Harlan tucked the small bottle of fox milk into the inner pocket of his jacket before strapping the chicken cage to one side of Pudding's saddlebag. "You two are gonna be right livid after this ride, but Maggie'll sort you out," said the sheriff. "I'm talking to chickens now. At least you two don’t talk back, though." Harlan eyed the chickens for a second to make sure of that statement.

Satisfied that the chickens he had purchased were just chickens, he saddled up and moved out. Pudding's pace was kept to a trot to not rile the chickens up too much; because of this, the ride back out to the farm was slower than the ride in. By the time Harlan arrived, the night had well settled into the valley and the light from the house shone out with the promise of warmth and safety.

As he unhooked the now irate chickens, Harlan finally noticed the Mothman was beside him. “Smokes, Frank! I’d forgotten how damn sneaky you are. Well, make yourself useful and carry this,” he said as he handed the chicken cage over.

Frank lifted the cage up to his face and peered in at the chickens. “Grgrggrggrg,” said Frank as he poked a finger in to try and pet one of the chickens. The enraged chickens responded by pecking the intrusive finger, startling the colossal monster.

“GRGR!”

“Quit messing around and come on.”

Harlan approached the front door and raised his hand. Before he could knock, the door swung open and he found himself face to face with a man who looked like his preferred solution to any problem was headbutting it. The heavily scarred face and hands contrasted with the obviously expensive suit the man wore.

“Uh, I’m looking for Maggie.”

The man said nothing and instead gave an appraising look to Frank. The close scrutiny was something the Mothman was not used to and it made him shrink back into the shadows.

“Tommy, let them in ya mongrel, they’re supposed to be here,” called Maggie from somewhere in the house.

Tommy stood aside allowing Harlan and Frank to enter. The latter of which required some careful bending and flexing to fit through the door that was not designed with a giant winged monster in mind. The whole time Tommy's eyes never moved from looking at Frank.

“Ah, don’t mind him. That's just my boy Tommy, he’s protective is all.”

“He looks familiar, did he used to be a fighter?” asked Harlan.

“Used to be, got himself a fancy job now,” Maggie paused when she saw the cage Frank was carrying. “Those my chickens, Mothman? Hmmm?” said the farmer giving an expectant look.

Unnerved by all the attention, Frank handed over the cage before awkwardly going back out the door and standing on the other side of the window, looking in.

“Pretty shy for a monster,” commented Maggie.

“Well, he’s not exactly a people person.”

Stolen novel; please report.

“What's he hanging around you for?”

“I did him a kindness some time back and I guess he kinda warmed to me. It’s been a while since I saw him though.”

“Is it true what they say about him causing catastrophes?”

“No. Well, I don’t think so. It’s more he can sense when something bad is going to happen and he tries to warn people. But looking how he does, people just get scared. Then when the bad thing happens, they blame him.”

“I see. So what's the bad thing that's going to happen?”

“He doesn’t know, he just knows that something is going to happen.”

“Well, that’s about as useful as tits on a bull.”

“I wouldn’t say that; surely some warning is better than no warning, gives you time to prepare.”

“Or it just gives you time to stress, making more problems.”

“Guess it comes down to how you play it and I like to think every hand's a winner if you play it right.”

“And every hand's a loser if you play it wrong.”

Harlan gave Maggie a tight-lipped frown. “No point arguing with a pessimist. I believe we are trading some chickens for sheep milk.”

“That we are. Got a milk can here for ya. Now, this is one of my fancy cans. It's got an ice crystal cooling system in it so the milk stays fresh. So you lose it or damage it and I’m coming for you,” said Maggie giving a hard stare.

“I promise to compensate you if something happens to it.”

“Like you could afford that on a sheriff's salary.”

Harlan's frown returned to his face. “I think I’ll be going now, thank you for your help.”

“One more thing,” said Maggie, picking up a small bag and throwing it to Harlan. “There's a bottle with a rubber teat in there that we use to feed newborn livestock. I don’t care what you’re up to but I figure you’ll be needing it.”

Harlan caught the bag in his free hand and looked inside. “Thank you, Maggie, I really owe you one.”

“Yes, you do. And I will be collecting.”

A chill ran down Harlan's spine. “Well, I’ll be going then,” he said as he hurried out the door.

Having both been unsettled, Harlan and Frank didn't waste any time in getting back on the road and to the phoenix fox. Through the hills, the clearing, the tree, and the canyon they went until they found themselves back at the fox's dead end. From the entrance, Harlan could make out the faint glow from the fox's fur, slowly increasing and decreasing in brightness in time with its breathing.

Harlan let Frank lead the way to reduce the chances of the beast lashing out. The fox let out a low growl and increased its flames upon seeing them, understandably still on edge after the abduction of his mate and mother of his pup. After some brief communication between the Mothman and the phoenix fox, Harlan was allowed to approach the ailing pup.

Taking out the fox milk, he transferred a small amount to the feeding bottle. As he knelt down next to the pup, he could see that it was thankfully still breathing. Gently, he lifted the tiny, frail fox, which caused the father to growl again but Frank was able to calm him. Cradling the pup in his arms, Harlan placed a drop of the fox milk on his finger, which he then held up to the pup's snout. He felt a sense of hope when the pup began to sniff and then open and close its mouth to try and latch on to his finger. Getting the rubber teat in place, the fox started to suckle and quickly finished the small amount that Harlan had allotted out.

His hope turned to relief and he felt his eyes get misty. He settled back against the root of the enormous tree and stroked the tiny animal's head. After waiting about an hour, Harlan repeated the process with another small amount of milk, taking it slow to make sure the emaciated pup had time to digest. He continued all through the night until the fox milk was gone. He wasn’t sure when, but at some point he had drifted off to sleep, the roots of the tree acting like a cradle as he held the pup.

Fingers of sunlight reached over the lip of the canyon walls, waking Harlan. Looking around he saw that the pup's father had curled up beside him and that Frank was keeping watch. This was the first time he had noticed how ragged the adult phoenix fox looked, the stress of the situation having evidently taken its toll.

Sitting there in the morning light, he looked down to the still sleeping pup in his arms. As he stroked its fur, he had to quickly pull his hand away as a tiny flame danced along its body. Despite knowing nothing about phoenix foxes, his gut told him that this was a good sign.