threw something, hard, against a tree. It smashed against the maple and burst into pieces, strewn around the base of the tree. They glittered in the late afternoon light.
The girlâs boots crunched on the shattered particles. She picked one up, a long, dangerous curve that looked too sharp to pick up. Then she ran across the yard to the trail, close to where Senna was hiding, and threw it as hard as she could into the woods.
âYou messed up, Sylvie! You ran too fast!â
The girl sank down and buried her head in her knees. Senna lowered her body to the ground and slunk forward. Inch by inch she crept, hidden by the growing darkness and underbrush. The crying girlâs scent washed over Senna, and she breathed her in. She smelled familiar, but how? Why?
The girl was solid, not sleek like the other animals of the forest. She wore yellow cotton, a yellow cotton shirt, almost the same yellow as the humansâ den. Her feet carried the scent of miles traveled in woods and fields and along the river. This girl was a creature of the woodlands, like her own fox family; Senna knew instantly the girlâs family had been here a long, long time. But unlike her fox family, the girlâs family was coated with a layer of sadness.
There was so much sorrow here.
Senna listened, trying to understand. She snuffed the air. A familiar scent was imprisoned in the fibers of the old cotton shirt draped around the crying girl. The knowledge of it was buried and faint, carried somewhere deep in her bones and her blood. She pricked up her nose and breathed in again.
Suddenly she heard the footsteps of a heavier human coming toward the girl. Senna watched. It was a male, tall and strong, but also, Senna could tell, weary, exhausted.
âCome on, Jules. Itâs time to go in.â His voice was quiet, tired.
Jules. Jules. At the sound of the word, something prickled through Sennaâs body. Jules. That was the name of the crying girl. Jules. The name sank into Sennaâs fur. Jules.
âDad.â The girl named Jules called the man Dad. Senna now knew two names. Not fox names, human names.
She watched the girl named Jules and the man named Dad walk back into their yellow home. All around her the air filled with sense and memory. Senna breathed it in. The gray-green bars trembled over her head, and all around her. Kennen, they whispered. A reminder.
Jules was a human girl.
And Senna was a Kennen fox.
They were linked, the two of them. Jules and Senna. But what did that mean? Senna snuffed the air again, reaching for the familiar scent. She waited in the brush, hoping that Jules would come back outside. But the yellow house was quiet.
Then she heard her mother, far away, calling her home.
Senna.
Sennnnnna.
Senna turned and ran toward the sound of her motherâs voice. Senna. Faster and faster, she ran, as fast as her legs could carry her, but not before she looked over her shoulder one more time at the yellow human house.
18
A fter dinner that night, Jules stacked all the papers and books that Sam had delivered to her these past weeks atop the kitchen table. Dad shook his head at the size of the pile. âI think you need to start by sorting.â Jules nodded. She was good at sorting, wasnât she? She had sorted her rock collection about a million times. But homework and rocks were two different things. She liked rocks. Loved rocks. Homework? Not so much.
âCome on, Juley-Jules,â said Dad. And then, she couldnât believe it, he added, âIâm counting on you.â
There it was, Julesâs dad, counting on her. A small ache blossomed in the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, and then . . . Kapow!
The shot rattled the windowpane. âThat was a little too close!â Dad said. Jules agreed. Even though she was used to hearing the occasional gunshot, it seemed like there had been a lot of them lately.
âThat bearâs gotten a little too big for his
The girlâs boots crunched on the shattered particles. She picked one up, a long, dangerous curve that looked too sharp to pick up. Then she ran across the yard to the trail, close to where Senna was hiding, and threw it as hard as she could into the woods.
âYou messed up, Sylvie! You ran too fast!â
The girl sank down and buried her head in her knees. Senna lowered her body to the ground and slunk forward. Inch by inch she crept, hidden by the growing darkness and underbrush. The crying girlâs scent washed over Senna, and she breathed her in. She smelled familiar, but how? Why?
The girl was solid, not sleek like the other animals of the forest. She wore yellow cotton, a yellow cotton shirt, almost the same yellow as the humansâ den. Her feet carried the scent of miles traveled in woods and fields and along the river. This girl was a creature of the woodlands, like her own fox family; Senna knew instantly the girlâs family had been here a long, long time. But unlike her fox family, the girlâs family was coated with a layer of sadness.
There was so much sorrow here.
Senna listened, trying to understand. She snuffed the air. A familiar scent was imprisoned in the fibers of the old cotton shirt draped around the crying girl. The knowledge of it was buried and faint, carried somewhere deep in her bones and her blood. She pricked up her nose and breathed in again.
Suddenly she heard the footsteps of a heavier human coming toward the girl. Senna watched. It was a male, tall and strong, but also, Senna could tell, weary, exhausted.
âCome on, Jules. Itâs time to go in.â His voice was quiet, tired.
Jules. Jules. At the sound of the word, something prickled through Sennaâs body. Jules. That was the name of the crying girl. Jules. The name sank into Sennaâs fur. Jules.
âDad.â The girl named Jules called the man Dad. Senna now knew two names. Not fox names, human names.
She watched the girl named Jules and the man named Dad walk back into their yellow home. All around her the air filled with sense and memory. Senna breathed it in. The gray-green bars trembled over her head, and all around her. Kennen, they whispered. A reminder.
Jules was a human girl.
And Senna was a Kennen fox.
They were linked, the two of them. Jules and Senna. But what did that mean? Senna snuffed the air again, reaching for the familiar scent. She waited in the brush, hoping that Jules would come back outside. But the yellow house was quiet.
Then she heard her mother, far away, calling her home.
Senna.
Sennnnnna.
Senna turned and ran toward the sound of her motherâs voice. Senna. Faster and faster, she ran, as fast as her legs could carry her, but not before she looked over her shoulder one more time at the yellow human house.
18
A fter dinner that night, Jules stacked all the papers and books that Sam had delivered to her these past weeks atop the kitchen table. Dad shook his head at the size of the pile. âI think you need to start by sorting.â Jules nodded. She was good at sorting, wasnât she? She had sorted her rock collection about a million times. But homework and rocks were two different things. She liked rocks. Loved rocks. Homework? Not so much.
âCome on, Juley-Jules,â said Dad. And then, she couldnât believe it, he added, âIâm counting on you.â
There it was, Julesâs dad, counting on her. A small ache blossomed in the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, and then . . . Kapow!
The shot rattled the windowpane. âThat was a little too close!â Dad said. Jules agreed. Even though she was used to hearing the occasional gunshot, it seemed like there had been a lot of them lately.
âThat bearâs gotten a little too big for his
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