A FOX FAIRY TALE | THE WRITER FOX STORY
A FOX FAIRY TALE
Read the fox fairy tale, an animal folk tale about the Writer Fox. Discover the secret of creative writing with the fox, learning how to write in modern times
Once upon a time, learning to write was a magical process.
Some will call this story a fox fairy tale, because it is about the little golden fox who lives in the wadi by the little river. And some will say it is an animal folk tale, because it couldn't really be true.
But it is a true tale.
It is the Writer Fox™ bio.
The Writer Fox Fairy Tale
by Writer Fox™
It happened during the last human war, a great hunting season wherein the humans hunted their own kind instead of other animals. The pounding of weapon-fire was circling in the underground tunnels, which connect the dens of the desert fennec foxes.
As the hunting grew louder and, therefore, nearer, the pounding turned into rolls of thunder like the sound of falling mountains. It was then that the human – wrapped in garments from camel skins and bearing a heavy load as if he were a camel himself – slid into our fox hole, for he was being pursued for his treasures, and the greatest of these, it seemed to me, was his own life.
One final, deciding blast brought down an avalanche of desert sand and rocks, covering the entrance and, so the man must have thought, sealing his life forever within the earth. And it was then that he cried out in agony, a wailful cry from the depths of his being, over his presumed fate.
This triggered an alarm in our tunnel system and every fox woke from day-sleep and let out a high, shrill siren, rising and falling throughout the corridors until every male among us encircled the man.
For this had not happened before. No human had ever entered a fox den.
More Inquisitive Than Fearful
More inquisitive than fearful, I approached to view this creature, who was then writhing, rolling, twisting and flailing like a wounded rabbit. He began to throw fistfuls of sand over his head as if he were trying to bury himself.
I had never been this close to a human before. Giant animals they are, but without proper teeth or claws, and yet, when they move in a pack, they are the most deadly animals the Great Designer ever made. Humans are known predators, but this one didn't seem to be aggressive and, in his feeble state of mind at that moment, did not appear capable of being a threat to us.
As I moved closer to the human, it occurred to me that he could not see us, for we are nocturnal and humans are not. In a fox burrow there is no light. But I could see him clearly and I watched in the darkness amid the fox-shrieks and the yips and the barks as he suddenly went limp. Then he was very still like a captured mouse. The screams in the fox den echoed throughout our passageways and tortured my ears. The Great Designer gave my family the largest ears of all foxes. Our ears are so sensitive that we can hear a spider walk on sand.
I gave the signal for silence. The human did not move. He was still breathing but he was frozen from fright. Then, in a moment or two, the human moved again and rummaged through the load he was carrying until he brought forth a small white stick that smelled like wax from a bee hive. Then the stick produced a little fire.
Box Made of Olive Wood
The other foxes ran from the firelight and I alone remained with the man. We locked eyes, determining each other's intent. Then the human began to make sounds I could not understand.
I tilted my head and watched him carefully. He held the fire-stick in one hand and searched through his possessions with his other hand, until he pulled out a small box made of olive wood. He put this on the ground between us.
He slowly opened the little box. I sniffed at the contents. It was full of wooden sticks. He picked one up and offered it to me. I bit into the soft wood and I growled a little. The man cautiously took it back from my teeth and stuck it in the sand near my paw. Slowly, he inched it between my toes. And that is when it happened.
The Wooden Stick
The wooden stick in my paw threw sparks and crackled like winter lightning striking a tree. "What is this?" I thought.
And the little stick in my paw began to move and scratch the sand. When the stick stopped, this is what I saw:
The human pulled a white paper and another wooden stick from his satchel. He marked the paper with the stick and this is what I saw:
A magic pencil.
I understood this.
He marked the paper again, and this is what I saw:
The magic pencil writes your thoughts in the human language.
And it was so.
Then the man took his pencil and wrote this:
Writing is the treasure I am carrying. It will outlive me if I can move it to a place of safety.
The human wrote that he wanted to escape the war but that he had to leave the fox den. The magic pencil wrote:
I will help you.
A Place of Safekeeping
So I led him through our labyrinth in the underground, far away from the battle.
It was a slow journey.
And though the man was moving on all fours as if he were one of the little foxes, he clearly was not one of us. I had to dig out the way, making his crawling space wider as we went, and this threw out a storm of sand dust that made the human cough and sputter.
We finally emerged through a hole in a fallen Acacia tree, which is in the wadi near the little river. The man stood upright and then walked away.
I have not seen him since.
What remains behind is the box of magic pencils. I will be using them to write on the World Wide Web, my place of safekeeping, until the box of pencils is empty.
No animals were harmed in making this webpage.
And the moral of this fox fairy tale is . . .
What is the best moral of this animal folk tale?
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Bring Writer Fox Home
My, What big ears I have!
Meet my family.
Read all about me.
Read another Writer Fox™ fairy tale:
Go read poems about the War in the Writer Fox™ Wadi. These are not animal folk tales. They are very real:
Go read about another great story from Writer Fox™:
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