It suddenly occurred to the small fox one morning that something was amiss.

He couldn’t place it at first. During his romps through the wilderness with the other pups of his litter, there was a game that they used to play. One at a time, they would dart out into the concrete river and try to catch one of the metal wolves as they raced past. Of course, it was merely a pup’s game, and they never managed to bring down one of the great, roaring beasts, but the thrill of the chase always sent them home yapping with joy. Other times they would climb over the wooden fence separating the woods from the Farmer’s pasture, and they would spook the cows that grazed in a docile herd. They would chase after the large animals, snapping at their heels until they heard the outraged snarls of the hounds. Then, they would turn tail and flee back into the woods, and into the safety of the den.

During his adulthood, he had left those games behind him and focused more on survival. He learned the dangers of the concrete rivers and of the metal wolves that raced upon them. The cows suddenly seemed far too large to prey upon, and dangerous as well. The hounds became formidable enemies that were not to be crossed. And the Farmer watched for him every morning, his thunder rod in one hand and a pair of eyes in the other.

The little fox had learned to steer clear of these things.

However, one morning he recognized something that set his hackles to rising.

There was a cow grazing in the forest, a calf at her side.

From his sunning rock, the little red fox could see the pair clearly. Both of them were a deep brown in color, their bovine eyes rolling and lolling lazily as they grazed. The cow gazed around the forest somewhat stupidly, before baying lowly.

There was no hound accompanying her, no Farmer astride his large horse, keen eyes searching for any sign of foxes or coyotes. In fact, the little fox noted with some concern that there was no brand upon the cow’s ear, nor upon her rump. She appeared as if she’d never seen captivity or the likes of it in her entire life.

Curiosity piqued, he hopped down from his rock and trotted across the grass to stand before the cow. She fixed him with a malicious glare and ambled in front of her calf protectively.

"What do you want?" she demanded angrily, whip-like tail lashing the air violently.

With a gulp, the fox took a few hasty steps backward and pinned his ears back against his skull. He attempted to appear submissive, without success. "Pardon me," he began anxiously. "I don’t mean to alarm you, Madame. I was merely curious as to why you’re not in the pasture."

"Pasture?" she repeated in affront, followed by a deep, condescending laugh that caused the little fox’s hackles to rise in indignation. "Why, cattle haven’t grazed in pastures since They left! You certainly don’t keep up with the times, do you, boy?"

"That’s Sloane, actually," he corrected tersely. "Peter Sloane."

"Well, Mr. Sloane," the cow went one, still snickering at his obvious lack of knowledge on current mammalian affairs. "I suggest you pop by the Delta and educate yourself!"

"I’ll do that," Peter responded coolly, glowering. He turned and trotted away from the cow and her whining calf, head low to the ground and tail held out levelly behind him.

What was all this rubbish about? They? The only ‘they’ he coherently remembered was the Farmers and their sort. And the metallic wolves. Seemed that it had been two full cycles of the moon since he’d seen one of them jetting along the concrete river. Puzzled, he decided to do just as the cow suggested, and make a pit stop at the Delta.

As a pup, his mother had often dragged her whole brood (and ‘alumni’ to the brood) down to the Delta on weekends to do a bit of catching up with the locals. Oftentimes, his mother would simply sit by the water and allow her pups to splash haphazardly in the shallows while she chatted shrilly with her siblings and their gigantic broods. Peter had stopped trying to keep all of his relatives straight when he mistook his aunt for his mother and tried to follow her home. After that, he simply memorized the scents of his mother and siblings and let everyone else go to Hell in a hand-basket.

The Delta was a socializing locale for the residents of the forest. Carnivores and herbivores had to be careful not to show up at the same time, or the herbivores might find themselves subject to a little early harvesting by the meat-eaters. Peter didn’t worry about that anymore; he had long since stopped paying his weekly homage to the Delta, and his only trips there now consisted of a bit of fishing and water. As he bounded down the slope, a trio of does gave way to him, leaping off into the forest.

