One crisp winter, on a small farm surrounded by a thick woodland forest, a young rooster sat upon a stack of discarded hay bails like a throne. His comb and wattle glowed like rubies upon his head. His plumage was groomed to an immaculate, shiny coat. He took a few disdainful glances around the small, ruddy chicken enclosure before hopping off of the bails. He confidently strutted up to several other chickens with his chest puffed out. “Prideful”, they called him. He would glide around with a haughty air and treated others as mere grease stains beneath his feet. There were a slim few that he had any respect for but he viewed even them as inferior. Everyone had a deep seated hatred for Prideful. They all saw him for what he was. Nothing more than a stuck up poser. But, they knew how to get him to do what they wanted. They knew that his pride would often inhibit his logic. He could not turn down dares, no matter how risky they were. So with a simple dare, his life was changed forever. A dare to leave the safety of the enclosure and enter the thick trees that seemed to stretch for miles, and bring back the most beautiful flower anyone had ever found. Of course, he took the dare. After all, he couldn’t let anything spoil his immaculate reputation.
He proudly sauntered over to the silver wired fence and hopped up on top of it, staring out over the precipice into the dark woods. But once he got a better look at the forest, he hesitated. He had been told countless times never to go over the fence, but everyone’s eyes were on him now. He shook his head twice and jumped over the fence. The air seemed to crackle with tension as he took his first steps in the mossy underbrush of the forest. All of the other chickens stared at him in awe. They had thought that no one would have been stupid enough to cross the fence. He still had lots of walking to do. And with another shake of his head, he began to wander off deeper and deeper into the dark green sea.
He began to lose track of time as the hours seemed to blend together. He kept walking and walking without a single flower to be found. After a while, he decided that enough was enough and began to trek back the way he thought he had come from. He knew that he would never hear the end of it, but he no longer cared. The sun was sinking behind the faraway mountains and the inky black of the winter night had begun to envelop the trees. This proved a bit bothersome as he was far too light to leave any tracks and he had not left himself any indication of direction. After what felt like an eternity, the realization of his situation hit him like a dozen bricks. He was hopelessly lost. Panic began to set in as the air around him got colder in the growing dusk. The trees seemed to mock him with every step he took, whispering laughter at his foolishness like thousands of spiteful spirits. Every time he thought he had found something familiar, he would only get more lost. After hours on end of aimlessly searching, he decided to lay down to rest underneath a pile of pine needles. He decided that he could continue the search in the morning.
He quickly scraped a meager, musty smelling pile and nestled in for the night. After a long struggle, Prideful felt the gentle waves of sleep overtaking him. He awoke with a start to feel something cold and wet nudging his side gently. He very quickly took in the area surrounding him. A fair amount of snow had fallen overnight and had painted everything a blinding plaster white. There was no way he would be able to find his way home now. All that registered was his hunger, the cold, and a sense of hopeless dread deep within his gullet.
He was brought to his senses when he felt the nudge of something cold and wet press against his back. He whipped around to come face to face with something that resembled something between a dog and a cat. It had bright orange fur and a white underbelly and smelled like damp moss and stone. It’s piercing emerald eyes seemed to see straight into his soul. He quickly realized that he was staring straight down the muzzle of a fox. The eyes seemed to demand that he follow the fox. With a tentative stretch of his wings, Prideful rose out of his makeshift nest that was now covered in a thick layer of snow. The fox quickly turned on its heel and began to walk briskly through the trees. Prideful hesitated for a moment. He had heard about foxes. He knew that they were awfully cunning and could lead even the smartest of chickens to their demise. But he pushed that notion aside. The fox seemed nice enough, and if he had really wanted to eat him he would have already. Maybe the fox could help him get back home. He quickly trotted to catch up to the fox that was now no more than a small orange smear upon the earth’s bleached carapace.
After a small hike up a hill, the fox ducked into a small den underneath a small tree’s roots. Prideful, once again, hesitated. There was an odd smell emanating from the pit. It smelled like nothing he had ever smelled before. It was an odd mix of the fox’s scent and an oddly sweet tang. Before Prideful had a chance to react, the fox grabbed him by the wing and dragged him into the den. In a flurry of wings and squeaks, Prideful landed hard on cold hard stone. He noted, with a sense of fear, odd red stains and smears all around the musty den. There was a small pile of crackling kindling in the corner, emitting a soft orange glow that lit up the rest of the cave. It had dark dirt walls that seemed to use the roots of the tree as support. The floor was made of smooth, hard stone that seemed to shimmer in the flickering light from the fire. The scent in the air was almost overwhelming. The sharp tangy scent of something seemed to permeate the stuffy room. Prideful quickly shifted into a corner and tried to make himself as small as possible.
The fox was busying himself near the fire, a deep crimson liquid dripping from its paws. Blood, thought Prideful with a sudden fearful lurch. Suddenly, the fox’s ears perked up and he briskly moved towards the door. He quickly grabbed a disk of dirt and moss off of the floor and covered the hole over. The room was plunged into darkness. The only light came from the small fire still gently pulsing in the corner. Prideful was very scared at this point. He made the decision to try to escape the den as soon and use the darkness as his cover. He tried to make himself as small as possible as he slowly inched towards the exit. He could not see the fox anymore, but he had to take his chance. He had to escape. At that moment, a huge gust of wind began to whistle and roar outside of the small dirt room. The ground seemed to shake as flecks of dirt pattered down onto the stone floor. Slowly, the wind began to die down. It eventually became nothing more than a gentle whisper outside of the den. Very slowly, the fox removed the small moss covering and fresh air flooded back into the room. Prideful glanced outside and saw that yet another layer of snow had fallen. He heard the fox let out a relieved sigh as he slumped down near the fire. This was his chance, and yet Prideful couldn’t seem to bring himself to move. The fox could also be his only chance to get back to his coop. He slowly sank down across the room from the fox, watching him closely. The fox still seemed to be on high alert after the run in with the wind. The fox suddenly turned around and picked something up off the ground. He then gently tossed it towards Prideful. Out of instinct, he flinched only to see that it was nothing more than a small pile of red berries. The fox gently gestured towards the berries sitting in front of Prideful with a single stained paw. With a sudden realization, Prideful realized that the red stains on the floor were nothing more than berry residue. He let out a small sniff of relief. He still had a chance to get back to his home.
After a while, the fox shifted from his seated position and began to move to the door. He gave a short nod that told Prideful to follow him. So with a short hop, he was up on his feet and moving quickly out the door with the fox. After a trek through a now white plane, they both came up to a familiar looking opening – a place that Prideful knew very well. They had made it back to his coop. The fox turned on its dark umber heels and began to plod away through the snow. Something bright and yellow dropped from its mouth: a flower more beautiful than any that Prideful had ever seen. He slowly bent down to pick up the delicate flower, being careful to not damage it at all. When he stood back up, he watched the fox go with a certain pang of sadness. He had been the closest thing he had ever had to a friend. With an odd sense of loneliness, Prideful walked back towards the coop. His comb and wattle had become caked in dark, sticky mud and small twigs. His plumage was permeated with grime and matted all over. With one last sorrowful glance into the woods, Prideful hopped onto the wire fence. He stood atop the enclosure taking in the dingy coop, now buried under a layer of snow. He promptly hopped back into the coop and landed heavily, his once immense chest now seemingly deflated.