[ 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.
[ Averting his gaze wasn't just to avoid whatever entrancing magic she uses.
It was also out of a sense of decency, because Peter is very much aware that she is very much naked behind that bush.
At her question, he hesitates before he unshoulders his gear – his unstrung bow and his pack – and gets to his feet. He shrugs out of his long coat – a dark red leather softened with wear – and reveals the quiver at one hip and the sheathed sword at the other. Still without looking over, he holds the coat out to her. ]
[ Yan takes rapid stock of the amount of weapons he's carrying. It's not comforting, knowing how outgunned she is right now, especially with her broken ankle, but the human also isn't being outwardly aggressive, and he's almost... polite?
This is weird.
Yan accepts the coat, giving it a brief sniff (animalistic habit) before she wraps the garment around her shoulders.
... It's massive, comparatively, but that makes it easier to cover herself. ]
[ Of course, he says that, but he literally just gave her his coat. So maybe this denial isn't quite as effective as he means it to be.
He shoulders his pack again, sliding his bow through the space between his back and the bag (though without the string, it mostly just looks like a slightly curved stick).
He hesitates. He knows he should get out before he ends up more involved in this shit than he already is. Clearly the cage was meant for more than just capturing wayward forest creatures; whoever set it up had a target in mind, considering all the magic involved.
But he huffs out a sharp breath, frustrated with himself. (That's your problem, Yondu always told him. Sentiment. Makes you weak, boy.) And that frustration makes his delivery a little rougher than he means it to be: ]
[ She repeats it under her breath with a disgruntled little huff, looking away from him as she bristles. She's used to humans with one of two reactions to her, if they know what she is: desire, for her worth or her appearance, or distaste, for conceptions and biases they happen to have about her race.
She's not surprised by it, at this point.
Shifting, trying not to strain her ankle, she keeps the jacket closed around her as she moves onto her knees. ]
Yes— [ Stubbornness forces her to try pushing herself up, and she tries to grab onto the bush for support—
But attempting to pull herself up on one foot without much to hold her weight leaves her to collapse back onto her knees with a bitten-off cry. ]
[ She doesn't flinch when he touches her shoulder, but it's close. She looks up to his face, then down to the hand he offers her—
Gods, he's right. Staying here isn't an option, and shifting back into her fox form might be faster, but only just. And with that tracking rune...?
She has no idea how to get out of this mess, but it seems like accepting the help of a stranger, reluctant as it may be, is her only option. Finally, she nods, reaching for his hand. Her fingers curl around his, and she leans her weight into him as she hauls herself up onto her good foot. She wavers slightly, but she holds onto his hand, her other keeping his coat closed around her. ]
[ The honest answer, at least, as he pauses for a second to make sure she's steady.
He glances down again, tongue running over his teeth as he considers the rune practically tattooed on her skin. He doesn't have the means to dispel the magic – it's a trick he's been trying to learn, but it's a little too advanced for him right now. ]
But I figure away is as good a direction as any. Do you know who might want to track you?
[ She sounds sincere, but Peter still has his doubts. He's paranoid as hell, when he has to be, and considering he's dealing with a creature that, from what he recalls, is renowned for being duplicitous, he thinks now's as good a time as any to be wary.
He glances up, though, using the position of the sun to make his best guess about which direction is north, and consequently, which direction Neverwinter lies.
Yondu would've come up with a way to get them turned around to head toward the city, turn her in and claim whatever bounty might be on her head. He was clever and a giant prick like that.
The option briefly crosses Peter's mind.
He makes the conscious decision to turn them bodily away from the city, letting her lean on him. ]
They're gonna come looking for you soon. Trap like that, I'm sure it triggered something to let them know it's been tripped.
If you're lucky, they'll figure the trap was good enough to keep you locked up, and they'll take their time.
[ There's no need for him to mention what might happen if she's unlucky. ]
[ That's the thing about magical creatures: a lot of them have a special sense of direction, when they're connected to the earth. Yan knows which way takes them back to Neverwinter, and she pays close attention, but—
Peter turns the other way.
Yan leans into him as they walk, using him as a makeshift crutch to keep her weight off of her foot. ]
I know.
[ Her voice is grim, anxiety buried under gravity. ]
I don't think they will be in a rush to find me, but... I can't give them the opportunity to catch up to me.
[ He sighs it out, in that sort of way that expresses he’s not surprised, but that he’s still at least a little disappointed – though why he should be disappointed is anyone’s guess. It’s not like it’s really his problem, after all.
Even if he is still guiding her toward the next little village – the one where the alchemist who had contracted him resides – and letting her lean her weight against him.
It’s because she has his coat, he tells himself, and he’s always had a bad habit of being overprotective of his belongings. Once they get to a place where he can get his coat back, he’ll wash his hands of the situation. ]
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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?
no subject
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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It was also out of a sense of decency, because Peter is very much aware that she is very much naked behind that bush.
