[ Men pay great money for the capture of shapeshifters like Yan. Traders want their fur or their “company,” whatever fetches a higher price, and they will set traps or hire hands to fill demand. Gold is an alluring call, and it makes existing near villages dangerous. Or if not for their skin, they would be hunted for presumable responsibility for ransacking a farm or murdering (most often) a village’s young men. For one reason or another, Yan learned that she would be at great risk, just for what she was.
But despite what threat humans and other races posed, Yan’s mother taught Yan to appreciate culture, to look for conversation and stories in the towns. She showed Yan their food, their music – but she also made certain her daughter knew that they did not need humans. They didn’t need elves or dwarves, the scrutiny or companionship of anyone not their own; there’s a danger in trusting others, and the latent magic that clings to their kind makes for unwanted and unintended connections.
Yan’s mother died at the hands of a bounty hunter, hired to catch her and hand her over to the merchant whose very son had plagued Tsiao-jung’s past months. The young man had seen her caught in a chicken coop, trying to hunt, and when she transformed to escape, his infatuation ensnared her, calling to her, despite how little she wanted to do with him.
The bounty hunter brought Tsiao-jung’s head to the merchant, and Yan was left to grow as a pup on her own.
Despite the horrors of men and the dangers of traders seeking her hide, Yan still allowed herself to visit small villages and cities. She kept her head down, walked with a cloak and a hood so as not to draw attention to herself, and it meant she could enjoy the music of bards or the acrobats performing in the streets.
She’d retreat to hunt, but she always found herself returning to the cities.
Unfortunately for her, men will always be men. As she sat to listen to a traveling bard spinning his tales outside of a tavern, one of the knights patrolling caught sight of her. That night, she heard his call in the darkness, so far, so relentless. It was a distraction when she hunted, and he wouldn’t shut up. Eventually, in the same way her mother had visited the merchant’s son, Yan went to the knight – to tell him to leave her alone. She intended to frighten him by appearing before him, to shift from her fox form into the one he’d found so enticing and back again. She climbed the stone walls, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, until she climbed into the knight’s window where the distracting sounds kept calling to her. She wouldn’t risk the same fate her mother had suffered; she figured that if she dealt with it quickly – frightened him away from her – she’d be free.
The knight woke when Yan dropped into his bedroom, already drawing his sword, but as he watched her shift in front of his eyes, his gaze went from wild and dangerous to— a different sort of aggression. Yan bared her teeth, snarled as the knight rose from his bed to reach for her.
”Stop calling for me, or I’ll eat your heart,” she snapped, but the knight continued to advance. Yan stepped away from him; he stepped closer. He grabbed for her, and in that instant, Yan ducked, shifting mid-step. His fist closed around two of her tails, and as she struggled to break free, the knight grabbed for the scruff of her neck.
In the ensuing struggle, Yan snapped and clawed at him with all the fierce violence of a trapped animal. She drew blood easily, and the knight only responded in kind. She could hear the moment his infatuation vanished to anger (the absence of his psychic cries in her mind) as he reached for his sword.
Her fangs found his throat before he could strike.
Bloodied, sore, shaking, Yan left him in a gurgling heap as noise from the rest of the house accompanied the illuminating of lamps.
Yan made a hasty escape to find a place to lick her wounds.
The next two nights proved— treacherous.
She heard tell in the town of a bounty placed for the murder of a knight – a shapeshifter, they were saying, had to be responsible. He had to have been bewitched. It was a danger to the whole town; she had to be caught.
It was time for Yan to flee.
She only makes it halfway through the forrest, on her way to somewhere new, when a tricky lure draws her into a thicket. She smells rabbit (and gods, she’s hungry), and her paws creep silently through the grass, forward, slow, following scents—
She doesn’t know the trap is there until magic melts away from the bars of a small cage and the door snaps closed. She yelps, immediately whirling to try and shove herself against the walls, until another spell snaps around her ankle. She feels something in her paw crack, and she can’t help the howl of pain that escapes her.
Fear and panic make her continue to struggle and fight against the cage.
She has to get out, she has to get out, she has to get out— ]
[ Peter always dreamed about becoming an adventurer when he was young, when he listened to songs and stories about great warriors and mages battling evil forces to protect the innocents of the world. Light versus dark, good versus bad, where the heroes always prevailed, and the bad guys were brought to justice or to a swift end. It was all he thought about as a child. He imagined himself taking up a magical sword or bow and joining the annals of history as a great warrior, of being a hero to the small – well-respected and well-loved.
Then he was taken from home, and while mercenary work isn’t exactly the same as adventuring, it shares a few common denominators.
So here’s the thing: it’s not quite as glamorous as he imagined it would be.
