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She hadn’t cared where her food came from. After all, she was young, and by the time the meat had gotten to her it was far too hard to tell what it once was. Or, at the very least, if she closed her eyes as she ate, she didn’t have to think about what it was she was eating.

The fox was often mocked by her brothers, nearly every word they said to her a taunt or insult.

“They’re just rabbits. They’re not going to miss a couple of their kind.”

“They’ve got to know who’s in charge. We’re the predators and they’re the prey—that’s just how things are. We can’t exactly let them think otherwise, now can we?”

“You’re more than willing to become one of them if you want. Just remember, we don’t discriminate with who we hunt…”

Each time, she only gave a small nod. She allowed them to sway her, to knock her back into submission the moment she felt she had some form of confidence to stand up. She didn’t like what was happening but, somehow, she’d convinced herself that it was just how life worked. Everyone needed to eat. And the foxes were far from the only predators in the forest, who feasted on the flesh and blood of other, smaller creatures.

That is, until one of her brothers came up to her and said, “You’re old enough now. It’s time we show you how to hunt.”

She agreed because she knew that there was no point arguing, that it would only be another point to laugh at her for if she didn’t. On their way to their usual hunting grounds, she was even able to tell herself that the stories her brothers would tell when they returned from their hunts might’ve been exaggerations. They always described things in such detail, with such malice, that none of it must’ve really happened.

Right?

She was proven wrong nearly as soon as the hunt began. The fox was left alone at the edge of the clearing, witnessing everything her brothers did.

First, they hunted down the rabbits. Some rabbits tried to flee, but they were only treated worse, in the end; they were the ones who were cut deeper, tossed harder, so that even if they did escape amidst the chaos, scavengers would find them later. It was no wonder her brothers’ meals always came back so misshapen and unrecognizable.

They enjoyed every moment of the hunt, every desperate plea of a rabbit, every cry of pain made by the prey… Anything that would allow them to feast, something that would satiate both their hunger and their much more eager, more yearning, desire for bloodshed.

For a moment, all she could do was stand there, watching every atrocity her brothers committed.

But then, she turned around and ran. She didn’t want to be there when they finished, didn’t want to see the blood and the young kills they didn’t even intend to bring back to the other foxes. Even if she had no idea where she was going, she knew she wasn’t going back to the den.

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She wasn’t going to be a part of what had happened to those rabbits. She’d sooner become one of them, and have a clean conscience that she didn’t participate in such slaughter, than to ever accept another piece of their meat.

So she fled, deeper and deeper into the forest until the dusk turned to dawn, until she felt that her legs would carry her no longer. The fox settled near a patch of berries, wearily eating a few on the ground. Then, though she was still not full, she curled up and tried to sleep off the remaining hunger and fatigue.

A part of her expected to be woken up by teeth or claws—one of her brothers hunting her. But she was awoken softly, by mumbles that were a mix of concern and fear.

“It’s a fox?”

“What’s she doing here?”

“She didn’t bring the rest of her kin with her, did she..?”

“Oh, I hope not. I heard what they did to the next burrow over… I don’t think we’d be able to handle another one of their feasts…”

The fox slowly opened her eyes to realize the voices had come from rabbits. She was just as startled to see them as they were to see her, surely, and as she stammered back to her paws and tried to look unintimidating, they also fled behind bushes and shrubs.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said carefully. “I saw what my brothers were doing to your kind—their slaughter. I don’t want to be a part of it.”

Slowly, one of the rabbits—a bigger one, perhaps one of the oldest—came out from hiding. “How do you intend to show us that we can trust you, then?”

“I… can’t,” the fox said, quietly. “Not really. My kind has done nothing but hurt yours, and I’m afraid there’s little I can do to keep it from happening…”

“Well, do you know the foxes’ hunting grounds? Where have they made their burrow?”

“My brothers don’t restrict themselves to any one spot—they go where they please, and take what they desire. But they do only have the one burrow, which is down the hill and across the river. I would advise staying far from it, though. Even if they’ve had their fill, they enjoy the opportunity to sneak up on anything that gets too close to their home.”

“And tell me—would you be able to tell if they were coming here?”

“My brothers aren’t exactly subtle when they begin their hunt, nor as they do it. I… should be able to recognize their calls to one another before they get too close. It’s a skill we were all taught, after all, even if I’d only joined the hunt once.”

The rabbit nodded wisely. “Then I believe that’s enough.”

“I know.” The fox took a step back, hoping none of them thought it to be done for intimidation. “I don’t have anything to offer you. Certainly not enough to justify the risk you’d probably have in keeping me anywhere near you…”

“You misunderstand me. I believe you—that you don’t want to hurt us like your kin.”

The fox looked over at the rabbit. “Really..?”

“Yes. And I’d like to offer you a proposition—one that, if you’re true to your word, you’ll be happy to accept. I want you to protect us. Warn us when your kin come, do what you can to ward them off without putting yourself in danger. If you can do that, you’ll be able to make the difference between whether or not we survive against their attacks.”

Though surprised, the fox eagerly nodded. “I’ll certainly be willing to do that. I will do everything I can to ensure you’re safe, if not just as a way of making up for all of the harm my brothers have caused…”