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.