Because there’s some ugly shit in the world, and Peter was forced to learn this at a young age. Demons and devils and monsters and aberrations. Things that will swallow you whole. Things that can banish you to another realm. Things that can turn you to stone with a single glance. Things that can kill you with a word, a touch, or even just a simple look.
And that’s just the obvious stuff.
But then there’s just the general ugliness. Greedy folks who will turn to any means necessary to find wealth. Angry folks who will unleash untold hells on anyone who wronged them. Sadistic folks who just enjoy inflicting pain. Folks who just don’t care, and folks who are just too stupid to care.
And then there’s the just plain ugly, which is probably the most apt description of what Peter’s currently doing. It’s basically a scavenger hunt, at this point: picking the flower of some rare plant that only blooms in the twilight hour, scraping off the moss from the westernmost part of the oldest tree in the forest, and tracking down the droppings of a gold-faced marten, rare and endemic to the region and said to have fey ancestry.
A local alchemist had recruited him to find ingredients for an experimental potion, and while the pay is good, it’s menial tasks like these that make Peter briefly consider taking up more ordinary work. Because he’s been trying to find this goddamn rodent for three goddamn days, and if he has to spend one more day searching, he might actually hang it all up and open a tavern.
His luck seems to turn around, though, when finally spots a gold-faced marten climbing a tree. Peter lets out a sigh of relief, figuring he can track it for a while, wait for it to do its business, and finally be on his way. He crouches down, only a whisper of movement to give him away, and waits.
Which is about when an unholy howl breaks the relative quiet, and the marten goes darting off through the branches. Peter curses, trying to give chase, but he quickly loses sight of it in the treetops after a handful of seconds.
It’s decided, then. Peter is opening a tavern.
He scrubs his face, taking a deep breath to quell the frustration clawing at the back of his sternum, before lifting his head again. He can still hear the faint animal noises of panic and a metallic rattle. Some poor little bastard that stumbled into a hunter’s trap, if Peter had to guess. Far be it from Peter to deny a hunter of his livelihood.
He takes a few steps in a halfhearted attempt to go after the marten, but he pauses. He’s always had a soft spot for animals, ever since he was a kid. Sure, some animals can be goddamn punks and might need a good kick, but he’s never liked leaving things while they were clearly in trouble.
He lets out a sharp sigh, heading in the direction of the noise.
It’s easy enough to find, and he steps into the clearing, glancing around the area. Just the one cage, it looks like, currently occupied by a fox – a larger than average one, too, which gives him some pause. Still, given that magic is a thing in this world, it doesn't stop him for too long. He approaches slowly, hands raised. ]
Easy, there. [ He pitches his voice low, quiet. ] You're gonna hurt yourself.
[ Yan's keen ears immediately catch the sound of boots in the brush, and her heart thunders faster against her ribs. A hunter, she thinks with rising panic. Come to check his trap.
The triggered trap spell has turned itself into a tight cord around her ankle, digging into her fur and putting pressure on the broken bones. Every time she pulls at it, agony lances through her leg – but what choice does she have? She can't shift in this small cage, and changing with the cord still in place will only worsen whatever damage has been done. But she can't stay here like this, simply waiting for her pursuer to find her caught so neatly in his clutches.
Panting sharply, Yan pulls at her paw, trying to throw herself against the walls of the cage. She's strong, obviously stronger than a normal fox, and if she can just—
The brush parts to reveal the human approaching her. Her struggling becomes more frantic as she tries to shove herself into the back corner of the cage, fangs bared, haste making her clumsy enough that she steps on her own tails in the small trap. She snarls, her ears flattening against her skull as she snaps in warning at the human.
(She's too frightened to find it strange that he's trying to be soothing; part of her can only assume that the appearance of a human, here, is because the traps belong to him.) ]
[ He backs off a little hands still raised – a habitual gesture, considering he doubts the fox understands this near universal symbol for I'm not going to go for a weapon, so please don't go for yours. ]
Easy. [ That same quiet delivery. ] I'm not gonna hurt you.
[ She stops struggling as violently when he backs away, her panting still heavy as she watches him. Her eyes narrow and her jaws snap again – "I'd like to see you try it."
But— why would he tell her that he doesn't intend to hurt her? What would be the point of a lie from a hunter whose already ensnared his quarry?
She stops frantically pulling at the cord around her paw (and gods, it hurts), and she finally settles enough to watch him, to wait for his next move.
[ Now that the fox has settled to watch him – judge him, a small voice corrects helpfully, but it's a goddamn fox, for crying out loud – he finally spots the magical cord around her ankle and hisses in a breath, wincing. ]
Well, that's just pointless.
[ And he mumbles it to himself. If an animal gets stuck in the cage, what's the point of the snare? It's like knocking a dude out and kicking him while he lies unconscious on the ground. Adding insult to injury.
Or— well, in this case, it looks more like adding injury to insult, but that's splitting hairs.
