The stray cat, who was known by some as Leroy, had been stalking the rabbit for nearly half an hour. He lay in the shade of the desolate branches that shushed him in the autumn wind, and his soft belly hung close to the soggy, fallen leaves that made up the mountain floor.
The poor bastard didn't know what he was in for, for up above lay the protector of the wood, the caretaker of the bush, and the forest's sole enforcer of justice, the Mud Hen. And with the duct-tape of her cardboard sword glowing softly in the daylight, she flew from the top of the hickory trees to avenge the weak and destroy the strong.
One look at the raging phantom diving from the treetops sent the rabbit darting off into the bush, and the cry of the Mud Hen as her ankle slipped against a tree root was enough to send Leroy fleeing in the opposite direction. It only took a moment for the Mud Hen to recover, for it was merely a bruise, and with her sword pointed skyward, she took off after the cat, laughing triumphantly all the way.
In the same instance, a new threat was clamoring through the forest roads in the form of two old bourbon drinkers named Carl and Drew. They were driving to Drew's younger brother Henry's place (a farmhouse isolated at the top of the mountains) to hunt fox out of the forest rangers' line of sight.
When they reached the rusted gate, Carl grabbed the traps out of the pickup, and grunted after Drew, "Will Henry be alright with this?"
"Well, we hunted a lot in high school," Drew replied as they trekked up the long driveway. "That is 'til he dropped out and started having babies left and right."
When the beige one-story came into view around the bend, Drew could see one of Henry's oldest, Laura, glaring at them from its chipped, wooden porch, her auburn hair pulled tight in a ponytail. In her arms she held an old, cardboard sword, similar to ones Drew had made when he was a kid.
"Halt, trespassers! For you have entered the domain of the Mud Hen!" she hollered as the pair walked stiffly up the porch steps. They barely heard her beneath the clanging of fox traps through the screen door.
"Laura, where's my brother?" Drew asked, immediately surrounded by nieces and nephews who grabbed at his camo jacket, asking for presents and candies from their beloved uncle.
"Henry went down the mountain for groceries," Laura answered. "He won't be back for a couple of days."
"Great!" Drew said, corralling all the kids into the living room. "Now me and my friend Carl are going to be out in the woods for a couple of hours, and none of you are allowed to follow, and that means you...Laura?"
The Mud Hen had finally caught up with the Leroy when she had heard her uncle's pickup blustering up the mountain, and immediately, she knew that that damn fool was up to something dastardly. Her assumptions were confirmed at Henry's place, and later on as she watched them carry fox traps into the woods from the top of a red maple.
Uncle Drew kept looking up into branches and glancing over his shoulder whenever they put down a trap. He was looking for her of course, but the Mud Hen had been protecting these woods for half a decade, so he'd have to do better than that.
The rustling of the branches was enough to give her away.
"Alright, Laura, enough's enough, you're not helping anyone. Go home!"
The Mud Hen replied with only silence, so Drew tried a different method.
"Tell you what, you leave right now, and I'll help you out with that cat you're always complaining about."
The Mud Hen contemplated this trade slowly in her head: the foxes, or her oldest enemy to date, Leroy, the fiend. She figured she could just set off the traps they had already placed down on her way home, and that'd be enough hero work for one day.
And so, the Mud Hen took off through the branches, making sure to be extra noisy so Uncle Drew knew her answer.
Drew didn't quite believe "the Mud Hen" would give up so easily, but he needed to find Carl quickly, because although he'd never admit it, Drew hated being alone in these mountain woods, they had always been easy to get lost in, especially after dark. So after one last, long stare into the leaves, Drew took off through the underbrush, his equipment banging loudly in the fall air. Carl had just finished setting up the last trap when Drew caught up from a few yards back.
"Jesus, that girl is crazy," Drew said, forcing himself not to automatically look over his shoulder and up into the branches.
"Not my problem," Carl mumbled back, before loading his shotgun for the first time that day and setting out into the bush.
As she made her way through the brittle autumn branches, it slowly dawned on the Mud Hen what a predicament she was in. While she was stalking her ill-natured uncle and the replacement Henry, rather than count the traps, the Mud Hen had decided to focus more on her ambush strategy, which was a step-by-step procedure involving several pulls and levers. Because of this, the Mud Hen had no idea how many traps they had set down before she left, and now, after tripping five that afternoon, she had no idea how long it would take to trip them all, and she definitely did not want to be alone in these woods after dark. For even the Mud Hen, protector of the wood, caretaker of the bush, and the forest's sole enforcer of justice, had never been good at navigating through it at night.
She eventually came to the decision to look for one more, so, while peering down into the undergrowth, she made her way through the woods in the general direction of Henry's place, looking for a fox trap under the shadow of the setting sun.
And finally, after about half an hour of searching, she found it. And it had sprung, and Leroy was there, and there was lots and lots of blood.
By the time the hour hand of his analog watch hit six, Drew had caught his third fox, nearly a personal record. He had no idea how many Carl had caught; they had decided to split ways around five-ish, and he hadn't seen his drinking buddy since. Drew figured he'd need to head out to the pickup soon before Carl got there first and left him alone with the kids, but then again, maybe that was for the best. Knowing Henry, he'd probably be "grocery shopping" for while, and those children were rarely looked after, even when their father was in the house.
The sun was halfway through the horizon when Drew heard a scream coming from somewhere off behind him. It was the scream of his most troublesome niece echoing throughout the forest, louder than any gunshot. Drew recognized it immediately, and automatically took off running.
The Mud Hen's hands had become shiny with cat blood, and she didn't know what to do. The metal teeth had punctured Leroy's back leg, and no matter how much the forest guardian yanked and pulled, the steel remained lodged in the bloodied meat of his leg. She was on the brink of tears when she looked up to find her uncle standing in the red ferns, and the look on his face was too much for the protector of the wood. Her shoulders began to convulse, and for the first time in a long time, the Mud Hen began to cry the miserable, sobbing wail of child.
She wanted to say "I'm sorry," or "please," or "help me," or "I need you," or a million other things she would never have dreamed of saying, but all she could muster was, "He's going to die."
And that was enough for Drew.
Laura had been pulling at the mouth wrong, so it only took a moment for Drew to open the trap. And when he finally pried the metal teeth out of Leroy, Laura remembered to breath again, and all the "I'm sorry"s and "thank you"s began to spill out out in jumbles. But the Mud Hen never apologizes, so he told her to stop. He should be the one saying sorry anyway, though he didn't know why.
When Drew looked back at his watch, it was seven, and darkness had settled in. Carl would be long gone by now, and the pickup with him. Drew figured that was for the best. They had decided to wrap Leroy's leg in makeshift rags from Drew's camo jacket, and Laura held him tight against her chest.
"Well, we best be heading home," Drew said as he grabbed his gear, doing his best to hide the dead foxes behind his back. "You know the way, Laura?"
The Mud Hen paused for a second, then nodded and pointed toward the red ferns. And when their bearings were set, they set off through the dark woods side by side, together. And Drew didn't quite know what he was doing, or where they were going, or why he was even here in the first place, but he did know that he'd never tell Carl about this, and that he wouldn't be going hunting for a very long time.
