and lapped up a bit of the water, until he felt a little better. Then he got up and tried following the trickle of water up the creek bed, hoping he might find a pond or a spring with clearer water, and maybe something growing that he’d actually want to eat, instead of dry moss and withered grass.
“Maybe I’ll find a nice place where I could stay for a while.” he hoped.
“Perhaps I shall find some seeds or berries in there,” he said to himself, “for I am so very hungry now that all my provisions are gone.”
So into the deep dark forest the duck went. He could hear a few forest creatures calling to each other, but mostly he didn’t understand them. It got darker as he went farther in under the dense canopy of trees, but he could still see enough to walk along without running into things. He didn’t see any seeds or berries, though. It looked like all the seeds and berries had been eaten up, even the most dry and tasteless things that might grow on dull grasses, and everything off the thorny bushes and brambles. It got more and more quiet as he went along, and it seemed that very few creatures were about in that part of the forest.
Suddenly the duck saw, in the dim light, a glowing pair of eyes in the underbrush.
“You are far from home, aren’t you?” a sly voice said.
“Maybe I am, and maybe I ain’t.” the duck retorted cautiously.
The voice laughed, and where the eyes had been, a little pointed snout poked out of the bushes, followed by some red cheeks and pointy ears. Then some paws snaked out, followed by a lithe body of reddish-brown fur with a long luxurious tail. It was a fox, who sat casually and began licking his paw and cleaning his ear as though he couldn’t care less who was about.
“Fair enough,” the fox said, “I only asked because I wondered if you might be lost, and looking for someone to give you directions.”
“No, of course not.” insisted the duck, watching the fox warily.
The fox watched him back, cleaning his other ear and looking at the duck sideways through the corner of his eye.
The duck cleared his throat. “I suppose I might ask, though, since I happen to be passing through, whether things have been as difficult for everyone living in the forest as it has been lately for the villages over the hills?” The duck looked the fox over. “You look well.”
The fox chuckled, and then stretched out slowly with a smug look on his face, waving his well-kept tail. “Well, there’s some who have had trouble finding food, and some as have not.” He rolled over and then sat up again. “Are you hungry? Perhaps you’d like to come to dinner. You can meet my family. I’m sure the kits would love to make your acquaintance. They always adore having visitors for dinner.”
“Oh, does that line generally work for you?” The duck asked, casting about for the best way to leave by.
“You have no idea how well.” The fox said, and laughed more heartily than before. “Incidentally, if you are looking for a way out of the forest, I recommend you go that way.” Whereupon the fox pointed his snout in a direction the duck hadn’t considered, since it looked denser and darker still.
“I’d wish you luck,” said the duck, preparing to leave, “but I doubt you need it.”
“Are you sure you aren’t one of my cousins, come in disguise to play a joke on me?” the fox said, laughing.
The duck backed away in the opposite direction from the one the fox had suggested, keeping an eye on him and laughing curteously.
“I suppose you aren’t.” The fox cried, rolling over in fits of howling laughter. “I’d wish you luck, but I don’t think it’d help if you go that way!”
The duck ran away faster then, and even though he was sure the fox wasn’t following him, he ran and ran until he was exhausted. The forest didn’t seem as dark this way, but the undergrowth was very dense and he had scratched himself on countless thorns while running through the brambles.
“This must be what a pincushion feels like.” he mumbled to himself, looking around gloomily. He was completely lost now, and also hungry, thirsty, and cold.
“I’d consider regretting having ever left the farm,” he continued to himself, “but I was like to be made into soup if I’d stayed. But what good will it do me if I die here? I’d be no better off.”
And so the duck picked himself up, exhausted though he was, and wandered about for a while, looking for water. At length, parched and almost ready to give up, he came across a tiny muddy trickle of water in what looked like it had once been a small creek. He laid down there and lapped up a bit of the water, until he felt a little better. Then he got up and tried following the trickle of water up the creek bed, hoping he might find a pond or a spring with clearer water, and maybe something growing that he’d actually want to eat, instead of dry moss and withered grass.
“Maybe I’ll find a nice place where I could stay for a while.” he hoped.
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