Isabelle Rowan - Furborn

Table of Contents

By Isabelle Rowan

Foxes are vermin.

Australian sheep farmers regard them as an enemy to be shot on sight and hung from the branches of an old gum tree.

But not all foxes are just foxes.

Connor Coutts could be the last surviving male Furborn in Victoria, maybe in the whole country, a heavy burden for a teenager. His lifes path is clearprotect whats left of the Furborn line. That is until someone new arrives at the MacKenzie sheep farm. Spencer MacKenzie, with his long black hair and gothic style, is a strange sight in Connors forest, but Fate throws the two teenagers together to save their families.

Can Connor trust Spencer to keep his life-or-death secret, or will he hang on the tree?

For magical beings past, present, and future. Dream big, love bigger, and dance joyfully in the moonlight.

WITHOUT THE constant encouragement of my mum to go and write, Id never get anything finished.

My great friends Syl (beastie), Jacqui, Jen, and Matt who know me well enough to put up with my insecurities and migraines. The gorgeous people at my writing caf where I take up space nursing one long black coffee for an hour or two.

Not forgetting the beautiful Vana who helped me be brave!

SPENCER

USELESS LIMBS dangled from the low branch of an ancient gum tree. They swayed in a macabre trot when caught by a warm spring breeze. The once vibrant red fur was ripped open and picked over by carrion birds so only remnants of the animal remained.

Spencer grimaced. Thats disgusting.

Neil MacKenzie halted his horse and looked up at the tree. Theyre a pest here, Spence.

Yeah I know, he said and fiddled with the fine gray hair of his horses mane. But do they have to hang them up there?

Most dont, but Foxs Hangout has been here for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, I found what was left of one of our lambs after a fox attack, so my dad brought me to this tree.

So Granddad thought that showing you these dead animals would make you feel better about the other one. Someone should chop this tree down. Spencer knew it was a stupid thing to say, but his mood nosedived with each and every day he spent on the farm.

His father shot him a look. and hed seen it enough times to know what it meant. Yeah I get it, Dad, but it still seems wrong to treat an animal that wayeven a dead one.

Ill remind you of that the next time youre chewing on a Sunday roast.

He refused to give his dad the satisfaction of an answer and urged Smokey to walk on. The horse sidestepped his way past the tree, and for once Spencer didnt correct him. Its okay, Smoke, I dont like it either.

Hes a city horse, his dad said. Hell get used to all the strange new sights and smells.

Im not sure I will. Spencer paused. Just how long are we going to stay?

That depends. Your granddad is a stubborn man, Spencer. He isnt able to run the farm as well as he used to, but wont ask for help or give it up.

Mum told me you want him to sell it and move closer to us.

Like I said, hes stubborn. He believes his cheviots will die out if he doesnt keep the breed going.

Theyre just sheep.

A really old breed, and there arent that many in Australia.

Spencer sighed, there was no point in arguing with his dad when it came to the family sheep. Smokey snorted and without warning swung his rump around to back into the other horse. Luckily, Rocky was a bombproof farm horse and stood his ground.

Cut it out, Spencer scolded but glanced in the direction of whatever startled Smokey. Someone was watching them. He was perched on the top rail of a fence staring with a look that definitely wasnt a country welcome. Spencer smiled. The boy didnt smile back. He slid down from the fence, turned his back on them, and walked into the gloom of the eucalypt forest. The last thing Spencer noticed was the swing of his long red plait.

Hmm, it seems that not all the neighbors are friendly, Neil said and turned Rocky toward home. Come on, lets get back. Your mum and Nan will have breakfast on the table, and heaven forbid you miss out on your strips of crispy, dead pig.

CONNOR

USELESS LIMBS dangled from the low branch of an ancient gum tree. They swayed in a macabre trot when caught by a warm spring breeze. The once vibrant red body had provided nourishment for the carrion birds so only remnants of the animal remained. The tail hung lifeless except for the small finch gathering hairs to line her nest. Connor watched her progress until her beak sprouted a bushy beard of fox fur. He smiled sadly because despite the death of a fox, he acknowledged her need to prepare for her babies. The little bird reached for one more hair, but fluttered away from the tail and flew quickly toward the safety of the forest.

Warm earthy smells of horses reached Connor. He lifted his face to take in the scent of hide and hair blended with grass and dirt from nearby paddocks. It was a good smell, but there were othersworn leather of saddles and the humans who rode them. Connor sat very still under the shadow of a gum tree.

Thats disgusting, the boy on the gray horse said. Connor silently agreed with him. It was disgusting to hang such a noble animal in the air rather than letting him feed the earth with his decay. But Connor understood that wasnt what sparked the boys disgusthe knew all about human hatred of foxes and their constant battle against the natural order of life.

He scowled at their conversation about sheep and the abomination of the fox tree until the boy said something that surprised him.

Yeah I get it, but it still seems wrong to treat an animal that wayeven a dead one.

Connor looked at him a little more carefully. Spencer thats what his father called him. He was around his age, maybe younger. His hair was short and dark and his skin paletoo pale to be a local. He didnt smell of the land. Connor wrinkled his nose. No, it wasnt that he didnt smell of the land, but that there were too many other chemical smells masking it.

He leaned forward on the fence and his movement caught the attention of the gray horse. You dont know my kind do you, horse? Connor thought when it snorted.

Spencer corrected the horse and looked directly at him.

He smiled.

Connor didnt smile back.

You dont know my kind either, Spencer.

Connor slid off the rail and turned his back on them. Leaf litter curled around his toes, but there was barely a crunch or crackle to herald his return to the forest.

SPENCER SLOUCHED in the back of the car as Marilyn Manson blared through his headphones blocking out the family chatter. He knew it was old-school music, but he didnt care, his parents hated it, so that was a good start. It also added fuel to the standard parent question to teenagers in black are you on drugs? Spencer wasnt. Hed managed to avoid that scene at schoolnot through any moral judgment, but he chose to spend his money on other things. He briefly flirted with the idea when the Soundwave Metal Music festival was killed off and he had his ticket money ready and waiting, but a new pair of Doc Martens swallowed his savings.

Almost there, his little sister shouted in his face. Emily wasnt even born the last time Spencer visited the family farm. That was five years ago, almost six, and this time it wasnt a visit. Pa Mac had had another stroke, and Spencers nan couldnt run the place on her own. So boxes were packed, trucks loaded, and the whole MacKenzie family headed north.

Spencer pulled off his headphones and asked, How do you know were almost there?