Foxing Wingstep

Sally Gossamer Wingstep arched up high out of her nest
stretching her wings akimbo then with her arms stretched out
shaking off the morning chill with a warm full heart.
She had slept a little quite more longer than just a bit more
as she had dreamed and dreamed and dreamed and dreamed
of those three lasses at Fablehaven.
Last visit it was all about a-round and round bus wheels;
now it was ‘Fill In The Blank’ and ‘direct azaleas’, Sally thought they said.
The two eldest made such fairie-awful noises with stringed wooden boxes;
the youngest singing songs that said precious little about fairy princes or spun gold,
Sally thought.
But, the fox!
The pale red creature that nosed out of their door—oh, that was something.
Not too ferocious, Sally thought.
Not too big, Sally thought. (Sally always thought, a lot!)
But it wasn’t quite right, it didn’t growl, or pounce—it yipped! Thought Sally.
And the poor dear didn’t walk right, like it had poor, poor eyesight.
But, Sally wasn’t about to fly close to find out what. Not too wise for a forest fairy to go picking about
the affairs of a fox. People would talk, not to mention the dental implications!
*sigh!* sighed, Sally—to be youngish and in your yard and playing with your own guard fox. How
lovely!
But forest duties called: flowers to be inspected, insects to the groomed, mushrooms to be plumped,
and other what-not, Sally realized, thinking more clearly. Fablehaven would have to wait.
Sally Gossamer Wingstep swooped down and gamboled a loop-dee-loop and headed for the copse.
I think.

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