Boundaries (67)
It was the third season of the first sun when the travelling fair wound its way through tall peaks and arrived at a little market town. The square had been peppered with flowers and coloured banners, and the air was rich with laughter and the sticky scent of candied moonfruit.
The townsfolk were delighted, all except for one - the baker's daughter, who could not join in the festivities. A week before she had told her mother she could speak with the foxes, and now the cruel tradeswoman kept her locked her in the basement to avoid embarrassment.
The fair proceeded through the town, its curious folk performing strange tricks and acrobatic feats for their captive audience. Nobody saw the sad blue eyes that peered from a dark crack in the brickwork of the little baker's shop. She watched well-fed ankles twirling past, caught up in the spirit of the occasion, and she sighed deeply as the brightly painted wheels of the fair carts trundled by.
As the last cart disappeared from sight a pair of very oddly shaped legs clad in threadbare trousers stopped before the gap. A moment later the figure crouched, or rather crumpled to the ground, and a pointed face, covered in powder, appeared at the crack.
The girl's first instinct was to recoil, but then she looked into large brown eyes and recognised a friend. The odd figure nodded to her, then drew itself up and vanished from sight. A few moments later she heard a scrabbling at the trapdoor that led down to her prison, and the wood creaked in protest as it opened.
The visitor stood in the gap, framed with light from the large windows of the bakery. 'Why did you not dance with us these last three moons?' asked the figure in scratching, earthy tones. When the hungry girl explained the figure bristled with anger at her cruel punishment. 'We shall accompany you to the fair. Come quickly.'
Nervously the girl followed her strange rescuer into the street. The carts had positioned themselves around the square, and the people flitted excitedly between them. A few danced around the fountain, and seeing this the powder-faced man held out a hand to the girl. The fingers were stiff, carved from strong oak. 'Will you dance with us now?'
She nodded and took the brightly polished hand. As they twirled about the fountain she saw other similarly out of place figures dotted around the square. She was not the only one to notice; many of the townsfolk glanced suspiciously at the unusual interlopers, especially when one started putting sandwiches down his trousers. Her partner moved awkwardly, the dusty clothes rippling and bulging at every step.
Suddenly the girl stopped in her tracks as she saw her mother bearing down on them, her vast face a red mask of fury. There was no time to run. 'How did you get out? No dinner for a month!' snapped the livid baker. 'And who's this?'
She prodded the figure, who bucked violently backwards. The motion was enough to free the threadbare shirt from the trousers and the foxes spilled out, blinking in the sunlight. As the villagers shrieked and pointed the other foxes abandoned their disguises, the hungry creatures swarming over the neatly laid out tables and laying waste to the cakes and sandwiches.
The powder shaken from his wise old face, the leader of the foxes leapt onto the girl's shoulder. 'This place is not for you. The day of the Great Dance is near, and we must travel north. Will you join us?'
Without hesitation the girl nodded her consent.
'Then run,' said the fox. 'Run now, and don't look back.' He gave a commanding yelp, and his brothers and sisters leapt from the tables and dashed to the girl's heels, swarming around her so the baker couldn't reach the one who had been her daughter, and then they climbed into the night, leaving the twinkling lights of the village far behind.