He slowly approaches again – even slower than before, given the fox's wariness. It's pretty, he notes. Bigger than most foxes he's seen, but again, that could be for a lot of reasons. Maybe it got into someone's magical trash. Maybe it ate some weird, enchanted rats. Maybe its den was on a ley line, or near some portal to the Feywild.
This world is wild like that. ]
I'm just gonna look at the cage, all right?
[ He doesn't expect it to understand him, but he figures the calm tone can't hurt. ]
Maybe I can see about getting you out before someone tries to make you into a stole.
[ "Look at the cage," he says. So he can try to get her... out?
Wariness tries to stay her immediate flicker of excitement and hope. She hasn't completely forgotten about the existence of human kindness, the fact that it exists in the first place, but—
Life has proven to her that she shouldn't expect it.
She goes still as she watches him approach closer, and she lowers herself down – a position that would allow her to spring and snap at him with teeth, if she has to, but one that's arguably more relaxed.
(Watching, instead of trying to struggle away or frighten him off.) ]
[ He lets out a slow breath as the fox ostensibly relaxes, though he's still careful to move deliberately. ]
There you go. Just take it easy, okay?
[ He doesn't immediately touch the cage – mostly because he spots an arcane runes etched into a few bars. He crouches beside it, studying them for a while. Peter has never had a formal education in magic, but he's at least picked up enough over the course of his work to recognize a few basic symbols. ]
Looks like it's just an invisibility spell.
[ Which he guesses is standard enough, given how clever some creatures could be.
He shifts around to the cage's door, which is etched with a new set of runes. He peers at them, tongue caught between his teeth as he tries to remember their use. ]
A locking spell, I think. Shouldn't be too hard to deal with, though.
[ He reaches into his bag, pulling out his set of lock picks. ]
Whoever set this up is gonna be pissed I'm letting you go.
[ He says it idly as he's selecting his tools, pulling them out and peering at the lock. ]
You're lucky I was around, otherwise you'd probably be sewn into a coat by this time tomorrow.
[ Yan watches his every move for signs of deceit or an attack, but he's... actually doing what he said he would. Her ears perk up as he explains the relative simplicity of the magic on the cage (which, she thinks, means she probably could have broken free with enough force and adrenaline to ignore her paw). Her eyes follow the movement as he reaches for his bag, until he produces the picks, leaving her to (mostly) relax again.
He seems to mostly be speaking to himself, unless he legitimately knows what she is, and while she's sure he isn't expecting a response, she gives a huffed-out growl at the mention of becoming a coat. She genuinely has no idea what would be done with her, specifically, if she was being caught in response to the knight's death; it could also be a case of "wrong place, wrong time" as far as stumbling onto a hunter's trap, but she's close enough to the last town that she wouldn't count out hunters looking for her. ]
[ He sets to work on the lock, gaze going a little distant as he concentrates on moving the tumblers aside. It's tricky, given that magic's involved, but it's not anything he hasn't dealt with before.
He chalks up the fox's growl as wariness again, and while he doesn't stop what he's doing, he still offers up quietly, ]
Just dealing with the lock. I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to bite me through the bars while I'm working on this.
[ As if a show of good faith, Yan lowers her head, resting it on her good paws. She doesn't stop watching him closely, but she doesn't seem to be coiled and ready to strike, either.
[ With the spell cast on the lock, it takes longer than normal shift all the tumblers out of the way and turn the lock. Eventually, though, it clicks open, and he holds the door closed while he sets his tools back into his kit, setting it aside. ]
Do me a favor? Please don't try to pounce on me the second this is open?
[ Though the fox looks like it's cooperating, for now – or at least, it doesn't look like it's coiled and ready to strike. Some animals are smart, he guesses; occasionally, they can figure out intentions. The fox must realize he's trying to help.
Slowly, he opens the cage door, and while the fox isn't tense, Peter is, ready to move in case the fox changes its mind about trying to attack. He knows that the snare around its leg means it won't get far, but he'd rather not take any chances. ]
[ Yan's ears twitch and perk with the sound of the lock finally giving way, and she lifts her head, eager. Her tails lift and start to flick back and forth, but there's no outward aggression as soon as Peter is pulling the door open for her. She gets to her feet, though her first step forward reminds her of her broken paw and the snare still around her ankle; an unconscious little yelp escapes as she stumbles when she tries to walk out of the cage.
She can only get two steps past the door, and then the snare is stretched taut again. ]
[ She makes a protesting noise of pain when Peter reaches for the cord, but she doesn't whirl on him with her teeth. She lowers to the ground again, putting less pressure on the snare as she waits for Peter to sort it out.
