Frenzy slept deeply -- she always did, when she’d eaten well, and she ate well almost every day. With Jaws draped around her neck, a comforting, cool, scaly weight, she spent the night slumbering safely atop mangrove roots.
However, her temporary home was far from unreachable. As she woke up the next morning, blinking blurrily at the few rays of sunlight creeping through the canopy, she became aware of something warm, soft, and furry curled against her back. She shifted, knowing there was something wrong with that feeling -- and then it licked her.
She managed to stifle her shriek, but she scrambled immediately upright, nearly dislodging Jaws, swinging her head around to stare at -- a sleeping foxbun. It stretched and opened its little eyes, looking almost reproachfully up at her, as if it blamed its source of warmth for moving.
She didn’t think twice before snapping at it, but her teeth clicked shut on empty air.
The little furball was faster than it looked; it scampered onto another root and chittered angrily at her, then vanished. With a deep, irritated huff, she descended to the water to catch her breakfast. It hadn’t even had the sense to stay still and let her eat it.
The foxbun wasn’t smarter than it looked, though, because the next morning she woke up to the exact same thing. For six mornings, she chased it off, hoping in vain that one morning would be slow enough that her teeth would close on it, and that she’d be able to rid herself of the nuisance.
Finally, she gave up on trying to catch it and started south again, splashing through the water and hoping that it would lose her trail.
For three nights, she had peace. On the fourth, her shriek of outrage woke every animal within half a mile -- every one except the foxbun still curled against her back.
“You -- you nasty, mangy, clingy, thrice-cursed, stupid little -- burr! Stop following me!” she screamed at it, pushed past the limits of her patience. It yawned, then promptly wrapped itself around the nearest ankle and fell asleep again.
She spluttered for a few minutes, staring at it, then abruptly gave up. With a sigh, she flopped down again, and was only a little irritated to note that it was fast enough to get out of the way, and then it promptly clambered over her to its favored spot. “Don’t lick me,” she told it flatly -- and it did. She ground her teeth together for a moment, dredging up as much patience as she could. “Don’t lick me, Burr,” she repeated -- and this time it just fell asleep again.
“Swamp save me,” she grumbled, settling down to sleep again.
