I can never forget that fox.

His laugh, his cheery antics, and his optimistic attitude. It never failed to make anyone feel like as though they were at home, like an extended member of his family. Hardworking would be too poor a term to describe at how the vulpine would go about his duties. Every step he took had this little magical bounce, the energy of a young kit entrapped within the red and white exterior.

I had been recently transferred to the field office. This meant trekking up some unnamed hill in the middle of nowhere, with only the natives of the region to guide me, and operating out of a hole in the mountain. Well, to call it a "hole in the mountain" would be wrong, because it was really an office with one of the most spectacular views of flora and fauna in all the land. Even though the walls were carved crudely out of rock and our desks were nothing but rough wood stumps, it was little wonder that the members of the Department of Natural Studies and Wildlife Preservation called this their "home away from home".

Being an avid photographer in my colt days, I made arrangements to stay with them for a fortnight. That would give me more than enough time to catch a few good shots as well as to bond with the few strangers that shared a similar passion for the natural world. As daunting as being marooned in a cave sounded, the place was well equipped with a generator, Internet connectivity through a satellite feed, and enough sleeping arrangements for a small family.

There were not many from the Department that chose to work up here. It was a minimal crew, at best, with only two other canines beside that fox. But it was a good atmosphere, and a very tight-knit one too.

For the time that I spent up there, my guides took me on their daily trips up and down the mountain slopes. It was clear that I was more built for the city rather than the hot, humid conditions. Sweat drenched my clothes and I was exhausted just trying to keep the pace they were setting. Their large knifes slashed through thick foliage like a hot knife through butter, though I was more concerned on trying to keep the mosquitoes from biting me. But for that effort, I was rewarded handsomely with the most glorious of pictures, from wild, exotic flowers to the daily routines of jungle animals.

However, the best part of the trip would have to be the outings that I went on with that fox. Every journey we took together, we would continue to make light chatter until the next watering hole. Here, we set up our crude tent and lay inside, waiting for the jungle to converge on this little oasis in the middle of this leafy desert. I had my camera; batteries and loads of memory cards lay out before me, ready to capture a piece of untouched beauty.

It was here that I got to know the fox better. We would have whispered conversations, talking about our families and our diverse backgrounds. I never really grasped his name, but it was as though we had been long-lost friends reuniting after so long. There was so much that we shared so much in common, our passion for nature and the sheer enjoyment of being away from the intense city life.

Of course, out here in the wild, anything could happen. And in this case, Mother Nature was about to deal her worst.

The team was tracking a freak storm on the satellite. It had been brewing over the sea for a number of days and weather advisories were pouring onto the screen of the dedicated computer terminal tuned to these broadcasts. I wasn't a weather scientist, but I knew enough to know that the giant red blob on the satellite images were an ominous sign. And although we were inland, the fact that the storm was making a beeline straight for us was an indication that our departure was going to be delayed by a few days at least. The fox didn't say anything about the bad weather, choosing only to sit on the end of the path that led up to our office in the sky and stare into the direction of the approaching storm.

I thought nothing of that.

The next few days led up to the preparation of the storm. Although it was now inland, the reports we were getting never stopped underscoring just how bad it was going to be. To make things worse, we were on the first mountain that the storm was going to hit. Violent winds and lashing rains filled my head as I lent a hand in securing any loose items. While the cave didn't have a front door of sorts, the sleeping quarters were housed deeper in the cave, and fortifying it seemed like the best idea.

The next few hours were the tense periods, simply waiting for the storm to blow over and pass overhead. All of us tried to put up a calm face, but considering the situation, it wasn't hard to believe that everyone was just as scared as the other. I took a breather outside, as well as to check on the progress of the storm. Already, the winds had started to pick up and the sky was overcast. I spotted the fox standing by the edge of the path, staring out over the expanse of wavering green.

"How does it feel like to fly?" came the fox's question as I approached him.

"To fly?" I responded, puzzled at his question. "Like, on a plane?"

The fox laughed, keeping his sights set for the mass of black cloud in the distance.

"No, not on a plane. Like a bird, with wings outstretched. How does it feel to have the air lift your body high, high up? To be suspended in mid-air with nothing beneath your paws?"

I listened without a reply. He turned and saw the look of worry on my muzzle, and I truly believed that he might have been considering doing something crazy. Amidst all this chaos, he had the calmest expression of us all. As much as I wanted to believe he feared this storm as badly as the rest of us, something told me he wasn't.

"Don't worry," he smiled.

He sent me back inside where I helped put on the finishing touches to the preparations. I stored my gear in waterproof bags and hid them to one side. Then, the thought of capturing a storm on photographs gave me a sudden burst of courage. I picked one of my cameras, slipped a plastic bag over it and made my way to the entrance of the cave.

And that was when our ears popped.