There was a squirrel perched on a rock out a little ways into the Delta, and it whirled upon hearing his arrival. With a shrill squeak, little eyes darting this way and that, it shrieked.

"Ah, please don’t kill me, Mr. Whoever-You-Are, no disrespect intended of course! I’ll pay you in acorns, if you wish—"

Peter sat at the edge of the water and watched the squirrel inquisitively. Mentally, he debated pouncing on the poor creature just to silence its inane jabbering. However, prior to his midmorning nap, he’d killed a rabbit and eaten his fill for the day. He wasn’t hungry.

"—and squirrels certainly aren’t in season during the winter, all skin and bones you know. And what with this walnut shortage… well! One can definitely expect to see fewer baby squirrels come springtime—"

"I’m not hungry," Peter interrupted after a time.

The squirrel immediately silenced itself and stared at the fox skeptically. Its bushy gray tail gave a slight twitch. "You’re sure?" it asked anxiously. "I’ve seen this trick before, you know. Clever creatures, foxes, but squirrels are nothing to sneeze at either, I’ll have you know! You simply expect us squirrels to fall for that one again and again, don’t you! Well! This squirrel will not be bought so easily!"

"Have it your way," Peter answered. He stood up and began to walk somewhat carefully along the bank. "I was just curious about something."

"About how squirrel bones taste this time of year, hmm?" the squirrel accused. It bunched up its tiny legs, crouched lowly, and then sprang off of the stone onto a low-hanging branch. For a moment, it dangled precariously by its front claws, before hefting itself up onto the twigs. It scrambled down the length of the branch, eyeing the fox doubtfully. "Come on then, admit it. I’m right, aren’t I?"

"No," responded Peter easily. "Actually, I wanted to know if anyone knew what has happened to all the Farmers and metal wolves." He stopped and tilted his head backwards to squint up at the squirrel. "Perhaps, sir, you can help me?"

The squirrel stared at Peter in perplexity for a moment, before it laughed and quickly scrambled down the tree. It bounded across the foliage and came to a stop in front of him. Cautiously, though still strangely amused by Peter’s query, it offered out one tiny paw. "Ezekial Black is the name. I go by Zeke, if you must know. You are?"

Awkwardly, Peter shifted his weight onto three paws, rather than four, and lifted one of his own paws to bat lightly at Zeke’s. "Peter Sloane. I don’t think it takes an owl to figure out which name I go by."

"Indubitably!" Zeke replied with a chirrup. He sat back on his little haunches and gave his head a tilt. "Well then, Mr. Sloane… I believe I can answer your question sufficiently."

"Oh?" Peter sat as well and let his tail settle around his paws.

"Oh, indeed," Zeke agreed, "I’m quite the fountain of knowledge and wisdom, you know. All the other squirrels used to come to me with their queries, pondering the world around them. Why, if Socrates had been a squirrel, and had he lived in our time, I believe we might have been familiars!"

"About my question…"

"Yes, yes, quite right," Zeke said, a little miffed at Peter’s lackadaisical enthusiasm. He heaved a sigh. "Well, it’s all quite simple, you know. They left."

Peter blinked. "Left? What do you mean, ‘they left’? There’s so many of them! Surely they can’t all decide to leave at the same time, can they?"

"That’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it?" Zeke went on, bemused himself. "To tell you the honest truth, no one is quite sure what happened. One morning they were here, buzzing along the rivers like a bunch of mosquitoes at the climax of summer. The next… nothing. Cities abandoned, villages empty, homes free of anything that might resemble humanity… Quite the enigma if I do say so myself."

"That’s impossible," Peter said scornfully. "People don’t just vanish without a trace. Who told you that rubbish?"

"It’s not rubbish!" Zeke fired back with vehement indignity. The fine hairs on his bushy tail frilled out and his tiny ears flicked forward in a mockery of a challenge. "I’ve seen the cities myself. Not a moving vehicle in sight, and you certainly don’t see any two-legs sauntering along like kings and queens."

"Perhaps you’re just not looking in the right places," Peter suggested rationally. "You have to remember what it is you’re dealing with. Farmers aren’t the smartest of sorts; they can’t even find their own tails when the sun sets."

