The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. In a streak of fur, a whip of air, she landed gracefully atop the broken rock at the center of the clearing. All this commotion woke the dog, who slowly raised his weary head and mumbled,
“What’s with the hurry?”
The fox pridefully raised her snout, flicking her bushy tail.
“The king is dead. I must go to the celebration banquet!”
“How macabre,” the dog sighed. “You go have fun.”
The fox’s ears drooped.
“Are you not coming? There has not been a day like this in twenty years, and there will not be for twenty more! Come, it is right across the river.”
The dog gave the fox a long stare.
“Come on!” Insisted the fox. “Listen. Can’t you hear the revelry?”
She was right. Somewhere on the other side of the forest, behind the rustling wind and birdsong, cheers drifted into the warm midday sun. Footsteps, as if from a dance, pattered alongside a distant babbling stream. Fluttering, from a waving flag yet unseen.
“Fine.”
The dog hauled himself upright, broke into a long, delicious stretch, shook off his fur, and nodded ahead. “Lead the way, won’t you?”
So the two began, crossing into an overgrown forest path. The fox skipped ahead, humming to herself, while the dog grumbled in complaint. All was bright and perfumed in summertime warmth and caressed by a tranquil breeze blowing northward.
When they reached the river, they found a child waiting on the opposite bank, standing before a rushing gulf of… of… water. Bright and fresh and basked in dappled sunlight.
The child clutched a dirty ragdoll.
“Can you swim?” Asked the child, staring at the fox and dog with haunted eyes.
“I…” The fox hesitated. She turned to glance at the dog, who had been following close behind her. He was staring back at the child. As if… as though…
The fox laughed. “It’s alright. We’ll find a way around!”
She began a brisk walk up the bank, gravel crunching beneath her paws. The dog and child stayed behind, now staring at her. What, she thought, was the problem with them? Well no matter, for all the more revelry for herself once she crossed the river.
Past a winding bend, through a copse of trees, the fox and child were waiting ahead, staring at each other from across the river.
“What?”
She looked at the water again.
***
The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. In a streak of fur, a whip of air, she landed atop the broken rock at the center of the clearing. All this commotion woke the dog, who slowly raised his weary head and muttered,
“What’s with the hurry?”
The fox gleefully raised her snout, flicking her bushy tail.
“The king is dead. I’m going to the celebration banquet!”
“How macabre,” the dog sighed. “Have fun.”
The fox raised an eyebrow.
“Are you not coming? There has not been a day like this in twenty years, and there will not be for twenty more! Come, it is right across the river.”
The dog gave the fox a long stare. This drew pause from her, who felt a kind of derision from the look.
“But can’t you hear the revelry?” The fox insisted.
And she was right, for somewhere on the far side of the forest, behind the birdsong, cheers drifted into the warm midday sun. Footsteps, as if from a dance, pattered alongside a distant babbling stream.
“Ugh. Fine.”
The dog hauled himself upright, broke into a long, delicious stretch, and nodded ahead. “Lead the way, hmm?”
So the two began, crossing into an overgrown forest path. The fox skipped ahead, humming to herself, while the dog silently followed behind. All was bright and perfumed in summertime warmth.
When they reached the river, they found a child waiting on the opposite bank, standing before a rushing gulf of water. Bright and foaming in an eager rush across the dappled sunlight.
The child was clutching a dirty ragdoll, from which the stuffing had begun to leak.
“You can’t swim,” said the child, staring at the fox with haunting eyes. Had they been crying?
“Not across those rapids I can’t!” Chuckled the fox, nervously. She turned to the dog, who approached the water and basked in its cool spray. “Shall we search for a path across?”
“I think… I’ll stay for a while. Call for me when you find the bridge.”
The fox shrugged, then began walking up the bank, gravel rough beneath her paws. Oh, how wonderful the celebration would be once she arrived! She dearly hoped she wouldn’t be late.
Something caught her eye. Passing a bend in the river and a copse of trees, she noticed the child had… followed her?
“What’s wrong?” She asked.
The child gulped, stepped back.
The fox looked down at the water. Which had begun to turn dark.
“What?” She whispered, carefully trotting down the bank.
Something about the water, the rushing, foaming, tumbling water, it at once repulsed her and drew her in. And when she reached in a paw to feel that darkness, it… it felt like…
***
The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. In a streak of fur, a whip of air, she landed atop the boulder at the center of the clearing. All this commotion woke the dog, who slowly raised his weary head and murmured,
“What’s wrong?”
The fox grinned.
“The king is dead, and they’re holding a celebration banquet for the occasion!”
“How macabre,” the dog said, before laying back and closing his eyes.
The fox sighed.
“Come on. Won’t you come? This only happens once every twenty years!”
The dog opened his eyes, gave the fox a long stare, who sat on her haunches and stared back.
“They’re already starting. Can’t you hear it? Come on, don’t be so lazy to miss this!”
Somewhere on the other side of the forest, behind the rustling wind, cheers drifted into the cool midday air. Footsteps, as if from a dance, pattered like raindrops. Fluttering, from a waving flag yet unseen.
“So be it.” The dog hauled himself upright, gestured ahead. “Well?”
So the two began, crossing into an unkempt forest path. The fox scouted ahead, listening to the wind, while the dog silently followed behind. All was caressed by a tranquil breeze blowing southward.
When they reached the river…
The fox gasped.
Between the jagged gravel banks, a sluggish current of dark red blood crept downstream.
A child sat on the opposite bank, clutching a broken ragdoll covered in loose stuffing. Tattered clothes, once embroidered with precious metal, clung to their body like patches of dust. Upon noticing the fox and dog, the child’s eyes shot wide.
“No. No!” They shuffled back, desperate and clumsy, though the river was more than a stone’s throw wide. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this! Don’t swim!”
A hand on the fox’s shoulder. She found herself whimpering, and looked back to find the dog staring past her. Far past her, to somewhere no longer real.
So she did the only thing she could. She jumped into the water. Then at once she made her first mistake. Blood splattered into her panicked lungs, her treacherous mouth, and it didn’t taste like blood. It didn’t taste like a wound, but more like… more like…
***
The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog, who jolted awake. The fox landed atop the boulder, surveyed her surroundings as memory began, at last, to return, and asked,
“How many times have we done this?”
The lazy dog scoffed. Laughed. And laughed, a barking, maddened laugh that lolled on far too long, drowned out the birds who would not have sang in the first place.
“Count your fingers. Count your toes. Count the pads of your hands and feet. Count your teeth. Count the breaths you have taken today!” Abruptly, the dog stopped laughing. “That’s what it took to wake you up?”
“...I don’t understand.”
“Good. Let’s go to the banquet.”