When the Fox preys the mouse sleeps away

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by MoonstarWolf

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The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone-lined walls of the great spiral staircase. Barnaby the mouse let out a long, weary sigh of contentment. It had been a busy day of gathering, but now, the burrow was silent and secure.
He padded across the warm earthen floor, past his favorite rocking chair and the tall bookshelf filled with his collection of forest maps. He climbed the short ladder to the kitchen nook to check the latch on the pantry one last time, the smell of dried berries and grain lingering in the air. Satisfied, he descended back to his sleeping quarters.
Kicking off his tiny shoes onto the circular blue rug, Barnaby hopped into bed. He pulled the thick pink quilt up to his chin, feeling the solid weight of the oak tree’s roots and several feet of earth shielding him from the world above. To him, the burrow wasn't just a home; it was an impenetrable fortress. He closed his eyes, drifting into a deep, heavy sleep.
High above, the surface world was a different story.
The wind whistled through the bare branches of the Great Oak, and a light dusting of snow began to settle over the nearby fence. Max the fox stood by the heavy wooden door, his stomach growling like a distant thunderstorm. He could smell it—the unmistakable, warm scent of a mouse, tucked away somewhere deep beneath the bark.
Frantic and hungry, Max began to dig. He plunged his head deep into the freezing snow, his snout pushing against the hard, frozen crust of the earth. He snapped his jaws at the empty air, his tail twitching with frustration as he burrowed his face into the white powder, trying to find a gap, a soft spot, or a secret tunnel.
His paws scraped against the massive, unyielding roots of the tree. From the surface, it looked as though the fox was halfway submerged in the ground, a blur of orange and yellow fur against the pale landscape. He snarled, his hot breath blooming in the cold air as he shoved his head even deeper into a drift.
But the earth was too thick, and the stones of the burrow were too well-placed.
Deep below, Barnaby didn't even stir. He didn't hear the scratching of claws or the muffled huffs of the predator just a few feet above his ceiling. On his little blue rug, his shoes sat undisturbed, and under his pink blanket, the mouse remained perfectly, blissfully out of reach.

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