In the deep part of winter, when the river wore a roof of ice and the reeds stood silver at the edge, Bear came walking through the snow. He was large and heavy-footed, and behind him his tail swept long and fine over the white ground, leaving a smooth line like a brushstroke. In those days, Bear had a tail to be proud of, and he carried it high whenever the moon was bright.
Near the frozen river sat Fox, who had found a round black hole in the ice where the water still moved below. He was bent over it with great attention. Now and then he lifted his head, licked his whiskers, and laid a little fish on the snow beside him. The fish shone pale as tin in the moonlight.
Bear stopped and looked, for he had been walking a long while and the cold air had made him hungry. "Good evening, Fox," he said. "You seem to be doing well for yourself." Fox turned, neat and bright-eyed. "Good evening, Bear," he answered. "The river is generous tonight."
Bear lowered his great head toward the fish on the snow. "How do you catch them through such hard ice? I have strong paws, but I see no net and no line." Fox sat back on his haunches as if the matter were very simple. "Why, with a tail, of course. A tail is the best fishing line in winter, if one only has the patience for it."
Bear …
6 chapters
