The Food Chain
A story by Rodney Jefferson Jr.
One cold night in the first month of winter, underneath the light of the full moon, a doe gave birth. She bore two healthy fawns, twins, a boy and a girl. Alone and separated from the rest of her herd, she nestled in close to her two young who were quivering in the frigid night air. Though she couldn’t understand the concept of aestheticism, her young fawns were exceptionally beautiful.
They were born strong and healthy, without blemish or ailment. Their mother gently licked them clean, exposing their white-speckled coats and soft, brown fur. Their young eyes twinkled in the light of the moon, and as new life continued to flood their nostrils with every breath, they drew in closer to their mother for warmth and for their first nursing. In the distance, the howls of wolves could be heard, but it was not close enough for the doe to sense imminent danger. Together in the safety and solitude of the foliage, the trio had rest.
The next day, the new mother left her fawns to forage for food. She stayed within the general vicinity of her young, but was far enough out of sight that the two were essentially on their own. Still not used to having legs, the twins remained motionless for most of the morning hours that their mother was gone. Occasionally, the sister would reposition herself before resuming the task of doing nothing. Her brother, on the other hand, was more active, and even attempted to walk once or twice before losing strength and returning to dormancy. Around mid-day, their mother returned to nurse and clean them, ridding them of scent, before setting off on her own once more.
This time, the sister fawn, in her boredom, decided to try her hand at walking. After falling twice, she rose a third time and stood on thin, wobbly legs, and walked in a mere circle around her brother. He, on the other hand, did not care, and remained motionless. Eventually their mother returned again, but this time visibly shaken. Her hairs stood on edge as her eyes darted all around the area. She smelled wolves, and they were coming increasingly close to their place of refuge. She swiftly took her fawns and attempted to move to another location, but she wouldn’t be quick enough. The wolves were bearing down on her, she could hear the sounds of their paws sprinting through the trees.
The doe had to change tactics for the safety of her young. She hid her fawns in a nearby area with dense overgrowth. Once they were hidden, she ran off in the opposite direction. Shortly after she fled, three large, gray wolves emerged and ran after her. The young fawns sat petrified in the foliage, eyes wide with fear, listening. Just then a fourth wolf emerged, moving slowly, sniffing for the doe’s young. It knew that they had to be close, but couldn’t locate where due to their lack of scent. After circling the area for a few minutes, it grew weary of the search and went after the rest of its pack. The two fawns would live to see another day.
Their mother was not so fortunate. The three wolves gave the doe chase for a while, eventually luring her out of the forrest completely, and continued to hound her until she was worn down. Then the fourth wolf emerged, having taken a different route of approach, and quickly ran up and bit her throat. The others saw their opportunity and attacked her from behind, eating her alive. Mere minutes later and she was dead, and the wolves couldn’t help but inhale their catch. It was their first meal in two weeks.
After eating, the wolves took as much of the leftover doe as they could carry in their mouths and set off back to their home- a small cave on the outskirts of the forrest. There, they had four little cubs waiting for their return. The brightness of the moon guided their path, and they soon arrived. They dropped and regurgitated the leftover doe and the pups quickly came and gorged themselves on the feast in front of them. They’d been starving.
With it being winter, prey was scarce, and thanks to the growing population of hunters in the area, securing a hearty meal like a buck was a difficult task for this pack of wolves. They’d have to settle for this doe. The pack was led by the mother and father of the four cubs, who were also the adoptive parents of the two other wolves who’d assisted with the hunt. The mother and father were an inseparable pair, having been mates since they were around three years old. They were now nearing the end of their lifespan, sitting at eight years old.
Though they were older, their vitality hadn’t forsaken them. They had to stay strong for their pups and adoptive sons. The pack was a tight-knit unit, inseparable even in the face of death. They’d migrated to their current dwelling three years prior after a miserably failed hunt on some moose resulted in the loss of three of their family members, two of which were the parents of the two orphaned brothers. They’d only taken on that risky hunt because they were starved. The hunters were slowly infiltrating and occupying every inch of the forrest. They were a foreign predator, one which the wolves had never seen.
