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Int. Wolf’s house—hallway, noon.
Fox pulls Wolf by the sleeve of his jacket behind a wall of boxes, away from the attention of the preying sheep. His voice has turned soft in lieu of his usual sharp, cunning confidence, his bossiness lost among the looming parcels. Fox decides then, that he abhors the colour of cardboard.
“My dear Wolf, if there is no other way…”
“Of course there isn’t, I can’t have my boys end up on the wrong side of the food chain. I can’t let them down like that.” Wolf grunts in discontent, then mutters to himself, “To end up like nobodies named Steve…”
“I… understand.” Fox wishes he did not. Although that would not prove very helpful in this situation. He wishes he could freeze his heart alongside his mother. “In that case, since we’re never to see each other again, I suppose I have to make sure you’ll never forget me.”
“Oh, I would never. Don’t worry.”
Wolf reaches out with his paw but Fox evades him, reaching into his pocket instead.
“Do not make this more difficult for me than it has to be, Wolf.”
“Sorry.”
Just as Wolf decides to move back, Fox gently grabs his offered paw and presses something into it. Wolf observes it. A red silk handkerchief, neatly folded.
“It even has my monogram,” Fox grumbles, unable to look Wolf in the eyes any longer.
“Fox…”
“It’ll suit you better, I’m sure. Just don’t toss it in with your laundry.”
Clearing his throat, Wolf walks from their hiding spot. Fox’s whiskers twitch but he stays still with crossed arms. It is a confident stance, nowhere near hugging oneself. Although he should get the practice in.
Oh, this pain! It is like hunger but in his heart instead of his stomach and he never experienced it so intensely before.
Heavy steps announce his companion’s return. Fox refuses to look him directly in the face, which does not matter because Wolf is also handing him something.
A wooden rectangle. A photo frame. Curious, Fox takes it and examines the photo within. It is of him and the whole Wolf family. He remembers taking it. It was a struggle to get all three of them into their designated suits and Fox almost quit, but Wolf wanted to make their home more homey and it seemed to be of great importance to him.
He holds back from brushing his pad over their tiny paper faces so as to not smudge the glass.
“I know it was for us, but I’d like it for you to keep it. As a reminder.”
“A reminder.” Fox holds back a sniff. Then dares to meet Wolf’s eyes. “My memory is marvellous, I’ll have you know.”
“I know. I’d still like you to have it.”
How does he do it? Fox wonders. How can he act so nonchalant at such a time? Such a strong wolf must know how to handle such an ache.
“If you must know,” Fox cannot contain his voice any longer, “for me… you’ll always be an extraordinary wolf. With or without membership.” Perhaps he could have handled it, had it not been for the look in Wolf’s eyes. Even if everything was getting progressively blurred. “Now embrace me before I collapse like a damsel in distress!”
Wolf obeys. He is not very good at being gentle but gentle is the last thing Fox needs at the moment. If he could get crushed to death, that would solve all his current bothers. As if his body is not seconds away from caving in on the giant hole tearing through his insides. What a cruel, cruel time to be alive.
Int. Wolf’s house—living room, noon.
They return to find no changes. No magical solutions. Just a bunch of sheep ogling the interior, salivating from the mere idea of claiming this place for themselves. Fox does not need his appetite back to hunger for sinking his teeth into their flesh. Insatiable monsters.
Wolf goes to busy himself, as if he has not spent so much precious time packing. Fox stays close to make up for the afternoon tea cut short. Under these circumstances he cannot muster up the spite to be petty about it.
“Could you at least wait until he’s gone?” he snaps instead, but anger is not something he has mastered. “They’re like vultures… circling a carcass.”
Beside him Wolf fidgets with the handles of an empty cabinet, the handkerchief peeking out of his jacket’s pocket and matching the red t-shirt as Fox predicted. “Just, uh, taking one last look through the drawers…”
“I know! It’s awful when you leave something behind.” Taken aback by his own outburst, which never seemed to cease since he has learnt the news, he blinks and turns away. “Someone…” He suddenly understands all the distraught felines from the many novels he reads in secret.
The doorbell rings, and to Fox, it feels like a death knell. At least one of them is wearing black.
“That’ll be the, uh, taxi. Looks like, uh… this is it!” Every word, a stab in the heart, truly. Fox cannot look but what does it matter, he can still hear the footsteps leaving his side.
“I can’t stand it any longer! I—”
“What’s this?”
Curiosity gets the best of him as no ushering outside follows. Fox watches Wolf return with a roll of paper in his paw. He holds the picture frame close, ignoring the discomfort his strong grasp causes him.
In front of the assembled family, Wolf proceeds to read what word by word turns into the most entrancing and liberating poem Fox ever heard. The gorgeous birdsong of hope. He listens as if he was the audience at a recital, breath held back. Perhaps he is dreaming. He cannot afford to blow the dandelion seed away if it is the only thing he has left. That and the photo and the memories. So few memories… He could feel the darkness enveloping him…
That does, in fact, go away when he takes a proper breath, however it matters little if his home forest is about to turn the deepest shade of the night.
“Huh. They’re proud of me,” Wolf mutters. “So that’s what that feels like!”
“What's going on dad?” Simon asks cluelessly. Fox would also like to know, he pricks up his ears.
“I’ll tell you what's going on. We're staying!”
Who knew Wolf had such a way with words?
A great weight lifts off Fox’s heart. The air tastes better, more worth breathing. He cannot believe what he just heard, he’d prefer Wolf to repeat it over and over and over. Firstly, they will have to get rid of the dreadful boxes.
“Oh, well I do wish you'd make up your mind.” Fox sighs, hoping the rest will take it as a mere deep breath. He feels once again light on his feet. His tail wags back and forth slowly, much more cheerfully contrary to the previous pathetic limp it displayed. “Good, that was my only good handkerchief.” He turns to leave, feeling safe enough now to go hide away at his own place to recover from the utter distress he was put through.
Also to find the perfect spot to display the photograph. He has a painting commissioned for Wolf anyway.