Free Red Fox by Lara Fanning Page B

ceases to exist. I forget about my hunger and my thirst and the loss of my family and the death of my best friend. I only see him.
    We sit for a minute, just staring, before a noise sounds nearby our resting spot. Both of us look towards the noise of twigs snapping and leaves brushing over a moving mass. Something big and black pushes through the white budded tea-tree bushes on the opposite end of the flat. A long, dark face. Bright, kindly eyes half covered by a matted forelock. A thin but striking black brumby stallion works his way onto the grazing ground, nibbling at the short grass as he comes.
    I hadn’t noticed that the sky around us has begun to dim. In an hour, it will be dark and cold. Luckily the Alps don’t have any large predators so we can sleep safely knowing we won’t be attacked. Whil and I watch as the brumby walks onto the grazing flat, sniffs the air cautiously and then whinnies. Two mares, both with young foals at foot, follow their stallion onto the flat and the horses begin to graze quietly. It is difficult to think anything but peaceful thoughts while watching the horses graze as the sunset streaks the sky with soft pink and deep purple clouds that glow with golden outlines. The foals begin to play, chasing one another in circles and rearing in a mock battle.
    I’ve seen this sight before. It always warms my heart to watch the horses and leave them undisturbed. They positively fascinate Whil. He chuckles when the foals tumble in the grass together and guffaws when the stallion eventually trots up to them and clacks his teeth in warning. His offspring are being too rambunctious and noisy. The two foals squeal and race to their mothers for protection. Whil laughs.
    “Haven’t you ever seen wild horses?” I ask quietly.
    “No. They’re peaceful, aren’t they? Not like the old movies where they are always galloping around.”
    “They only gallop around if people chase them,” I say with a shrug.
    “Will they notice us?”
    “I don’t think so. Not if we stay here. They’ll just move away if they see us anyhow. They aren’t aggressive.”
    Whil gives a sigh. “What should we do tonight? I’m hungry but there really isn’t enough daylight to set a snare.”
    I shake my head—obviously even in the city school they were taught survival lessons. “No, we will have to wait until morning.” I look up at the sky and there is a grey cloud cover just thick enough to hold in the warmth of the day so that we shouldn’t freeze in our sleep. “I think everything will have to wait until tomorrow morning. You don’t have matches or a lighter?”
    “No. I suppose we will just have to cope overnight without shelter or fire.”
    We continue to watch the horses until darkness falls and leaves us in a completely different, gloomy, world. I love the high country in the daytime but in the evening every shadow cast by the moonlight shining silver on the leaves frightens me. It’s too wet to light a fire. All of the loose timber is covered in a thin layer of ice and even if we found some dry wood and twigs, lighting it without matches would be impossible for us. Funny, in school they taught us how to kill animals for food and make snares from twigs and vines, but they never showed us how to start a fire without a lighter.
    Whil tells me he is going to lie down and get some sleep and I decide to do the same. Although I find a fairly dry patch of earth and a comfy clump of snowgrass to rest my ever-throbbing head on, my eyes snap open at the tiniest noise: from the snort of a horse to the scurry of something miniscule in the leaf litter. The darkness consumes me and hides the once comforting view of the flat and the peaceful creatures. I feel my body start to twitch. Electricity seems to course in my veins. My heart leaps as a mopoke owl begins a gentle hoot in the treetops above our sleeping place. My eyes dart from shadow to shadow, searching for something to be afraid of and my mind reruns a video of