...Tails. You
listening, buddy?...
The night was old
and the Kitsune feasted upon his prey. He dug into its flesh with his
pointed teeth, letting the blood pool on the tip of chin. It dripped,
falling in specks down his shirt, or far down to the rich forest
soil. His midnight treat was a squirrel. Its flinching tail tickled
his cheeks. It bounced and jigged all over, flapping away as if were
a twitching insect. With the Kitsune's first bite it was alive, by
his fourth it wasn't. The squealing ceased, and he was alone. Thanks
the gods, he was alone, huge, engorged, bloody moon above him as he
leaned against the trunk of a tree, high, high above the ground. The
branch on which he sat was a thick one. The timberland was magical,
full of the spirits of the dead, of the imps of the forests, dancing
around him looking like fireflies in a disco club. The Kitsune's red
hair, which ballooned above the bandana across his forehead, looked
like a scalding tarn-- he was a fox-man. He wore tan rawhide like an
Indian, moccasins on his feet, clawed toes poking through the fabric.
The two blue bandanas on his head covered everything but his golden
eyes and his mouth, yes, yes, eating the varmint, gore spraying all
over him as he tore at it with his muzzle. On his back was a
beautiful onyx quiver of arrows which reflected an emerald color in
the moonlight, oddly enough, and across his should was the bow, long,
menacing. From his butt a bushy red tail.
The kill.
The kill was fresh
in his mouth. Eat it. Yes… Eat it… Enjoy it so…
You must be
hungry, Tails. Jeeeez.
A
chirping noise yelped in the night, and The Kitsune was relieved. It
was his partner, Ryuuji, who flew down to his shoulder. He was a
small lizard with wings, a drakeling-- he cooed and cawed, making
himself comfortable upon the Kitsune's shoulder. His wings were
bat-like, and his face resembled the rough skin newt. Brown with a
pebble-like texture, orange-belly advertising the poison which
coursed
through his cobalt blood, he was was sleepy, yawning.
The Kitsune licked
the last bone clean.
We've been
hunting all day. That man is a fricking mad man. It
was an ancient accent, the voice of a male child. It was Ryuuji,
speaking directly to him. One might call it telepathically, but in
truth it felt deeper than that, like invisible electric currents
jetting between them.
“How is he?”
the Kitsune said. It was a textured voice, like it had bounced
through hollow driftwood.
Young Ryuuji
snapped his teeth, looking almost annoyed that the question even had
to be asked. Stupid as ever. He keeps slamming into trees and
knocking himself out. He must sense he is close to home, the fool. He
will never reach home again. He is-”
“Enough,” the
Kitsune said.
He had been hunting
this man for weeks. No, not hunting really. More like trailing him,
making him think he would die at any moment. Kitsune were once
considered myth by the world, except for a few old Japanese men and
women. But these days they were very much a part of the now. His fox
tail wagged back and forth, not like a dog, more like the wave of the
ocean, perhaps, or a playful cat's. It had a mind of its own, some
might say, but that wasn't true. The fox-man controlled it, that
stupid tail. If he were to ever get caught in the world of men, it
would because of that stupid tail. The Kitsune was hungry still. The
squirrel was not enough. These past few weeks had been stressful on
him, and his master ate away at his mind as much as he at the
squirrel. Prodding him, begging him not to listen… the things he
asked. He felt like Abraham on the mountain, holding a knife above
his child, begging for the final Word not to come.
The Kitsune could
only hunt at night, it was true. The moon gave him power, and when
there was no moon there was no Kitsune. He was a dream creature-- and
in moments his outline seemed to fade like an image in water. It was
ripple, dance, making no logical sense. In the previous world this
may have disturbed the viewer. Now it was somehow possible, probable
in fact.
The man below him
was several miles back. He could hear him panting. He was crazed, but
not stupid. He was a noble man of Sir Jacob Adami's school. He was a
Koroki, a man of the samurai sword, forged of a mystical stone, found
ages back by a small man. This man was near death, but that didn't
mean he wasn't as dangerous. More so in fact. The Kitsune thought of
the hunt. The worst was when he had chased him across the open
plains. There was little cover there, and the beasts were fiercer,
ready for man-flesh. He was surprised any of the men in that original
party had survived this long. Thinking about Jacob Adami, my
friend? Your Master won't like that.
The
Kitsune shot Ryuuji a venomous glance. “It's none of your business,
wyrmling. Maybe I ought to eat you next.”
Ryuuji
didn't move. It almost looked like he shrugged his shoulders. Eat
away. You'll be pushing fire through your bowels for weeks.
The
Kitsune stifled a laugh which sounded like a deep
yip. He tossed Ryuuji the bone and the little dragon snapped it out
of air eagerly. Through Ryuuji's bites, the Kitsune spoke: “The
Master is coming. I can sense him. You better be far away from me
when he does young one. I cannot always control myself when he
pierces me.”
Don't
have to tell me twice, Tails. He
lunged into the air with the squirrel bone in his mouth, flying into
the darker night. The world was cooling, becoming quieter. It was as
if they all knew he was coming, the forest itself. The dragon looked
back at him but for a moment. Be careful, you stupid
Kitsune sonabitch. And then he
was gone in the night.
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