"Farmers and City-goers are a decidedly different breed of idiot, Mr. Sloane," Zeke chirruped intellectually. "A tinge more violent, I might add. I once watched one of them run over a helpless little squirrel-tike learning to cross the streets, in one of those metal contraptions." He heaved a mournful sigh of remembrance. "Didn’t have the common decency to honk his warning signal or anything remotely proper…"

"How terrible!" Peter gasped in dismay. "How old—"

"Six weeks, at the most," was Zeke’s morose response, gray face crestfallen. "His mum ought to have realized that that was far too early an age to be taking her little kits out to play in the streets, but this younger generation… Well, let me just say that the Old Boy Upstairs doesn’t make squirrels like He used to."

"Yes… but, as you were saying originally—"

"Right, right!" Zeke began again brusquely, "As I was saying. Sorry about that; sometimes I just can’t keep my emotions to myself."

"Quite all right."

"But as I was saying. I’m not really in the know about the current goings-on of the human world. Did I say that right? Hyoo-man? I believe so. At any rate, if I were you, I would question one of the city locals. You know, the dogs."

Peter paled—though it was not visible beneath his many layers of deep red fur. "Dogs?" he repeated nervously. He shivered and swiveled his triangular ears back against his skull. "I’ve never been very fond of dogs."

"Nor I," Zeke agreed glumly. "One ate my brother when I was just a little thing… Ah well. Perhaps one of the cats?"

"Cats don’t sound quite as bad," Peter thought out loud, his brows furrowing. His brief experiences with cats had been unpleasant, but not as daunting as his few excursions with dogs had been. Cats were aloof and a little disdainful, and their claws were sharp; but if one were to charge him, he was fleet enough to get away.

"Maybe not for a fox," Zeke interrupted his thoughts in affront, "but to a squirrel, cats are risky business."

"Well, there’s an easy solution to that dilemma, isn’t there?" Peter said sardonically. "Avoid cats."

He stood up from where he sat beside the Delta and lifted his nose to the air. He inhaled deeply; the scent was faded and growing thin on the crisp winter air, but he could keenly note the presence of City Smoke on the air. Turning himself in the direction he guessed was its origin, he began a steady, distance-covering trot towards the concrete river. If what the squirrel told him was true, he wouldn’t have to worry about any metal wolves running him over.

"Hey!" Zeke cried out after his retreating figure. Moments later, Peter heard the soft pattering of tiny paws at his side. "Where are you going?"

"The city, of course," the fox replied with a frown at the squirrel. "Where did you think I was going?"

"Do you even know the way to the city?" Zeke asked with a doubtful frown.

"It’s this way," Peter said confidently and turned his face towards the nine o’clock sun. At Zeke’s silence, he uncertainly looked back his small companion. "Isn’t it?"

"Well, yes," Zeke answered evasively. His tiny eyes scoured the forest surrounding them, wary. "But I don’t think traveling in this direction is wise…"

"And why not?" Peter pressed. He slowed to a stop, unwilling to tread any further.

Zeke’s answer was slow in coming, and he did not speak before casting a slow, observant glance around the forest one more time. He sidled closer to Peter and whispered hurriedly, "You know of Luke, right? The old coyote who roams around here sometimes?"

"Of course," Peter said with a snort. "Who doesn’t?"

"Well… he’s laid claim to the majority of the City, and has marked the entire eastern half off as his territory. He killed any of the dogs that opposed him, and those that didn’t now make up a sizable pack that follow him blindly." He paused, agitated. "I’d say you’re better off avoiding the City, this city at least, all together. I’m sure that you’ll find other cats elsewhere."

"Luke and I have had no problems with each other," Peter said, unfazed. "I don’t see why he would seek to instigate anything with me now."

"You might not, but he certainly will. He’s as eccentric an old bugger as ever there was in these woods, or within the city, I suppose it is now appropriate to say."

"Well, you keep thinking that," Peter said calmly. He began his trot again, ascending a steep slope in moments. "And I’ll keep going this way."