Lady Mary laughed at his description and the crowd ceased its pursuit, placated by the certainty that Lady Mary would not be housed in a manor of oaks, by a river full of silver, in a place with no roof, no rules save for the whims of those quiet, inhuman woods. None of them asked what Lady Mary herself would have fancied. But that was alright.

Mr. Fox knew what she wanted, and Lady Mary knew this as well.

They married in the foyer of Lady Mary’s childhood home, the autumnal owl-light a bacchanal of rare colors. He wore black and she wore white, and though Lady Mary’s parents had no end of questions, the two knew no end of knowing silences. When they smiled, it was for each other, only each other, and you’d be forgiven if you believed they were one soul halved and homed in a matching set, so gorgeous those two were, so perfect. At the altar, under ropes of dried lilac, Mr. Fox kissed Lady Mary, just a peck and a flash of white teeth, the world shivered like it bore witness to the birth of something sacred.

“We are now,” whispered Lady Mary, “Mr. and Mrs. Fox.”

And Mr. Fox, he laughed at the truth of this.

“Did they have a party afterwards?”

“Yes.”

“Was everyone happy?”

“As much as they would allow themselves to be.”

As was traditional of all married couples, Mr. and Mrs. Fox soon absconded to the groom’s new home. But unlike what was traditional, they made no mention of where they were going, no ceremony of her departure. Like thieves, like foxes racing the dying sun, they fled into the woods while the sleeping world was still filigreed with dew.

If it weren’t for Lord Petty, who’d loved Lady Mary dearest but also poorest, if it weren’t for him, that knave, that heart-stung wretch, no one would have known where to find the two. But a man brined in his own envy is one abhorrent to sleep, and Lord Petty could only drowse during Lady Mary’s long wedding night. Thus, he was easily awoken when the two darted from the doors, no neither bags nor finery, just the gleam of Lady Mary’s wedding ring and the glare of Mr. Fox’s smile.

How dare they, thought Lord Petty, rousing himself from his bed. How dare they leave just like that? He followed them, a hound full of hate.

Lord Petty was many things but he was not an incompetent hunter, and of all the men who had loved Lady Mary, he was the hungriest for her favour. He stalked them across the valleys, down into the black pines, down through where the birch and the aspen murmured like new lovers, down where the past had grooved itself in the stones, down, down into places where men should not go.

And the woods said to Mr. Fox and Mrs. Fox: ‘ware