Chapter 1: Fur Amongst Foxgloves

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The first thing she'd noticed was the strange scent. It wasn't anything unpleasant, a coppery twang, but out of place amongst the lovely fragrance of foxgloves.

Then she'd seen the blood itself, stained sharp against the flowers. She'd followed it for a while, and that was when she discovered him again.

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As much as Jemima would tell herself that she wasn't a simpleton, and everyone else was wrong (and she'd tell them that too, with a few choice words), at this moment she was beginning to wonder if they'd been right all along. Perhaps she was stupid, and perhaps she was about to die.

"Please, listen. I don't mean any trouble," she said to the snapping jaws. "really, now!"

There was a nasty growl, and the fox's lip curled, showing all of his pin sharp teeth. He lunged, but fell onto the ground once again. And then he groaned and just lay there, panting hard.

He'd been threatening to kill her for about half an hour now, but he was finally starting to tire, so it seemed.

Jemima took a step back all the same. That'd been too close.

"What do...what do you want?" the fox finally spoke to her. He sounded tired, but his smooth voice conjured up memories Jemima had found herself reluctant to forget.

So it was him.

It wasn't that she'd been unsure of it, but hearing his voice made the memory feel more tactile and confirmed everything. How charming he'd been, how convincing.

She briefly shook her head, as if that might shake away creeping thoughts.

Whatever it was, it was why she found herself back in the forest clearing now, overcome by the brightness and scent of foxgloves, and watching his sharp amber eyes, and the way his mouth moved into a faint sneer.

"If you've brought the hounds to finish me off, so be it," he said. "I have no use in my leg to flee them, so your satisfaction might be brief."

Jemima felt her feathers prickle with the idea.

"I...I have done no such thing. How could you think I'd do that?"

Her disgust only seemed to amuse the fox some more. He struggled onto his side, where Jemima caught proper sight of the nasty gash across his hind leg. It had torn right though his trousers and deep into the flesh, and there was blood sprayed all across the grass where he'd moved.

"What else am I supposed to think of you?" he asked, like he might be pretending to be curious. "dear lady...am I to presume..." he grimaced, and looked back at his leg, scowling at it like it might be an inconvenience, which it was. "...that you wouldn't have me dead?" he chuckled. "a fine trick."

"I'm not tricky," Jemima pulled a face. "I don't want any creature dead, thank you very much," she huffed and looked at the sky. "it just so happens that I was passing through, and I noticed you seemed to be in a bit of a..."she struggled for the appropriate word. Anything close to vulnerable seemed unfitting for the foxy "gentleman", as it were. But he did look it. "You seemed to be in a bit of bother."

The fox's amused smile wavered enough for her to notice. He turned away and shook his head. "foolish duck, don't you know I'll bite off your head and enjoy the rest of you for supper?"

His words and the way he licked his lips made Jemima's wings twitch; her better instinct telling her to fly away and forget the terrible idea.

But Jemima was also stubborn and resolute (again, something the others often mistook for stupidity), and she also liked to give a good fight.

She took a deep breath, and then a step forward.

The fox stared at her. "didn't you hear me?"

"What does it matter to you if I did or didn't?" Jemima said. "it's no concern of yours, only that you should get me in your jaws, isn't it?"

The fox growled again, but it was fainter this time. He tried to stand once more; but his arms and legs trembled and then he yelped as he slumped back onto the grass. He closed his eyes a few moments, and when he opened them again he looked merely irritated.

"So...if you come without the fox hounds...you come to see me die?"

"What...I..? Don't be stupid...of all the things!"

Jemima took the final decisive step forward, and found herself barely a swipe away from the injured fox.

It was still frightening, no matter how useless he looked in that moment. There was always the chance that he was tricking her; it hadn't escaped Jemima that he might be. But as it was, he didn't moved anything, save his eyes, sliding them lazily to look at her again.

"...then I am afraid..." he panted. "...I'm not understanding your proposition."

Jemima smiled carefully, and then bent her head, so that she was close to his twitching ears.

"I'll help you, back to your summer house,"

The fox looked mortified. "wh-what? Don't be...absolutely not! I won't accept aid from a duck."

His indignation seemed to give the fox a short spurt of strength, but only enough to shuffle back, away from Jemima.

Jemima was oddly encouraged by it.

"Nobody need ever know I helped you. I promise I won't say a word," she considered. "especially not that gossiping Sally Henny Penny."

The fox narrowed his eyes, as if she'd told him a riddle. "what is...why would you wish to help me?"

Jemima ignored the question. It was easier not to think about that. She hesitated, and then dipped her head down.

She pushed her beak under his head, and hoisted him up, rather clumsily. He growled and breathed heavily, and Jemima felt warm fur flushing against her cheek.

"Good, good...now put an arm around me."

The fox did, but only because there was not much else he could do. His claws dug into Jemima's feathers, making her wince, and wonder again it she was going to die, but that was also just another fleeting thought.

"Urgh..." the fox groaned, the weight against Jemima suddenly becoming heavier as he lifted himself up, onto his hind legs.

Jemima felt his claws digging into her even tighter. Perhaps he was actually going to kill her now. Perhaps that'd been his wicked plan all along.

Jemima's eyes stung as his grip got tighter still, and then she realised she'd been a fool all along. Soon she'd be an easy lunch inside of a fox's stomach...

She looked to the side, and noticed the blood staining her feathers. She lifted her head some more, so that her face was barely an inch from the fox's. His eyes were shut and his mouth parted open. His tongue hung out, panting harder than ever, and he looked like he might pass out.

"...blasted leg..." he murmured.

Jemima nudged her head firmly up against his chin and quacked sharply.

The fox's eyes snapped open, but he looked disorientated. His grip on her loosened a little.

"The summer house," Jemima reminded him. "do you think you can walk?"

"Of course I can,"

He could, but barely, and the trek through long grass and springing flowers was arduous and slow. His weight wasn't especially heavy, but was also not very cooperative. He was limping very badly, to the point where his injured leg dragged more than lifted across the grass.

Every now and then he tried to break away from Jemima, but it was never more than a couple of stumbles, before she was propping him back up again.

"Curse this..." the fox snapped, when it seemed they'd walked further than he could manage. He slipped onto his knees. "leave me be, foolish duck..." he said. "you've probably walked us in circles, anyway."

Jemima frowned, but her attention was mostly on the small trail of smoke that peeked above the trees and into the sky, ahead of them. She knew that smoke trail very well.

She smiled. "Quite the contrary, actually." and she pushed her neck back under the fox's arm, encouraging him to move.

They reached the clearing only a minute later, and Jemima's smile turned into a smirk when she looked at the fox.

"Your summer house, I believe? "

The fox shook his head, his mouth quivering up. "you are one for surprises, I must say."

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