Yan is still terrified (because how can she not be?), and she's watching him with a well-deserved wariness, but she's also lost the prepared edge that had left her ready to pounce on him, to take a finger or three if he'd made to betray her tentative trust. ]
[ It's a good sign, he figures, that the fox doesn't whip around and take his hand off. In all likelihood, it's just waiting for him to deal with the problem so it can limp off and lick its wounds.
He glances over at it – lush white fur and nine tails.
For a second, he pauses, something nagging at the back of his mind, before he moves on. ]
You know, you seriously owe me.
[ This, mostly mumbled to himself. ]
I've been trying to track some weasel down for, like, three days, and you scared it off. I'll be lucky if I can find another one.
[ It's a magical cord, which means he can't simply untie the thing and free the creature. There's a trick to it, and he follows the line of the cord to a point in the cage. The cord seems to be magically anchored in the center of another rune – painted, this time, rather than etched directly into the metal. Meant to be temporary, then, if he had to guess.
On a hunch, he slowly pulls out the dagger sheathed on his belt at his back. He frowns at the rune for a second, face scrunching with uncertainty (his expression asks, Can it really be that easy?), before he carefully starts scraping away the paint. ]
Don't move too much. You're gonna hurt yourself worse.
[ The mention of a weasel is enough to pique Yan's interest, because she knows the creatures that live in this forest.
(The gold-faced marten? she has to wonder. They're rare, sought-after, and she wouldn't be surprised if this man had been searching for one.)
She doesn't yip, chitters softly instead, quizzical almost, but she's tensing when she sees him draw his dagger. She isn't gearing up to attack, but it's never wise to stay at ease around a deadly weapon. Her worries are misplaced, and he's going for whatever holds the snare. She watches as he starts to scrape at the magic – still, patient but on edge, Yan waits.
Finally, after the rune is disrupted properly, the cord melts away in a spark of magic dissipating – to leave behind a dark, black mark in the fur of Yan's paw.
A tracking rune.
Yan immediately gets to her feet, holding her paw up to keep weight off of it – which severely hinders how she moves, but she's at least standing as she watches Peter with his dagger. ]
when u realize ur comment never posted and have to rewrite it from memory
[ The look of surprise that flashes across his face seems to say, Apparently it was that easy.
He doesn’t put his dagger away, mostly because he’s just as wary as the fox is. The fox doesn’t look like it’s liable to attack, but Peter would rather have a means to defend himself, just in case. (And how much would that suck, to have wasted all this time freeing it, only to be forced to put it down, should it decide to lash out in fear?) ]
Please don’t bite me. [ For the umpteenth time, and while he doesn’t put the dagger away, he does, at least, relax his grip a little and lower it. He rocks back to put a little more space between them. ] I’m not gonna hurt you.
[ In general, the fox is looking a little worse for wear, and Peter can’t tell how bad the damage is on its leg. But given how tight the cord was and how the fox is favoring the paw, he assumes that it might have broken something.
But it’s the dark mark that catches his attention, stark against the fox’s white fur. He vaguely recognizes the basic shape of it, and he frowns a little. ]
[ Yan can see the way Peter is still looking at her paw, and she turns her head, tentatively lifting her foot to see the mark standing starkly on her fur.
Oh no.
She glances away from the mark, looking up at Peter, and when she chitters again, she nods – a very clear agreement. ]
[ There’s not much he can do about the mark – he gets the feeling that it won’t be easily removed with a bit of chipping, like the cage’s painted rune. He runs his tongue over his teeth, thoughtful, before he freezes.
Then, he jerks his head up to meet the fox’s gaze. ]
That initial burst of shock hits him again, and he shuffles back a little, putting space between them. Some wild creatures were far smarter than they looked, and fey creatures especially liked to blindside you with their intelligence. Some of them were just pricks like that. But devils could do the same, and so could demons, and so could any number of things that had the ability to disguise themselves.
Peter is definitely far more wary than he was before, and it shows in the narrowing of his eyes, in the downward turn of the corners of his mouth. He does not, however, point the dagger at the fox, if only because the fox doesn’t seem to be readying itself to pounce.
Not yet, anyway.
He studies the creature more closely – the white fur, the nine tails – and that he feels that nagging sensation at the back of his head again. Like knowing a song but only managing to string together a couple of notes. ]
If it’s possible for a fox to convey something so specific, the way her lips curl and her muzzle wrinkles almost tries to imply, ”Are you that clueless?” She flares out her nine tails, flicking them back and forth demonstratively.
Foxwoman. Nine-tailed. Huli jing. There were plenty of names in far too many languages to count.
She watches Peter for a half-beat more, and then takes a couple of hobbling steps away to find the cover of a bush. She sits, mindful of her paw, and then, in a shifting of silver light—
—changes.
