The Fox and Old Lady Crow

(A tale for Samhain)
Clive Grace

Tanais the fox sat in his favourite chair, cleaning his fiddle. He had invited a few of his friends around for an afternoon of music and storytelling. His dear old friend Magda Wolf was far away with her brothers, her rug was folded tidily and lay empty by the fireplace awaiting her return. Nevertheless, many of his friends had popped by for the afternoon; each had brought something to eat or drink with them and they cheerfully gathered around the fire he had stoked high for the cold day.

Every now and then Tanais slowly took a puff or two from his long clay pipe, drawing warmth from the smoke as he looked out of the window at the gently falling snow. The long lazy summer had promised to turn into a fine golden Autumn, but the cold weather had arrived early, causing him and his friends to sit a little more closely to the fire than was usual. Opening the window ever so slightly and sniffing the air, Tanais looked up into the sky to see the last of the birds flying south for Winter. His sleek red coat had started to thicken towards the end of Summer -- a sign that he wouldn't be following the birds to warmer lands when the cold weather came. "Maybe next year," he sighed as he shivered a little and closed the window, moving closer to the fire.

The fox whispered a silent prayer for his friends flying south as he puffed the last of the tobacco from his pipe. Lost in his own thoughts he sat thinking of warmer lands, abstractly humming fragments of a song that had been on the tip of his tongue ever since the cold weather had taken hold.

A silence fell over Tanais and his friends. All were lost in their own thoughts of Summer or of the cold Winter yet to come. Some of his guests -- especially the younger ones -- were already wrapped up cosily in their warmest winter coats. Tanais's eyes passed over the assorted cubs, some of whom were already fast asleep, warm in their mothers arms. The older cubs were peering out of a window gazing intently at the snow; their paws and noses pressed against the window pane, staring wide eyed at each falling snowflake as it came to rest on the now-white carpet that was once Tanais's Summer herb garden.

Even though he was a storyteller, Tanais found it hard to capture the magic and wonderment of seeing a snowfall through the eyes of a cub for the first time. He knew they already longed for the Summer homes where they were born and raised -- homes now occupied by spiders or more hardy Winter creatures. With a deep and private smile, he fixed the image of the cubs in his mind as something to think about during the long nights ahead -- perhaps a story would come of it, you never know.

As the light began to fail, the distinctive sound of a crow in the distance cried into the half-light. "Caw!" it cried, "Caw Caw!" and then it was gone, leaving the silence of the Autumn afternoon broken. With a jump, Tanais came back from his private and fox-like thoughts to see the fire's last dying embers spluttering away. The room had become quite cold, so after throwing some wooden kindling onto the fire followed by a log, Tanais walked over to a pile of freshly cut peat that lay just inside his front door and dragged in enough of the rich smelling earth to last the rest of the evening.

The sound of the crow's cry into the dusk made Tanais remember a story from a long way back. He thought it would make an ideal Winter's tale and although it wasn't exactly Winter yet, he felt that the cold weather and the solemn mood of his friends huddled around his fire made up for that one small detail.

Heaving the clod of peat unceremoniously on top of the smouldering wood, Tanais coughed gently as an earthy-smelling smoke wafted into the room before there was enough heat to draw it back into the fireplace and up into the chimney. Reaching for an old pair of leather bellows that hung next to the fireplace, Tanais gently blew air into the base of the fire at the hot glowing ashes, causing the smoke from the peat to thicken and the log to burst into flames.

As he did this, Tanais peered into the flames and abstractly spoke to no-one in particular, "I remember a story that came from the village where I was bought up as a cub." he said. "It's a story about a crow and a... fox friend of mine," and he coughed again "but that in itself isn't important -- when you've heard my tale and scratch a little deeper under the surface, you'll find that there's a little bit of this story in each and every one of us". Satisfied with the fire, he put the bellows back where they belong. Gesturing to the cubs to sit down, he waited patiently as they jumped down from the window ledge and sat themselves by the fire or crawled back into their mother's laps. When all were comfortable, he began his story:

"There once lived a young fox cub in a village not far from here -- barely older than a pup, this fox grew up with his mother and father and his five brothers and sisters. As the youngest member of the family, he saw each brother and sister leave and set up new homes and raise families of their own. He was a shy and some would say a sensitive cub, he loved to read books and listen to the birds and although he wasn't short of friends, he was happiest wandering on his own, preferring to play by himself in his own secret places.

"Of the cub's friends, his best friend was a storyteller he knew as Old lady Crow who fluttered into his life during those happy months between being a cub and turning into a young fox."

Tanais looked out of the window to see where the crow was headed, but he couldn't see that far into the dusk or hear any more of the crow's distinct cry. So he sighed a little, pulled the curtains across the window and lit a candle, bathing his face and muzzle in a warm orange glow as he set it down by his chair. Swishing his tail to curve around and in front of his feet, Tanais scratched an ear and continued.

