The Fox Cub Bold by Colin Dann

share.’
    ‘No, I – ’ he began.
    ‘I’ve already decided,’ she said with finality. ‘You’ve had no start in life. At any rate, what start you did have was soon lost. You’ve suffered more than enough for one so young and I – I shall make it my task to help you back to health.’
    ‘But, Whisper, I can never be really healthy again. My leg won’t mend.’
    ‘No matter. You’ll have flesh on your bones, at any rate.’
    Bold marvelled at her determination. ‘I’m so glad I met you,’ he said.
    ‘Mine was the luck,’ she countered. But she didn’t reveal why and Bold was left in blissful ignorance, at least for the time being.
    Whisper proved to be true to her word. Whatever they managed to find to eat, she ensured that Bold had the best of it, even if the pickings were poor. Once or twice Bold went to the privet hedge to see if Robber had been by, but there was no evidence of it.
    One day in Whisper’s den the pair of foxes were woken from sleep by the same dreadful bellows from the great dog who had troubled them earlier.
    ‘He still has our scent, it seems,’ Bold remarked grimly. ‘We must take more care when we are out of the den.’
    ‘Is he always going to be around then?’ Whisper asked with alarm. ‘I don’t know what he’s after.’
    ‘Our smell has a certain effect on most dogs,’ Bold said. ‘A foxy odour usually makes them very excitable.’ He avoided answering her question.
    As before, when the dog had had enough of sniffing at the entrance to the earth, it made off. That night Bold and Whisper used a great deal more circumspection on their travels. There were no misfortunes. In fact, they struck lucky. In one garden they came across the best part of a cooked chicken tossed into a bin untasted. The rancid flavour of the meat which had been the reason for its rejection by more delicate palates, only added zest to the foxes’ meal. After they had demolished the carcass and were sitting back licking their chops, Whisper said: ‘You know, Bold, my idea is beginning to work. You’re definitely a little plumper.’
    ‘Am I?’ he asked with surprise. ‘I don’t feel any different.’
    ‘Don’t you feel – just a little bit stronger?’ she said. ‘You do look it!’
    Bold was rather flattered. ‘Well, I . . .’ he began. ‘Yes,’ he went on, ‘it’s not so much strength as – er – well, some of my old confidence is coming back. And that must be due to you, Whisper.’
    ‘Perhaps I’ve helped,’ she said. ‘And if so, I’m very glad. For, after all, that was what I intended.’
    And, indeed, as the days passed Bold did gain weight and stature. Even his damaged leg troubled him less. His appetite had improved, his step was less laboured but, most important, he felt differently about his future. He no longer lived from day to day. He looked forward to the end of the winter when food would be easier to find and he and Whisper (he always thought of them together now) could leave the environs of the town and return to the open country. Once again, there seemed to be some purpose in his life. In this new hopeful mood he decided to look for his friend Robber to see how he was making out.
    Soon after dawn the next day Bold was on the move, first making quite certain it was safe to be so. In the pallid winter light no other living thing seemed to be wakeful. No bird sang, no small animal rustled a twig or dead leaf. Bold alone shivered in the freezing temperature. He limped around all Robber’s usual haunts and finished up at the privet hedge without receiving sight or sound of him. There he left a message in the shape of a morsel of food so that his friend the crow should know he had been around.
    On the way back to Whisper’s side, Bold found a stale loaf of bread thrown out for birds to peck at. Never one to miss an opportunity for some extra mouthfuls, particularly in times of scarcity, he ate the bread. Hard and indigestible, it lay heavy on his stomach and it