The roar of the wind started to pick up and I dashed the remaining distance to the entrance just to catch a single shot of the storm. When I got there, however, I froze in my tracks. The fox was standing with his back towards me, not moving a single muscle. The two other canines appeared beside me and started shouting for him to come back in. And just as they called out his name, the roar deafened everything. It was then that he turned, the smile on his face reminiscent of passengers giving loved ones a sense of reassurance just before going off on a trip.

And then it hit me.

The fox raised a hand towards us, mouthing silent words before the grey winds engulfed him. In the moments that followed, all I could remember was falling down to the floor, staring that this wall of moving air that screamed past. The time that I had come to spend with that fox seemed to speed by as well.

When the winds had died, I scrambled out to the spot where the fox had been standing. He wasn't there. I glanced all around the path, anticipating that he might have clung on to something or was hiding in some crevice. Nothing. I looked up to the sky and saw that the circular column of air was now retreating into the Heavens. The black mass of cloud passing over us, dissipating rapidly as it lost strength.

I was speechless. So were the other two canines.

In the moments that followed, we sat huddled together at the entrance of the cave, watching the clouds retreat to reveal a clear night sky. Then, when the entire canvas of stars had been splayed out, we were treated to a mystical, magical sight. Streaks of light decorated the sky from left to right; calm amidst the calamity. A meteor shower, I deduced out of my emotionally fogged brain. I mindlessly picked up my camera and began to snap away. And as I looked through the viewfinder of my camera, I became constantly reminded on the last few seconds before the fox was swept away.

We sat out in the open for as long as the light show continued. Some time later, one of the wolves began to share the real story of that fox.

As it turns out, the fox had come up here to die. Cancer, he explained, and it was not one of those that could be easily treated. One of the incurable kinds. Doctors had given him only a few more months to live. I looked up towards the Heavens, leaned my head against the rough rock, and gave a small laugh amidst a choked sob. The other canines wore sad smiles of their own; as tragic as the loss of their friend was, the disease was the greater tragedy.

The meteor shower was now reaching its peak, the sky looking more like swaths of light against an ebony canvas. We watched, until day broke.

It was time to head home. The two others were coming with me to report the death of their co-worker. I don't remember how I got down the mountain, or how I managed to make it to the airport in the following days. But I did. The two canines, a pair of grey-coloured wolves now that I remember, saw me off that night. I got on the plane and started my journey halfway around the world back home. I couldn't help staring out the window of my entire journey; the fox's questions still resonated in my head as though he had just said it yesterday.

Everything that happened after was a blur. That is, until I downloaded the photographs from my trip onto my computer. I watched the thumbnails as they were progressively transferred onto my computer. Familiar pictures sped by, reminding me even more of the missing presence of the red vulpine. It was then when I spotted the grey blur of a mysterious photo. Suddenly intrigued, I browsed through my library of photographs until I found it.

I couldn't believe my eyes. It was a shot of the fox's silhouette disappearing into the winds that would carry him away, framed by the rough edges of the mountain entrance. I contemplated on how that could happen, dwelling on the probability that it was the air pressure that caused the shutter to fire. I stared at the shot for hours on end, before reaching for my mouse. I began to clean up the picture, enhancing the brightness and contrast before printing it out. And when it did come out of the printer, I stared at the photograph even longer.

I could see the outline of his body. I could see his ears, erect and to attention. I could see the outline of his bushy tail between his legs. And I could see the raised hand bidding the camera a fond farewell, as if to say, "see you again" or "we'll meet someday". Immortalised onto this photograph was a fox who was well aware of his mortality. And he wasn't afraid to live up to it.

A year later, I returned back to the mountainside office. The two wolves were still there, and welcomed me with open arms. Over a familiar campfire dinner, I presented the chance photograph to them and we began to tell our stories to one another about this fox. As we made our way towards the fateful spot, we stood together, eyes cast to once again clear skies. As the stars twinkled, I relived that day's events, replaying it in my head.

"It would have been what he wanted," I quietly spoke up. "To be flying like a bird, with wings outstretched. To have his body lifted high, high up. To be suspended in mid-air with nothing beneath his paws. To be free of his physical constraints and to be caught in that one moment when the world seemed to stop revolving."

The three of us huddled together in front of the fire, keeping our gazes trained to the skies above. Vaguely, I could see his muzzle before it disappeared behind the swirling winds. I could see his lips moving, mouthing a word amidst all the noise. And in that moment, I realised what he was trying to say. I realised the words he was trying to convey before he was released from this Earth.

"You're welcome," I whispered my reply to the wind and was met with a gentle breeze.

And for a split second, I felt myself soaring high above the clouds, free and alive. For a split second, I finally understood what the fox wanted. And in a split second, I shed a tear for the fox, glad that he now could live out his dreams and fly like the birds, with wings outstretched, towards greater things that would await him.