"Old Lady Crow had many times travelled around the world. She had followed the swallows south for Winter and, for a while, had lived with the Tinkers and Gypsies that roamed the land. Crow's tales are now common favourites around camp fires and it was she that gave the travelling people some of their finest stories. She was one of the `true' bards -- a storyteller who used her tales to weave magic wherever she went. She loved an attentive audience and was happy to share her tales for some food, an appreciative ear and a warm perch to rest her wings for the night.

"Old lady Crow never really stayed in one place for long, preferring instead the life of a traveller. But she did once settle down, for a whole year as a matter of fact, which was a very long time for her to stay in one place. It was quite a day when she fluttered into the village and announced that she was staying put for a while. She hopped onto the village water well and said to the midwives, `Even travellers need to stop moving around every now and then. I've grown weary of seeing new faces nearly every day and finding a new perch every dusk. I shall make my perch in the branches of that fine and fruitful cherry tree over there,' and she pointed her beak at the tallest hill that lay on the edge of the village then she cried a loud `Caw!' to make her presence and her choice of perch known."

Carefully running a paw along a line of old books that lay on a shelf next to the fireplace, Tanais's eyes came to rest on a leather-bound volume of Gypsy songs and spells, many of which he knew to be accredited to Crow. Taking the old book out and cradling it in his arms, he turned to his audience, "Old lady Crow wasn't just a storyteller, she was also a powerful healer. She joined the circle of village midwives and taught them much of her bird lore and magic." Reaching for his cap that lay by the fire for warmth, Tanais flipped it on its side to show his friends the embroidered image of two mythical ravens at the centre of a beautiful mandala.

"Some of the oldest folk stories I know tell of two magical ravens called Huginn and Muninn, or more commonly known as Thought and Memory. Some legends refer to them as `the lord of all birds' -- yet they were hatched from a single egg in the days when there was only one of every creature. The mother this egg was known as Geifon or Crow, she was also known as "the guardian of night" because no light could penetrate her black feathers and she could make herself as invisible as the wind when flying at night."

Not wanting to tell two stories when one would do. Tanais stopped and took the opportunity to put his cap back on, but he put it on inside out -- as was his custom around this time of year. Tanais traditionally waited for the feast of Samhain -- the birth of Winter to do this, but the cold weather and the events that led up to telling his story seemed to fit an early `turning of the cap', so he continued.

"Old lady Crow would often fly down from her perch to tell stories and songs for the villagers -- or to trade weather reports with farmers and weave magic with the midwives and although she kept herself to herself, she was nevertheless respected and appreciated for her art. Her reputation as a fine storyteller grew and every afternoon, after the young fox had finished his chores for the day, he would run up the hill and arrive panting under the cherry tree to see Old lady Crow and ask her for a story.

"Old lady Crow would always oblige her keen young visitor with a tale or a song, but only one, and this cub was a keen and polite listener. Over the months the young fox and the old crow became great friends, they grew to love each other very much and although the fox had no Grandmother or Aunts so to speak of, he grew to appreciate her as one. She likewise looked on the young fox as if he were one of her own and rarely a day passed without them meeting in some way or another.

"This cub turned out to be a good listener and sat wide eyed with ears pricked as he lapped up her stories and songs, and every day he would rush home and write them down before he forgot them. She told him about countries she had seen and strange creatures that lived far away in foreign lands and when the Crow sang an old folk song or tune, she sung in her rough and throaty voice songs that the cub would remember almost note for note perfect and sing along with her -- which pleased the old Crow greatly.

"The year passed and the cub had grown into a fine young fox. He was starting to tell stories of his own and, encouraged by Old lady Crow, he used to tell tales about everyday happenings in the village -- embroidering them with exquisite detail -- much to the delight of his mentor. Over the Summer months, as their friendship grew, she taught the fox the art of storytelling and simple, everyday magic that he would find useful for years to come.

"One day, Old lady Crow sat the young cub down on his favourite spot on the hill and hopped down onto his shoulder where she cocked her head and looked straight into his eyes. `I'll be flying south for the Winter,' she said rather matter of factly. `I've been in this place for long enough and I'm getting the urge to stretch my wings again.' As if by way of showing him what she meant, she flapped them gently and preened a ink-black tail feather back into place.

"'I want to go with you!' cried the fox, jumping up suddenly, a panic entering his heart at the thought of his best friend going away.

"'That is not possible fox friend.' She sighed and looked solemnly into his eyes. `I travel my own path, and so shall you some day if you wish to become a traveller and a teller of tales.' She hopped down onto the ground and looked at the fox with her bright and lively eyes. `I choose to move where the seasons tell me to go and I wish to see many different lands and places before I fly my last and... longest journey. We all have our own path to travel and for me it is mostly a... solitary one.'

"The fox started to tremble. He put his arms around the crow and cried like he had never cried before, huge wet tears ran down his nose which rolled onto back of Old lady Crow. The young fox had never experienced the loss of a friend before and her decision to fly south for the winter left him heartbroken, lonely and afraid of a suddenly uncertain future.

