The poor fox! You immediately bend down and cradle it in your arms, cooing as if it was a hurt child.
You can hear it whimpering, it was unusual for a wild animal to be so calm, especially with a human.
You sit down, resting up against a tree.
You hold the cub’s tail in your fingertips, analysing it.
It looked fractured, the tail. You look closer, analysing the skin and fur, admiring the orange beauty.
You stand up, the cub still cradled in your arms and walk around. You think you could make a splint for its tail, then let it go into the wild. Hopefully it finds its mother.
You step on something, it cracks under your weight.
A stick. The stick. It was the correct length and width. You pick up the two pieces, broken right in the middle, and hold them next to the fox.
There wasn’t going to be a rope anywhere, but that wasn’t going to stop you.
You tug at your unkempt hair, pulling out chunks that were tough enough to be tied.
You set the fox on the floor, lying on its side, and start to apply the splint.
One stick, two stick and wrapping, wrapping and wrapping and done!
The fox cub looks at you, its eyes wet with instinct.
It stands up and pauses, still slightly in pain.
In a split second decision, it runs off.
You debate whether you should chase after it.