A woman close to Peter’s age sits behind the bush, her knees drawn up to her chest to cover herself as she minds her obviously broken foot – with its black rune still in place. ]
It finally clicks, then. Shapeshifters. Spirits who take the form of foxes. They were all stories to Peter, and not particularly interesting ones, considering he’s heard countless variations on the same theme. Creatures who bewitched mortals, who tricked them and stole their very essence. No big deal. Happens all the goddamn time, really – maybe not to common folk, but certainly to people who dabbled with the arcane, the demonic, and the just plain weird. Sirens, vampires, incubi, succubi, harpies – and even ugly shit like beholders and aboleths – all had the ability to enchant hapless victims, and Peter was far more likely to run into one of those in weird fortresses, underground caverns, and abandoned dungeons.
So when she peeks at him over the bush, when he sees flashes of pale skin through the branches and leaves, he falls back heavily on his ass.
Quietly, but with feeling as he averts his gaze. ]
Fuck.
You’re— you’re a—
[ There’s a fancy name in a foreign tongue. He hisses in a breath, face scrunching a little as he tries to recall it.
But after a beat, he gives up. Without looking over at her, ]
[ If she wasn't in so much pain, she might actually find his reaction entertaining. He looks like someone just splashed cold water into his face, and he's stumbling trying to find an answer she'd thought was clear from the beginning.
Apparently not. ]
Huli jing.
[ She offers it with some measure of patience, wincing as she shifts her pained foot. ]
... Do you have a shirt or a cloak, maybe?
[ Yan usually goes about finding clothes when she reaches a village, for the sake of others' sense of modesty. Huli jing aren't typically bothered by nudity, like many creatures that live in nature – where weather conditions allow.
But she's also sitting in her human form, in front of a human right now.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But despite what threat humans and other races posed, Yan’s mother taught Yan to appreciate culture, to look for conversation and stories in the towns. She showed Yan their food, their music – but she also made certain her daughter knew that they did not need humans. They didn’t need elves or dwarves, the scrutiny or companionship of anyone not their own; there’s a danger in trusting others, and the latent magic that clings to their kind makes for unwanted and unintended connections.
Yan’s mother died at the hands of a bounty hunter, hired to catch her and hand her over to the merchant whose very son had plagued Tsiao-jung’s past months. The young man had seen her caught in a chicken coop, trying to hunt, and when she transformed to escape, his infatuation ensnared her, calling to her, despite how little she wanted to do with him.
The bounty hunter brought Tsiao-jung’s head to the merchant, and Yan was left to grow as a pup on her own.
Despite the horrors of men and the dangers of traders seeking her hide, Yan still allowed herself to visit small villages and cities. She kept her head down, walked with a cloak and a hood so as not to draw attention to herself, and it meant she could enjoy the music of bards or the acrobats performing in the streets.
She’d retreat to hunt, but she always found herself returning to the cities.
Unfortunately for her, men will always be men. As she sat to listen to a traveling bard spinning his tales outside of a tavern, one of the knights patrolling caught sight of her. That night, she heard his call in the darkness, so far, so relentless. It was a distraction when she hunted, and he wouldn’t shut up. Eventually, in the same way her mother had visited the merchant’s son, Yan went to the knight – to tell him to leave her alone. She intended to frighten him by appearing before him, to shift from her fox form into the one he’d found so enticing and back again. She climbed the stone walls, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, until she climbed into the knight’s window where the distracting sounds kept calling to her. She wouldn’t risk the same fate her mother had suffered; she figured that if she dealt with it quickly – frightened him away from her – she’d be free.
The knight woke when Yan dropped into his bedroom, already drawing his sword, but as he watched her shift in front of his eyes, his gaze went from wild and dangerous to— a different sort of aggression. Yan bared her teeth, snarled as the knight rose from his bed to reach for her.
”Stop calling for me, or I’ll eat your heart,” she snapped, but the knight continued to advance. Yan stepped away from him; he stepped closer. He grabbed for her, and in that instant, Yan ducked, shifting mid-step. His fist closed around two of her tails, and as she struggled to break free, the knight grabbed for the scruff of her neck.
In the ensuing struggle, Yan snapped and clawed at him with all the fierce violence of a trapped animal. She drew blood easily, and the knight only responded in kind. She could hear the moment his infatuation vanished to anger (the absence of his psychic cries in her mind) as he reached for his sword.
Her fangs found his throat before he could strike.
Bloodied, sore, shaking, Yan left him in a gurgling heap as noise from the rest of the house accompanied the illuminating of lamps.
Yan made a hasty escape to find a place to lick her wounds.
The next two nights proved— treacherous.
She heard tell in the town of a bounty placed for the murder of a knight – a shapeshifter, they were saying, had to be responsible. He had to have been bewitched. It was a danger to the whole town; she had to be caught.
It was time for Yan to flee.
