Vixen

The two men had been hiking through the backwoods for three days and nights and had yet to pick up on the trail when the older man turned to look back at the younger man, holding his finger to his lips while using his eyes to draw attention to a clearing about fifteen meters ahead of them. When the younger man's eyes found the clearing, his dirty, sunburned face split into a gap-toothed smile. The older man's hand shot out and he covered the younger man's mouth before he could make a sound, then they both kneeled low to the ground, taking cover behind a blossoming mountain-laurel. 

"Well I'll be," the younger man whispered, his voice breaking with excitement. 

The older man held up his finger to his mouth again, his eyes narrowing into a threatening scowl. 

"Sorry, sorry," the younger man muttered, his face turning red as he settled on the ground behind the dark leaves of the laurel.

For a long time the two men sat quietly, peering into the sun-lit clearing, watching with equal parts admiration and desire the small scarlet creature. The older man's eyes were locked on the small fox, this body frozen like stone. The younger man on the other hand, was beginning to feel more and more antsy as the minutes dragged on. At last, he turned to the old man and whispered, "just shoot the little bitch already."

The old man turned to look at the younger man, the calm, fluid motion of his movements suddenly feeling very menacing. "No," he said, almost without sound, "I have been watching this one for a long, long time. You try to shoot her, you die."

The younger man's face went red like the ruby skin of a ripe apple and he sunk in on himself before gathering his courage and putting his face in the old man's face, their noses almost touching. "The fuck you just say to me, old man?"

The old man moved casually to one side so that his view of the vixen was no longer blocked by the young man's red face. "I told you not to shoot the fox," he said, his voice soft. 

"I ain't come out on this here hunt to do no sight-seeing, you old son-of-a-bitch," the younger man said, his voice growing in intensity. In the clearing, the fox had caught sight and scent of the men and had positioned herself to look directly at them. She appeared to be staring into the eyes of the old man. 

"You hear me, you old fuck," the young man said, struggling up to his feet. He reached back and pulled the riffle off his back, then sighted up the fox. She turned her attention from the old man and looked directly at the young man. He broke out in a cold sweat, his finger on the trigger. "I'mm'a shoot 'her," he sputtered, "I'mm'a shoot her!"

The old man came to his feet, thrusting a knife blade between the younger man's ribs and sinking it deep into his heart. The younger man dropped his riffle, gasped and shuttered, then fell to the ground, his blood pumping out of the wound and soaking his flannel shirt and orange vest a dirty, dark red. 

In the clearing, the fox looked at the older man, then ran back into the forest.

White Knight

The lady sat alone at the edge of the forest, her back to the thick line of trees, eating a fried patty of ground beef, topped with cheese, and sandwiched between a soft bun that had been cut in half. Behind her a small troll crawled from the darkness of the forest, across the loamy earth toward the lady. In his gnarled little hand he held a fist-full of cursed charms that had been festering since the lady was a girl, forged by none other than the lady's twin - a twin who had been consumed by her own dark magic years ago. 

As the troll crept up on the lady, she seemed to be totally unaware, absorbed as she was eating her midday snack and staring into the small mirror she held in her other hand is if contained all of life's secrets. The troll edged closer and closer, the charms beginning to burn in his clenched fist. But just as he was about to spring upon the lady, the thundering sound of a charging horse broke the serene silence the lady had been enjoying and a galant white knight burst from the tree line, the hooves of his warhorse crushing the troll's misshapen skull into a brainy soup that quickly soaked in to the moist earth. 

"White Knight," gasped the lady, looking down at what remained of the troll.

The knight said nothing, only pointing with the tip of his long sword to the still-clenched hand of the troll and the fist full of charms it was grasping. "Oh-my," said the lady, instantly recognizing the charms. She reached out and grabbed them, tucking them away in the hidden pockets of her skirts, her face flushed with flabbergasted embarrassment. 

"Thank you, White Knight," she said after collecting herself.

The knight said nothing, but as an errant cloud passed in front of the sun, she watched his shining white armor become black as night, his snow white steed become suddenly like a shadow, and the knight's blue eyes turn to pale ice. Just as quickly, the cloud moved on, and the sun shone its brilliance down on the knight and she had to blink her eyes as his armor and horse again gleamed pure white. 

"You are not a white knight," she said, her voice careful. 

He looked at her, his gaze fixed and unwavering, then turned his horse and rode back into the darkness of the forest, disappearing into shadow without a word.