#fox!fee

autumn means rich, nutty smells and sweet flavors and woodsmoke. it means scarves and mittens and sweaters stolen from each other's piles, squirming and frolicking through mountains of dried leaves. for such a dreary time of year, there's so much color to behold.

autumn, to an otter and his fox, means furry cuddles under the stars, hot drinks shared by human hands while sitting on the back porch, watching the rain. an excuse to tuck in close and warm the tips of noses against the other's throat.

It isn't difficult to imagine that our little otter is into everything he can get his teeny little hands on. What few might now, however, is that his fox is equally as besotted with bold, spiced and sweetly flavored hot drinks, cherishing every sip as it drizzles outside; relishing every note and layer as the breeze bites the tips of his ears; greedily warming his cheeks with chocolatey steam.

“This is entirely your fault.” Kíli moans, hand on his distended belly, laying in a heap on the floor in a nest of candy wrappers. His mouth and chin are stained with melted chocolate, just like his fingers.

Fíli raises a single, complacent brow, “Is it now?”

Kíli opens his mouth to reply but is interrupted by the canter of little feet on the creaky front steps. The doorbell chimes, loud and obtrusive, startling Kíli to shift into his furs with a squeak. His belly looks far fuller in this shape, making Fíli chuckle.

He turns to answer the door for their first round of trick-or-treaters, but just as his hand hovers over the doorknob, it dawns on him that they have nothing to hand out. Kíli ate all of the Halloween chocolate in the span it took Fíli to change into his costume – a very dapper Devil, complete with plastic horns and shimmery red bat wings. What was supposed to compliment Kíli's angel.

Behind him, the clitter-clatter of teeny claws on the hardwood floor fades into the kitchen while Fíli stares at the closed door. His brain has unfortunately chosen that moment to think about the laundry list of chores he has to do tomorrow instead of what on earth he’s going to do about the children who’ve rung the doorbell a second time.

“C-Coming!” He stutters and whirls around. In the same moment, the clitter-clatter returns, this time slower and more evenly paced, joined by the dry, crinkly drag of wicker on wood.

Fíli pauses in his panic to see Kíli struggling into the room with the basket they keep of potatoes and apples, his little arms straining and his webbed feet sliding here and there as he comes.

Heaving a heavy sigh of defeat, Fíli bends to collect the basket and place it on the narrow table beside that stands beside the door, Kíli scurrying up the length of his arm and resting across his shoulders like a living stole.

Little Appleton-on-Bree was beautiful in autumn. The village seemed cozier, blooming with warm, dense smells and gauzy gold light. It was marvelous. Especially for one of two of Mr. Pimble's recent neighbors, who called himself Fíli.

Fíli, apparently, was a bit of an artist and would ask Mr. Pimble for some of the colorful leaves that had fallen from his trees. Let it be known that Mr. Pimble had the prettiest, most colorful trees in the village.

Naturally, Mr. Pimble always said yes and enjoyed the artwork Fíli would gift him later in the year, at Christmas. Sweet woodland portraits and wreaths and all manner of creation. He had talent, that lad.

Although autumn was beautiful, Mr. Pimble was at his jolliest when his lawn was neat and tidy, and so he would merrily rake the fallen leaves into perfectly balanced piles, two on either side of the walkway, ready for clearing as soon as he collected the designated yard waste bags from where he'd drop them on the front stairs.

And every year it was the same. He'd hear a rattling, scurrying sounds, like quick little feet through grass, and then the rustle and crunch of dead leaves, and by the time he turned around again, his lawn was in complete disarray all over again1 There was no one in sight, no rude children or childish adults, not a soul.

He could've sworn he also heard...chirping. Like an overexcited chipmunk.

They rumbled and tumbled and rolled, chunks of snow sticking to their fur like burs. Kíli chitter-chirped, scrambling slippery feet beneath him as he tried to regain his balance but Fíli was too quick, butting Kíli’s squirmy little body onto its side with his snout. 

Kíli shrieked, arms and legs flailing, and then fell on his face in a powdery pocket of snow. Fíli couldn’t help himself, lifted his head and cackled to the sun as his brother fumbled his way back onto his bottom. 

Vengeance narrowed Kíli’s eyes and pulled his brows into a severely grumpy looking frown. He scooped up a handful of snow, packed it tight between his webbed fingers and launched it at Fíli’s furry face. 

Fíli’s cackling cut off instantly though it still took a blink or two for him to register what just happened. Kíli sat, smug and grinning his gummy grin at Fíli who felt the snow drag down his cheek and plop to the ground at his paw. 

One breath, two breaths, three—

Fíli’s tail flickered behind him like a flame in a breeze, his eyes leveled Kíli with a predator's stare. Kíli swallowed nervously, his confidence fading rapidly at the sight Fíli made, crouched low on his belly as if about to pounce ... 

And pounce Fíli did, knocking Kíli down and pressing him into the snow until he was almost entirely buried, his legs and arms kicking and clawing to no avail. 

Revenge was a dish best served frozen.