She only makes it halfway through the forrest, on her way to somewhere new, when a tricky lure draws her into a thicket. She smells rabbit (and gods, she’s hungry), and her paws creep silently through the grass, forward, slow, following scents—
She doesn’t know the trap is there until magic melts away from the bars of a small cage and the door snaps closed. She yelps, immediately whirling to try and shove herself against the walls, until another spell snaps around her ankle. She feels something in her paw crack, and she can’t help the howl of pain that escapes her.
Fear and panic make her continue to struggle and fight against the cage.
She has to get out, she has to get out, she has to get out— ]
no subject
Then he was taken from home, and while mercenary work isn’t exactly the same as adventuring, it shares a few common denominators.
So here’s the thing: it’s not quite as glamorous as he imagined it would be.
Because there’s some ugly shit in the world, and Peter was forced to learn this at a young age. Demons and devils and monsters and aberrations. Things that will swallow you whole. Things that can banish you to another realm. Things that can turn you to stone with a single glance. Things that can kill you with a word, a touch, or even just a simple look.
And that’s just the obvious stuff.
But then there’s just the general ugliness. Greedy folks who will turn to any means necessary to find wealth. Angry folks who will unleash untold hells on anyone who wronged them. Sadistic folks who just enjoy inflicting pain. Folks who just don’t care, and folks who are just too stupid to care.
And then there’s the just plain ugly, which is probably the most apt description of what Peter’s currently doing. It’s basically a scavenger hunt, at this point: picking the flower of some rare plant that only blooms in the twilight hour, scraping off the moss from the westernmost part of the oldest tree in the forest, and tracking down the droppings of a gold-faced marten, rare and endemic to the region and said to have fey ancestry.
A local alchemist had recruited him to find ingredients for an experimental potion, and while the pay is good, it’s menial tasks like these that make Peter briefly consider taking up more ordinary work. Because he’s been trying to find this goddamn rodent for three goddamn days, and if he has to spend one more day searching, he might actually hang it all up and open a tavern.
His luck seems to turn around, though, when finally spots a gold-faced marten climbing a tree. Peter lets out a sigh of relief, figuring he can track it for a while, wait for it to do its business, and finally be on his way. He crouches down, only a whisper of movement to give him away, and waits.
Which is about when an unholy howl breaks the relative quiet, and the marten goes darting off through the branches. Peter curses, trying to give chase, but he quickly loses sight of it in the treetops after a handful of seconds.
It’s decided, then. Peter is opening a tavern.
He scrubs his face, taking a deep breath to quell the frustration clawing at the back of his sternum, before lifting his head again. He can still hear the faint animal noises of panic and a metallic rattle. Some poor little bastard that stumbled into a hunter’s trap, if Peter had to guess. Far be it from Peter to deny a hunter of his livelihood.
He takes a few steps in a halfhearted attempt to go after the marten, but he pauses. He’s always had a soft spot for animals, ever since he was a kid. Sure, some animals can be goddamn punks and might need a good kick, but he’s never liked leaving things while they were clearly in trouble.
He lets out a sharp sigh, heading in the direction of the noise.
It’s easy enough to find, and he steps into the clearing, glancing around the area. Just the one cage, it looks like, currently occupied by a fox – a larger than average one, too, which gives him some pause. Still, given that magic is a thing in this world, it doesn't stop him for too long. He approaches slowly, hands raised. ]
Easy, there. [ He pitches his voice low, quiet. ] You're gonna hurt yourself.
no subject
The triggered trap spell has turned itself into a tight cord around her ankle, digging into her fur and putting pressure on the broken bones. Every time she pulls at it, agony lances through her leg – but what choice does she have? She can't shift in this small cage, and changing with the cord still in place will only worsen whatever damage has been done. But she can't stay here like this, simply waiting for her pursuer to find her caught so neatly in his clutches.
Panting sharply, Yan pulls at her paw, trying to throw herself against the walls of the cage. She's strong, obviously stronger than a normal fox, and if she can just—
The brush parts to reveal the human approaching her. Her struggling becomes more frantic as she tries to shove herself into the back corner of the cage, fangs bared, haste making her clumsy enough that she steps on her own tails in the small trap. She snarls, her ears flattening against her skull as she snaps in warning at the human.
(She's too frightened to find it strange that he's trying to be soothing; part of her can only assume that the appearance of a human, here, is because the traps belong to him.) ]
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Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey—
[ He backs off a little hands still raised – a habitual gesture, considering he doubts the fox understands this near universal symbol for I'm not going to go for a weapon, so please don't go for yours. ]
Easy. [ That same quiet delivery. ] I'm not gonna hurt you.
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But— why would he tell her that he doesn't intend to hurt her? What would be the point of a lie from a hunter whose already ensnared his quarry?
She stops frantically pulling at the cord around her paw (and gods, it hurts), and she finally settles enough to watch him, to wait for his next move.