As the pups finished their meal and began to wrestle with one another, the two alphas waited for them to settle before they themselves took their rest for the night. The two adoptive sons yawned and whimpered, anxious for the lack of food. They were still hungry. When they all finally settled down, they rested for the night. Before dawn of the next morning, the two brothers rose and decided to go out on their own in search of food.
They were young, inexperienced, and restless, but with the two of them together, they were confident that they’d be able to have success. They knew those two fawns from their last hunt had to still be out there- or better yet, they’d lead the wolves to a larger herd that they’d been separated from. The brothers set out without alerting their parents. It was an unauthorized hunt, the two would have to bear all the responsibility.
When the sun finally breached the horizon, it was a bright and perfect day, not a cloud in the sky. The air was chilled and refreshing. With nothing hindering their hunt, the young brothers easily navigated their way back into the forrest. Using their strong sense of smell, they sniffed out potential areas where their prey might be lurking. One of the brothers, the older of the two, smelled something promising- a wounded animal, about a mile away. The scent of fresh blood soon enveloped both of their nostrils as they sought out the source of the smell.
Soon enough they were within stalking range of their prey, and that’s when they saw it: partially hidden behind some underbrush, they could make out what appeared to be a dead buck. As they approached, they noticed it sitting alone, out in the open. It was surrounded by entrails and other gore, and the scent was strong, like it’d been dead and rotting for a while. It was eerily quiet, very still. The hairs on both of their backs rose. Something was off.
Though the wolves didn’t think in words, they instinctively knew that a dead buck surrounded by rotting entrails couldn’t be right. They would’ve smelled such a bounty last night. They were unaware of what was happening, but they knew they had to get away from that buck. As they backed away slowly, a single gunshot rang out before the wolves could blink. The older brother, caught unawares, scrambled in retreat.
The failure of their hunt was due, in part, to a lack of experience, but primarily because these young wolves had not truly understood the food chain. Assuming themselves at the top, they’d never have guessed they were already in the clutches of another. In any case, none of this mattered now. The older wolf could not leave his younger brother behind, even though the younger had died immediately. After his brief retreat, he soon returned for his brother. That’s when a second shot rang out, hitting the wolf in the stomach but not killing him as it did his sibling.
He managed to flee a bit, bleeding out as he went, before eventually staggering and collapsing a few hundred yards away. His gaze was fading in and out, and he was suffering. He didn’t know why he was suffering, but knew it was something serious. It was all he could do just to breathe. Then he watched as two biped creatures appeared, seemingly from thin air, and began walking towards him.
With each drawn out blink they drew closer, until they were right on top of him. Hunters, carrying large rifles, baring their teeth in wide grins. A terrifying sight the wolf had never seen before, nor would he ever see again. These, he realized, were the ones above him in the food chain. With that knowledge now in mind, the wolf died.
“Good shot, son,” said one of the hunters.
“Thanks. We can mount this one on the wall, and use the other for a new rug.”
Welcome to the newly branded Feohtan Productions, formerly Rodney’s Spiritual Fiction. I hope this story, kicking off the new branding, finds you well. This story, which is the final work that I’ll publish in 2025, felt like the perfect piece to end the year with and usher in this rebrand, one centered around what it means to fight.
Fight (noun): 1. a battle or combat. 2. a contest or struggle. 3. an argument or quarrel. (Verb) 4. To contend or strive, with or against.
To live is to fight; with oneself, with another, with nature. Even with God, we wrestle. Each new day is a new battle. That is what it means to be alive. If we don’t fight, we won’t live. The word “fight” comes from the old english word “feohtan.”
Feohtan Productions will demonstrate, through literary media, what it means to live and to fight. In 2026, you can expect the re-release of the first four chapters of The Firmament, enhanced and reworked to fit the ever-expanding narrative, as well as chapters 5, 6, and 7. Stay tuned, and thanks for your support.
great story to conclude the year!