Darkened Sky's

The hunters watched the clearing with sharp eyes. They stood on the back of an old ute, their guns propped onto the edge of the trailer. Ahead of them, maybe 20 meters or so, stood a large pile of carcasses and meat, the scent drowning out any other smell around.  

Foxes may be able to hide, but they aren’t very smart. Some fresh rabbits in the middle of the paddock will bring them out, and when they do, we’ll be ready.  

One of the hunters softly took the safety off his gun, looking out into the paddock for any sign of movement. Around them the gentle sounds of the night could be heard, and, even fainter, the soft scuffling of several somethings crawling through the dry barley grass. The Hunter smirked, aiming his gun at the red patch of fur he could see wandering toward the rabbits. The Fox flicked an ear toward the foreign sounds of humans a moment too late. In a burst of sound the gun went off, striking the Fox squarely in the stomach. With a squeal of pain and terror, it laid still, twitching occasionally as blood poured from the hole in its stomach. 

The hunters grinned, climbing over the edge of the Ute they walked toward the Fox, their boots causing deep imprints into the grass. 

“Oh what a beauty!” One laughed, kicking the Fox roughly to roll it over, it’s previously red fur wet with blood. 

“Fetch a good price I think” the other mused, picking the Fox up by its tail. He stroked its fur, imagining the prices the women in the city’s will pay for ‘real organic Fox fur coats’. He chuckled, walking back toward the Ute, the Fox firmly in his hand. Together, he and the other Hunter drove off, whooping and yelling as they celebrated their kill. 

If you stood where the hunters had shot the Fox, and travelled about 20 kilometres to the north, you would reach the edge of a large moor. The land was flat, but covered in hundreds of rabbit holes, making the land look like it was covered in tiny mountains. Further along you would reach an impassable gorge, with a huge river running along the middle, and a small wooden bridge crossing it, it’s wood rotten and breaking in places where many feet had stepped. Further past that, a huge forest that only hikers and those wanting solitude would go into.  

It is here, in the moor, and the river, and the forest, that you would find four clans of cats. And together, these cats fought, and worked together to create a society that they could work with.  

It is here, in the moor, where the dead foxes mate travelled to, looking for a place to stay and have her kits. She had quickly learnt that the paddocks the humans used were much too dangerous to have her kits, and without a mate to protect her and bring her food, she would need a place far from any human contact. And so in the moor, with its flat lands and tall grass, was the perfect place for her to raise them.  

She cantered about, panting softly as she looked for a place to dig a den. She would need one soon, but picking a bad den could be the difference between life and death. She sniffed, the sharp tang of cats faint, but definitely there. She twitched an ear with uncertainty, but continued, knowing that in a fight, she would win against any cats that may come her way. While she may not know where she was going to stay, she knew for certain that nothing was going to happen to her kits. She would protect them. No matter what