Looking for the lie. ]
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Well, that's just pointless.
[ And he mumbles it to himself. If an animal gets stuck in the cage, what's the point of the snare? It's like knocking a dude out and kicking him while he lies unconscious on the ground. Adding insult to injury.
Or— well, in this case, it looks more like adding injury to insult, but that's splitting hairs.
He slowly approaches again – even slower than before, given the fox's wariness. It's pretty, he notes. Bigger than most foxes he's seen, but again, that could be for a lot of reasons. Maybe it got into someone's magical trash. Maybe it ate some weird, enchanted rats. Maybe its den was on a ley line, or near some portal to the Feywild.
This world is wild like that. ]
I'm just gonna look at the cage, all right?
[ He doesn't expect it to understand him, but he figures the calm tone can't hurt. ]
Maybe I can see about getting you out before someone tries to make you into a stole.
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Wariness tries to stay her immediate flicker of excitement and hope. She hasn't completely forgotten about the existence of human kindness, the fact that it exists in the first place, but—
Life has proven to her that she shouldn't expect it.
She goes still as she watches him approach closer, and she lowers herself down – a position that would allow her to spring and snap at him with teeth, if she has to, but one that's arguably more relaxed.
(Watching, instead of trying to struggle away or frighten him off.) ]
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There you go. Just take it easy, okay?
[ He doesn't immediately touch the cage – mostly because he spots an arcane runes etched into a few bars. He crouches beside it, studying them for a while. Peter has never had a formal education in magic, but he's at least picked up enough over the course of his work to recognize a few basic symbols. ]
Looks like it's just an invisibility spell.
[ Which he guesses is standard enough, given how clever some creatures could be.
He shifts around to the cage's door, which is etched with a new set of runes. He peers at them, tongue caught between his teeth as he tries to remember their use. ]
A locking spell, I think. Shouldn't be too hard to deal with, though.
[ He reaches into his bag, pulling out his set of lock picks. ]
Whoever set this up is gonna be pissed I'm letting you go.
[ He says it idly as he's selecting his tools, pulling them out and peering at the lock. ]
You're lucky I was around, otherwise you'd probably be sewn into a coat by this time tomorrow.
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He seems to mostly be speaking to himself, unless he legitimately knows what she is, and while she's sure he isn't expecting a response, she gives a huffed-out growl at the mention of becoming a coat. She genuinely has no idea what would be done with her, specifically, if she was being caught in response to the knight's death; it could also be a case of "wrong place, wrong time" as far as stumbling onto a hunter's trap, but she's close enough to the last town that she wouldn't count out hunters looking for her. ]
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He chalks up the fox's growl as wariness again, and while he doesn't stop what he's doing, he still offers up quietly, ]
Just dealing with the lock. I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to bite me through the bars while I'm working on this.
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She's waiting. Patient. ]
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Do me a favor? Please don't try to pounce on me the second this is open?
[ Though the fox looks like it's cooperating, for now – or at least, it doesn't look like it's coiled and ready to strike. Some animals are smart, he guesses; occasionally, they can figure out intentions. The fox must realize he's trying to help.
Slowly, he opens the cage door, and while the fox isn't tense, Peter is, ready to move in case the fox changes its mind about trying to attack. He knows that the snare around its leg means it won't get far, but he'd rather not take any chances. ]
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She can only get two steps past the door, and then the snare is stretched taut again. ]
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Don't move too much till I get this figured out, huh?
[ Slowly, carefully he reaches for the cord holding her in place. ]
And please don't bite me.
[ This is, in all likelihood, going to be a frequent request. ]
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Yan is still terrified (because how can she not be?), and she's watching him with a well-deserved wariness, but she's also lost the prepared edge that had left her ready to pounce on him, to take a finger or three if he'd made to betray her tentative trust. ]
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He glances over at it – lush white fur and nine tails.
For a second, he pauses, something nagging at the back of his mind, before he moves on. ]
You know, you seriously owe me.
[ This, mostly mumbled to himself. ]
I've been trying to track some weasel down for, like, three days, and you scared it off. I'll be lucky if I can find another one.
[ It's a magical cord, which means he can't simply untie the thing and free the creature. There's a trick to it, and he follows the line of the cord to a point in the cage. The cord seems to be magically anchored in the center of another rune – painted, this time, rather than etched directly into the metal. Meant to be temporary, then, if he had to guess.
On a hunch, he slowly pulls out the dagger sheathed on his belt at his back. He frowns at the rune for a second, face scrunching with uncertainty (his expression asks, Can it really be that easy?), before he carefully starts scraping away the paint. ]
Don't move too much. You're gonna hurt yourself worse.
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(The gold-faced marten? she has to wonder. They're rare, sought-after, and she wouldn't be surprised if this man had been searching for one.)
