It was nearly dusk when Venya the fox realized they were out of food.
More specifically, out of panther food. And that was a problem.
Luna, sleek and shadow-like, lay sprawled across the porch with her head resting on one paw, her golden eyes watching the horizon. Calm, for now. But Venya knew that calmness could shift into something more… bitey if dinner didn’t arrive soon.
He tiptoed inside their woodland cottage and opened the pantry for the fifth time that hour, hoping something had magically restocked itself.
Nope.
Two stale crackers, a jar of pickled beetles (definitely his, not hers), and a dusty tin labeled “Mackerel Surprise?”—with the question mark being the most suspicious part.
Venya closed the pantry.
“She’s going to eat me,” he muttered. “She’s going to sauté me in garlic and serve me with a side of regret.”
He peeked out the window. Luna hadn’t moved. Just flicked her tail once. That was enough.
He threw on his coat and scampered through the trees, muttering a plan to himself.
First stop: Old Farmer Mitka’s chicken coop.
“Just one,” Venya whispered, eyeing the plump, clucking hens. “A donation to the majestic predator fund.”
He was just creeping under the fence when the rooster—massive, red-eyed, and apparently trained in martial arts—spotted him.
What followed was a blur of feathers, flailing, and a fox-shaped hole in the fence.
Venya limped away with a bruised ego and no chicken.
Next stop: the fishmonger by the river dock.
He found a basket of trout left outside the back door. Fresh, glistening, and unattended.
“Perfect,” he whispered.
But as he reached for it, a low growl stopped him cold. A rival—Boris the badger—was already there, one paw on the fish.
They locked eyes.
Two seconds later, the basket was flying, the fish were flopping, and Venya was sprinting through the woods with a fat trout clamped in his jaws and a badger hot on his heels.
He made it home just as the sun dipped below the hills. Luna lifted her head slightly as he collapsed in front of her, breathless, fish slightly squashed.
“For you,” he gasped, dramatic as always.
Luna regarded the fish. Sniffed. Then, with elegant efficiency, she devoured it.
Venya rolled onto his back, panting. “Was it worth it?” he asked the sky.
Luna licked her paw. “Depends. Is there dessert?”
He groaned.
“Maybe,” she added with a purr, “next time you’ll keep better stock.”
Venya muttered something unrepeatable.
But as Luna curled up beside him, full and content, her tail resting gently over his paw, Venya allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
Getting food for the panther was dangerous. It was chaotic. It was occasionally humiliating.
But it was also kind of fun.
