Free The Fox Cub Bold by Colin Dann Page B

morosely.
    Robber looked at him, his head on one side. ‘Couldn’t have been a vixen, I suppose?’ he chuckled.
    ‘Yes, yes – a vixen,’ Bold answered.
    ‘Well, that’s hopeful, then?’
    ‘Quite the reverse,’ the fox said. ‘I’m not the most impressive of beasts, Robber.’
    ‘Oh dear. Now, now,’ Robber said awkwardly. ‘Humph! Well, you’ll soon put some meat back on your bones, I’m sure.’ He eyed the morsel of food with an air of irresolution, for he badly wanted to eat it. Then he seemed to make a decision. He stepped away from it and turned his back. ‘Of course, you won’t if you let good food go begging,’ he said. ‘If you don’t hurry and eat what I brought you while my back’s turned I shall eat it.’
    Bold saw the sense in the remark and knew the bird was making a real sacrifice, something almost unknown in the crow family except at nesting time. He came out of hiding and gulped down the food, before Robber could change his mind.
    ‘That’s better,’ said the crow, as he turned back, but Bold thought he detected a note of disappointment in the familiar croak.
    ‘Thank you, Robber,’ he said humbly. ‘I’m glad you’re my friend.’
    The crow rustled his wings and started to preen himself as a diversion. He was just a little embarrassed. ‘Well,’ he said eventually, ‘I wish you good hunting tonight.’
    Bold wasn’t thinking of his hunting. His thoughts were of a certain lithe young vixen and his one hope was that he might encounter her again.

—— 12 ——
Whisper
    For the next week Bold visited the same large garden where he had seen the vixen. He couldn’t get inside it since he was unable to jump the fence. So, each night, he gazed through the palings in a forlorn way, longing for a glimpse of her. Yet she was never there – at any rate, not at the time he was. Bold became more and more disconsolate. He never mentioned her again to Robber, but the wily crow knew how the wind blew in that quarter. Of course he refrained from saying anything.
    Then one evening Bold thought he spotted her. There was certainly an animal moving around at the far end of the garden, shadow-like in the gloom. Bold stared into the darkness until his weak eye ached. He sniffed the air for a clue, but the creature was downwind and he could not catch the scent. If only he could jump! Bold actually snarled in his aggravation. Then he remembered he could still dig.
    He began to scrape at the soil in which the fence was sunk. It was quite soft and so he dug in earnest. Every now and again he paused to see if the animal had come any closer. Deeper and deeper went Bold’s tunnel, but still he could not seem to reach the bottom of the palings. Then he stopped digging, for the animal in the garden had come out into the open. It was the vixen, and she was approaching the bird-table to repeat her former trick. Bold resumed his digging.
    So determined was he to get under the fence that he would have failed to notice the vixen leaping over it, if he had not aroused her curiosity.
    ‘Can you not jump?’
    Bold started and looked up. The vixen was poised on the other side of the palings, ready to spring. Bold saw the tightened muscles in her powerful limbs. He felt ashamed of his damaged leg and tried to hide it by tucking it under his body. The vixen leapt the fence.
    ‘Er – no,’ Bold muttered. ‘No, I can’t jump.’
    ‘Are you hurt?’
    Bold looked down, unable to meet her penetrating glance. ‘I – I was injured – er – a long time ago,’ he said, scarcely audibly.
    ‘Unfortunate,’ she commented. ‘I should save yourself the trouble, anyway. There’s very little worth foraging for, in there. Why are you so desperate to get in?’
    Bold was taken aback. ‘I – er – well, I wanted to – er – I was really trying to dig,’ he spluttered.
    ‘Yes, I can see that,’ said the vixen, looking at him curiously. ‘But what’s so important about that garden?’
    ‘Nothing,