"The old Crow wrapped her wings around the young fox and held him as his crying turned from a sob into a gentle whimper. He was shaking and felt miserable, his whiskers drooped with the weight of tears and his muzzle was quite wet with so much crying. Old lady Crow brushed the few remaining droplets from his muzzle and whispered to him very quietly, `There is one last song I'll want to teach you. I had planned for this day and my decision to fly south hurts me as it hurts you my boy... I've grown to love you as one of my own and I'll sing this song whenever I think of you. So sit yourself down comfortably and I'll begin'".

Tanais flipped open the book of Gypsy songs still cradled in his arms and thumbed through the pages to find the song he was looking for. Finding it and tapping one foot as he beat the rhythm to a silent tune, he smiled and closed the book, holding the leather bound volume closer to his chest. "There are few songs that weave their magic faster than a healing song," said Tanais, "and Old lady Crow sung to the young fox a powerful and optimistic song of the many gifts the future brings and how true friendship cheats death and enriches life.

"As the Crow sang the final refrain, the young fox joined in. All his feelings of dread and panic left him, leaving tears of joy but still a little sadness as he sang. When the song was over, he stopped and looked longingly at his dear friend. He bit on his lip trying not to cry, but Old lady Crow just looked at him and said, `There are some things we just cannot own -- remember that.' Pointing her beak into the sky, she let forth a loud and happy `Caw!' releasing her claim on the cherry tree. `I shall fly south now dear friend but I promise I shall return to you when you are older. I leave all my songs and all my stories as a gift for you to tell... if you should so wish," and with a final "Caw!" she leapt into the air her great black wings lifting her high where she flew over the fox three times as a blessing before flying south.

"The fox gazed longingly at Old lady Crow as she receded into the distance, slowly becoming an indistinct speck on the horizon. When she was no more to be seen, he snuffled a little and loped sad and lonely back home to his bed where he fell asleep. The next day he sang the Crow's farewell song and shortly after that, he started to tell his friends some of the stories she had taught him. Each time he told a story or sang a song, he thought of his dear old friend, wondering where she was and what she was up to -- and he would often smile to himself as he remembered those happy days listening to songs and stories under the cherry tree. He had begun to walk his own path as a bard and as a storyteller."

Tanais looked solemnly at his audience, before putting the book of Gypsy stories back into its rightful place on the shelf. "The story is unfinished..." he sighed "Old lady Crow never returned as promised and it's been some twenty years since she flew south for the Winter. Perhaps she took that last final flight before returning to see her friend, perhaps she grew so old that she could not return at all. But the fox grew up to remember and cherish her memory. He had learned to let go of the pain of holding on and now he remembers the love and warmth of his friendship with an acceptance that, like the seasons, all things must pass."

Stretching his feet, Tanais reached for his pipe and tobacco pouch and started to fill it as he pondered on the story of the fox and Old lady Crow.

"Well told my boy, well told indeed!" cried a old and familiar voice from the rafters. Tanais turned his muzzle upwards and squinted into the shadows. All he could see by the light of the fire were two little eyes peering down at him. The eyes blinked and an indistinct shape moved a little more into the light so that Tanais could see the outline of a bird sitting high above his head.

It was Old lady Crow! Even though she was half hidden in shadow, Tanais could see that she no longer wore the glistening blue and black feathers he had described in his story. She was now quite grey with age -- but the light in her eyes was nevertheless undimmed and she was clearly every bit as vocal as she had been twenty years ago.

"You did a good job of describing myself, boy. But you left out one small detail that I think your friends might appreciate". The crow hopped across to another rafter so she could be seen clearly by the light of the fire and pausing, she eyed Tanais with a cheeky grin, waiting for his permission to continue. It was Tanais's story after all.

"Oho?" mused the fox as he emptied his clay pipe and stuffed a fresh batch of leaves into it, a huge grin spreading across his face. "...and what would that `one small detail' be then?" he asked as he lit his pipe, sending plumes of blue and grey smoke up into the rafters.

Old lady Crow hopped nimbly out of the way of the oncoming smoke. "You left out the fact that it was you who was that little cub that grew up to be the storyteller," and she let forth a loud and rasping "Caw!", full of joy at seeing her old friend again. Catching herself, so as to not fall off her perch and land unceremoniously in Tanais's lap, Old lady Crow fanned her tail feathers and gently fluttered over to a lower beam. "You always did leave out little details like that," she said looking at the fox with satisfaction and pride, "but I'll forgive you this once. In this instance, your modesty is... understandable".

Jumping down onto the fox's shoulder, Old lady Crow smiled gently at Tanais, whose eyes were quickly filling with tears at seeing his old friend and mentor once again. Nuzzling herself against the soft velvet fur of his neck and ears, the grey crow looked into his eyes and spoke gently, "I'm still in this world boy, and I don't intend going anywhere else until my maker says otherwise. Remember, a crow always keeps her promises!"

With happy tears rolling down his muzzle, Tanais the fox poured his old friend a thimble of ale and refilled his glass, whereupon they laughed and exchanged songs and stories deep into the cold Autumn night.