At her question, he hesitates before he unshoulders his gear – his unstrung bow and his pack – and gets to his feet. He shrugs out of his long coat – a dark red leather softened with wear – and reveals the quiver at one hip and the sheathed sword at the other. Still without looking over, he holds the coat out to her. ]
Here.
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This is weird.
Yan accepts the coat, giving it a brief sniff (animalistic habit) before she wraps the garment around her shoulders.
... It's massive, comparatively, but that makes it easier to cover herself. ]
Thanks.
[ She sounds sincere (she is). ]
You helped me – a lot.
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[ Of course, he says that, but he literally just gave her his coat. So maybe this denial isn't quite as effective as he means it to be.
He shoulders his pack again, sliding his bow through the space between his back and the bag (though without the string, it mostly just looks like a slightly curved stick).
He hesitates. He knows he should get out before he ends up more involved in this shit than he already is. Clearly the cage was meant for more than just capturing wayward forest creatures; whoever set it up had a target in mind, considering all the magic involved.
But he huffs out a sharp breath, frustrated with himself. (That's your problem, Yondu always told him. Sentiment. Makes you weak, boy.) And that frustration makes his delivery a little rougher than he means it to be: ]
Can you stand?
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[ She repeats it under her breath with a disgruntled little huff, looking away from him as she bristles. She's used to humans with one of two reactions to her, if they know what she is: desire, for her worth or her appearance, or distaste, for conceptions and biases they happen to have about her race.
She's not surprised by it, at this point.
Shifting, trying not to strain her ankle, she keeps the jacket closed around her as she moves onto her knees. ]
Yes— [ Stubbornness forces her to try pushing herself up, and she tries to grab onto the bush for support—
But attempting to pull herself up on one foot without much to hold her weight leaves her to collapse back onto her knees with a bitten-off cry. ]
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Easy.
[ He lacks the gentleness from before, but there's still sympathy in his voice.
He glances down at her foot, swollen and a bright, angry red – an obvious signal of a break. He hesitates again before offering her a hand. ]
C'mon. I doubt you wanna stay here.
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Gods, he's right. Staying here isn't an option, and shifting back into her fox form might be faster, but only just. And with that tracking rune...?
She has no idea how to get out of this mess, but it seems like accepting the help of a stranger, reluctant as it may be, is her only option. Finally, she nods, reaching for his hand. Her fingers curl around his, and she leans her weight into him as she hauls herself up onto her good foot. She wavers slightly, but she holds onto his hand, her other keeping his coat closed around her. ]
Where are we going?
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[ The honest answer, at least, as he pauses for a second to make sure she's steady.
He glances down again, tongue running over his teeth as he considers the rune practically tattooed on her skin. He doesn't have the means to dispel the magic – it's a trick he's been trying to learn, but it's a little too advanced for him right now. ]
But I figure away is as good a direction as any. Do you know who might want to track you?
[ Other than... a lot of people... ]
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I think they're from Neverwinter – or hired by the guard. They think I killed a knight in cold blood, when I was only defending myself.
[ She shifts her weight on her foot, glaring at the forest floor. ]
I was just trying to tell him to leave me alone.
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He glances up, though, using the position of the sun to make his best guess about which direction is north, and consequently, which direction Neverwinter lies.
Yondu would've come up with a way to get them turned around to head toward the city, turn her in and claim whatever bounty might be on her head. He was clever and a giant prick like that.
The option briefly crosses Peter's mind.
He makes the conscious decision to turn them bodily away from the city, letting her lean on him. ]
They're gonna come looking for you soon. Trap like that, I'm sure it triggered something to let them know it's been tripped.
If you're lucky, they'll figure the trap was good enough to keep you locked up, and they'll take their time.
[ There's no need for him to mention what might happen if she's unlucky. ]
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Peter turns the other way.
Yan leans into him as they walk, using him as a makeshift crutch to keep her weight off of her foot. ]
I know.
[ Her voice is grim, anxiety buried under gravity. ]
I don't think they will be in a rush to find me, but... I can't give them the opportunity to catch up to me.
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[ Just in case either of them forgot. ]
As long as you’ve still got it on you, it doesn’t really matter how much distance you’ve got on them. Assuming they care enough to pursue you, anyway.
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I know. But I don't have the skill to dispel it on my own.
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[ He sighs it out, in that sort of way that expresses he’s not surprised, but that he’s still at least a little disappointed – though why he should be disappointed is anyone’s guess. It’s not like it’s really his problem, after all.
Even if he is still guiding her toward the next little village – the one where the alchemist who had contracted him resides – and letting her lean her weight against him.
It’s because she has his coat, he tells himself, and he’s always had a bad habit of being overprotective of his belongings. Once they get to a place where he can get his coat back, he’ll wash his hands of the situation. ]
No healing spells either, I’m guessing.
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[ So that would be a "no." ]
I owe you for saving my life.
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