David Robbins - The Fox Run

“Blade!”

Jenny reached him, tossing the thigh bone aside. She hugged him and buried her face in his shoulder.

Blade held her, allowing his nerves to relax. Outside, all was quiet. What had happened? he wondered. He detected movement in the bleachers and tensed, then smiled when he recognized the Family women—Lea, Mary, Daffodil, Ursa, Saphire—and an elderly woman he did not know.

Or did he?

“Bless you, Blade,” this woman said. “Thank you for saving us from hell.”

“Do I know you?” he asked her.

“Know me? You used to sit on my lap and eat my cookies.”

“Nadine!” Blade realized, grinning. “Wait until Plato sees you.”

“Wait until I see him.” Nadine smirked. “I’ll probably wear the poor dear out the first week I’m home.”

The mop-up took the remainder of the day.

They searched the entire town, but any remaining Trolls had vanished into the woods, taking the other women prisoners with them. Of the Trolls involved in the battle, only five were still alive. Blade placed them in one of the buildings, and gave them a jar of water and several strips of venison.

He couldn’t afford to take them to the Home; there wasn’t enough room in the transport for all the Family members as it was, and it would be slow going, with several of the women forced to march outside the vehicle, guarded by the Warriors.

Cindy and Tyson conferred, deciding they still wanted to go to the Home, although they were inexpressibly saddened by the death of their papa. Geronimo had found Clyde slumped against the building he had stood near during the fight, an arrow through his chest and a deep gash over his left eye.

Runt, Ursa told them, had escaped. In the confusion and the din, sensing his chance, he had jumped from the bleachers, found a sizable hole in the north wall, and departed the company of detested man for good, instinctively yearning for the scents and sounds of the natural element he’d been denied confined in a cage, the deep forest.

Hickok, morose, inconsolable, wrapped Joan in several discarded, and relatively clean, cloaks. They placed her body in the rear section of the SEAL. She would receive the honor of a Warrior’s burial in the Family plot.

Blade, after collecting his weapons, joined the others. They were huddled around a fire near the SEAL. The sun was setting, the horizon a vivid display of reds and pinks and yellows.

“I’ll never let you out of my sight again,” Jenny said, her arms around him. “I can’t believe we’re together, we’re alive, and we’ll be safe in the Home within a few days.”

“Did you doubt I’d find you?” Blade asked her.

“I was beginning to wonder,” she confessed.

Blade sadly stared at the transport. He knew Hickok was in there, slumped over Joan’s lifeless body.

“I feel so sorry for him,” Jenny stated, seemingly reading Blade’s mind.

“So do I,” Blade replied gloomily.

“He’ll recover,” Jenny predicted.

“How would you feel if I was the one lying in there?” Blade queried.

Jenny didn’t respond.

“You know,” Blade mused aloud, “just a few days ago Plato was telling me how hard life can be, how these hardships are intended to mold our character. If he were here right now, I’d ask him how Joan’s death is supposed to mold Hickok’s character.”

“One thing’s for sure,” Jenny concurred, kissing him on the lips.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“One thing life definitely isn’t,” Jenny mused, “is a piece of cake.”

“Maybe,” Blade grinned, despite his sorrow, “it all depends on how you slice it.”