- Hey. Syawn here.
- I’ve started a weekly challenge for my author. It’s a good way to keep her on track. This challenge will be to write exactly 100 words on whatever subject I’m wondering about at the time, every Tuesday.
Why Tuesday? she asks. Because today is Tuesday, and I’ll not let her put it off for one more day. Why whatever subject you’re wondering about? What about subjects I’m wondering about? the author asks, affronted. Because if I let her pick, she would be all day dithering between one musing and another. Why 100 words precisely? she asks. Because I said so. Why “Fox”? Because I am a fox. No, I’m not simply referring to my excellent good looks. I refer to my name, Syawn, which means fox in my native tongue, and I refer to the fact that I have well lived up to the icon. So now, in two distinct drabble’s-worth of words, I shall outline my thoughts on foxhood.
I wonder whether foxes are really as sneaky and clever as certain cultures from both of our worlds agree that they are.
Coyotes and crows, ravens and rats, foxes and wolves, weasels and cats; these creatures seem commonly thought to be particularly devious.
But cannot mice be just as devious, eagles more cunning? Have anteaters quantifiably less of this quality? What of the parrot, the fire ant, or the uncaring honey badger? …And can you not sometimes creep upon an unsuspecting fox?
Intelligence may be measurable by species, but sheer cunning and the capacity to connive varies by the individual.
But what is a world without symbol and sign? And truth be told straight, none suits me better than the sign of the fox.
Whatever the reasons, whatever the sense, some clever kit with a gleam in his eye stole one cooling, pastry too many, while his vixen sisters devised coups of many a coop, and there was born one of the greatest symbols of plot and treachery.
Let the people think my name’s meaning is in my hair’s hue. The sign of the fox speaks of subtle domination, the hidden ruler, lock-picks and silent speed, knives in the night.