She doesn't yip, chitters softly instead, quizzical almost, but she's tensing when she sees him draw his dagger. She isn't gearing up to attack, but it's never wise to stay at ease around a deadly weapon. Her worries are misplaced, and he's going for whatever holds the snare. She watches as he starts to scrape at the magic – still, patient but on edge, Yan waits.
Finally, after the rune is disrupted properly, the cord melts away in a spark of magic dissipating – to leave behind a dark, black mark in the fur of Yan's paw.
A tracking rune.
Yan immediately gets to her feet, holding her paw up to keep weight off of it – which severely hinders how she moves, but she's at least standing as she watches Peter with his dagger. ]
when u realize ur comment never posted and have to rewrite it from memory
He doesn’t put his dagger away, mostly because he’s just as wary as the fox is. The fox doesn’t look like it’s liable to attack, but Peter would rather have a means to defend himself, just in case. (And how much would that suck, to have wasted all this time freeing it, only to be forced to put it down, should it decide to lash out in fear?) ]
Please don’t bite me. [ For the umpteenth time, and while he doesn’t put the dagger away, he does, at least, relax his grip a little and lower it. He rocks back to put a little more space between them. ] I’m not gonna hurt you.
[ In general, the fox is looking a little worse for wear, and Peter can’t tell how bad the damage is on its leg. But given how tight the cord was and how the fox is favoring the paw, he assumes that it might have broken something.
But it’s the dark mark that catches his attention, stark against the fox’s white fur. He vaguely recognizes the basic shape of it, and he frowns a little. ]
Someone must really want you.
the w o r s t
Oh no.
She glances away from the mark, looking up at Peter, and when she chitters again, she nods – a very clear agreement. ]
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Then, he jerks his head up to meet the fox’s gaze. ]
Did you—
[ No, this is a dumb question. But— ]
You nodded. Just now.
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—and nods again.
Definitely a nod. ]
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Okay.
That’s definitely a nod.
That initial burst of shock hits him again, and he shuffles back a little, putting space between them. Some wild creatures were far smarter than they looked, and fey creatures especially liked to blindside you with their intelligence. Some of them were just pricks like that. But devils could do the same, and so could demons, and so could any number of things that had the ability to disguise themselves.
Peter is definitely far more wary than he was before, and it shows in the narrowing of his eyes, in the downward turn of the corners of his mouth. He does not, however, point the dagger at the fox, if only because the fox doesn’t seem to be readying itself to pounce.
Not yet, anyway.
He studies the creature more closely – the white fur, the nine tails – and that he feels that nagging sensation at the back of his head again. Like knowing a song but only managing to string together a couple of notes. ]
What are you?
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If it’s possible for a fox to convey something so specific, the way her lips curl and her muzzle wrinkles almost tries to imply, ”Are you that clueless?” She flares out her nine tails, flicking them back and forth demonstratively.
Foxwoman. Nine-tailed. Huli jing. There were plenty of names in far too many languages to count.
She watches Peter for a half-beat more, and then takes a couple of hobbling steps away to find the cover of a bush. She sits, mindful of her paw, and then, in a shifting of silver light—
—changes.
A woman close to Peter’s age sits behind the bush, her knees drawn up to her chest to cover herself as she minds her obviously broken foot – with its black rune still in place. ]
Is this more obvious for you?
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It finally clicks, then. Shapeshifters. Spirits who take the form of foxes. They were all stories to Peter, and not particularly interesting ones, considering he’s heard countless variations on the same theme. Creatures who bewitched mortals, who tricked them and stole their very essence. No big deal. Happens all the goddamn time, really – maybe not to common folk, but certainly to people who dabbled with the arcane, the demonic, and the just plain weird. Sirens, vampires, incubi, succubi, harpies – and even ugly shit like beholders and aboleths – all had the ability to enchant hapless victims, and Peter was far more likely to run into one of those in weird fortresses, underground caverns, and abandoned dungeons.
So when she peeks at him over the bush, when he sees flashes of pale skin through the branches and leaves, he falls back heavily on his ass.
Quietly, but with feeling as he averts his gaze. ]
Fuck.
You’re— you’re a—
[ There’s a fancy name in a foreign tongue. He hisses in a breath, face scrunching a little as he tries to recall it.
But after a beat, he gives up. Without looking over at her, ]
—crap. What are you?
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Apparently not. ]
Huli jing.
[ She offers it with some measure of patience, wincing as she shifts her pained foot. ]
... Do you have a shirt or a cloak, maybe?
[ Yan usually goes about finding clothes when she reaches a village, for the sake of others' sense of modesty. Huli jing aren't typically bothered by nudity, like many creatures that live in nature – where weather conditions allow.
But she's also sitting in her human form, in front of a human right now.
It's a little awkward. ]
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