Mia spotted it the moment she stepped outside: a small orange shape pressed against the far wall of the garden, half-hidden beneath the sprawling rosebush.
She moved slowly, the way her grandfather had taught her to move around animals — no sudden steps, no noise. Her breath came in careful, measured pulls. The morning air smelled of damp grass and something sharper, wild and unfamiliar.
It was a fox cub. Tiny, no bigger than a cat. Its eyes were shut, and its narrow sides rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. One of its hind legs was stretched out at an odd angle, and there were a few flecks of dried mud on its reddish-brown fur. It did not try to run.
'You're hurt,' Mia whispered, though she knew it couldn't understand her.
She backed away and went inside. Her mum was still in her dressing gown, cradling a mug of tea.
'There's a fox cub in the garden,' Mia said. 'It can't move properly. I think its leg might be broken.'
Her mum set down the mug. 'Don't touch it,' she said at once. 'Wild animals are frightened when they're hurt. Even small ones can bite.'
Mia nodded. She already knew that. But she had also noticed something else — the way the cub's ears had twitched when she spoke, as though it was listening. As though it was waiting.
Her mum telephoned the wildlife rescue centre while Mia kept watch from the back door. She sat on the cold step, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes fixed on the rosebush. A magpie landed on the fence above the cub and rattled its call into the quiet morning. The cub flinched but did not move.
Twenty minutes passed. Then a van pulled up at the side gate, and a woman with a green fleece and a large canvas bag came through into the garden. She had a pair of thick gloves and a plastic carry crate with air holes in the sides. She moved quickly and confidently, crouching low, her voice a steady murmur.
'You've done exactly the right thing by not handling him,' she told Mia as she worked. 'A lot of people try to help and end up making things worse.'
Mia watched as the woman gently guided the cub into the crate with a piece of folded fleece. The cub made a single high sound — not quite a bark, not quite a cry — and then went quiet.
'Will he be all right?' Mia asked.
The woman latched the crate. 'I've seen worse,' she said. 'He's young and he's strong. We'll get that leg looked at, keep him warm, let him rest. He should be back out there in a few weeks.'
She carried the crate to the van. Mia stood at the gate and watched until the van turned the corner and disappeared. The garden felt very still and very large without him.