The Fox III

Fox had grown quite a bit during his stay at the burrow. He was old enough to go out as he pleased but not far from the den. It wasn’t safe, his mother would remind him. Fox was impatient he couldn’t wait for the day to freely roam the forest. For the time being he would poke his head out the den and watch the beautiful area of green coruscate from a dark green to a light green every time the wind blew. From a distance he could hear an echo, beckoning him to come. He was transfixed, but the sound of his father’s voice with interrupt his fascination.

“Eager to leave the den, are you?” his father would surly say to him. “You’re not ready.”

“When will I be ready, father?” Fox would ask timidly.

“I will tell you when you are ready. You have so much to learn from the world. It’s not safe out there. There are dangers you can’t even imagine.”

“What dangers are those, father?”

The father snorted, “You wouldn’t understand them even if I told you. You are too naive.”

“Can’t you explain them to me, so I can understand them?”

“Explain them. Can’t you see I am protecting you from what is out there.”

“I feel I am not learning. Maybe it would be best if I experienced a bit of that danger so I would know how to defend myself?”

“You’ll never manage, you will only fail, now go on inside. No point wasting your time being here.”

“Yes, father,” Fox sighed wistfully. He wanted to learn about the world, not through his father’s eyes, but through his own. His mother was less understanding than his father. She believed he had a lot to learn and it was obvious he wasn’t learning as fast as his siblings. Fox was doing the best he could, but he didn’t want to see the world as painful and severe as his parents did. His vision was more of an alluring adventure where there was challenges and risk that would only forty his self worth. That was nonsense talk his mother would tell him, which made his father reiterate that Fox wasn’t ready. On Talking Terms