十四 Part 14 (Garlic)

Shichi awoke to the sound of songbirds. He waited before opening his eyes, trying to think through the terrible pounding in his head. The smell of poppy sap still lingered in his nostrils, reminding him of what had happened the previous night. Normally, a few drops were enough to ease an adult into a quick sleep. It was often consumed in a tea, as inhaling the vapor itself was considered too harsh and astringent. Shichi could recall the human crushing the entire pod in his fist, visualizing the white sap as it gushed between his fingers. At that dosage, he was lucky to have awakened at all.

Gradually, his eyes dared to open. It was morning. Faint gray light filtered in through the paper doors of the room. A room—he was in a room.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, taking in his surroundings and trying to piece together where he was. The interior was fairly small yet ornate. Painted scrolls hung on the walls, and the cabinets were made of a dark, richly colored wood. His staff was in the corner, leaning against the wall in one piece. He himself had been placed on a bed on the floor, its covers made from crimson fabric and stuffed with warm down. He inhaled, happily taking in the familiar scent of tatami straw. He had missed being indoors.

As he breathed in, he noticed another scent, one that made his heart skip—food. It was the wafting aroma of rice and seasoned vegetables, with hints of vinegar and sweetness. His tongue tensed, eager to taste what he was smelling. Shichi turned his head, looking to the side in search of its source.

What he saw made him forget about the food, if only for a moment. There was a young woman sitting on her knees at the table. She was sorting through colored beads, oblivious to his eyes. He had never seen anyone like her before—her hair was short and stark white, matching her fair complexion. Outwardly, she looked human, yet there was an inherently non-human air about her. As he took notice of her eyes, he felt that there was something familiar in them. Then, as if feeling his stare, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“Oh, good,” she said. “I thought you’d died.”

“Kitsune?” Shichi asked under his breath.

“Yes?” She squinted as she spoke. It seemed he was already trying her patience.

“So, it’s true. You can take a human form.”

“What, can’t you?”

“No.” Shichi knit his brow. That was certainly a question he’d never been asked before. Realizing they were practically bickering before he even had the slightest clue as to where he was or what had happened, he shifted the dialogue.

“Did you bring me here? Where is the human?”

“I did. I was just going to leave you there but . . . you did help me, after all. I don’t know where he went. Or care.”

“Well, thank you. You have my gratitude,” he said, lowering his eyes as he bowed. She didn’t seem to have an appreciation for formalities, simply turning her attention back to the beads on the table.

“He stole your bag,” she said. “I think. You had a bag before, didn’t you?”

“Ah.” Shichi buried his face in his hands. The needle set had been his only real possession and, of course, they had been in the satchel.

“I did,” he said. “And what about your ball? Where is it?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“So you . . . carried me?” Shichi found it hard to visualize. Though she was seated, he could tell she was much shorter than he was.

“I’m stronger than I look. And you’re really skinny,” she said, as if it were obvious. “Are you hungry?”

It took quite a bit of willpower to avoid jumping at her request. The scent of the food had continued wafting, tempting and beckoning him as they spoke.

“I am,” came his simple response, barely representative of his actual desire.

“Help yourself, then,” she said, gesturing toward the wide table. It was laden with dishes—there were stacks of grilled sweet potatoes, of steamed pumpkin and mustard spinach. Of all options, however, tofu seemed to dominate the selection. There were fried slices and pouches stuffed with rice. Red bean jellies, buns, and pastes were laid out among the savory foods, drawing him in with their rich color.

For a moment, Shichi could only stare. He imagined himself giving in to craving, shoving the girl aside and consuming everything on the table. He was, however, a monk, and monks were to act with quiet dignity. He closed his eyes, accepting her offer with a nod.

Shichi moved to sit next to her on the floor. With great focus, he kept his hand from shaking as he lifted a pair of chopsticks.

“There’s so much here.” He paused. It was difficult to choose what to eat first. “Who prepared this?”

“Not me.” She examined a red bead. “The villagers offer me food to ensure a good harvest.”

“You can control their crops?”

“No, but I’m not complaining.”

Shichi cleared his throat. It wouldn’t be proper to accuse his generous host of being a scam-artist. If it gave the humans comfort, then that was their own business. He picked up a piece of grilled eggplant, eating it with as much etiquette as he could muster. Not only was it fresh and brimming with flavor, but it was cooked. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten prepared food. The flesh was mild and firm; he could almost taste the flames licking the salted skin.

“So, Tengu,” she said, leaning her elbow on the table. “Are you a monk or something?”

“That’s correct,” he said. “Though my name isn’t ‘Tengu.’ It’s Shichi.”

“Oh, I’m Chiyo. And that explains a lot.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance.

“Why you’re so poor. And strangely polite.”

“I am not poor, I just—” he began, then realized that he indeed lacked the property or possessions of a common individual. Shichi sighed, once again deciding to change the subject.

“What happened, anyway?” he asked. “How did that man manage to steal your ball?”

“He came from the village with an offering of food,” Chiyo said. “There was some kind of poison in it that paralyzed me. I tried to chase him, but I lost my strength by the river.”

“What could he possibly need it for?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t hold any magic for others, only me. Maybe he likes shiny things.”

“Perhaps.” Shichi recalled the look in the man’s eyes. There was something unsettlingly desperate in his expression, something that hinted at more than a fondness for jewels.

“And so, since yesterday, I’ve stopped eating the offerings from the village. For all I know, it could all be poisoned.”

Shichi’s hand paused before he could take another bite. He slowly looked down at the piece of sweet potato, and then over at the kitsune.

“Is that why you’re giving it to me?” he asked, feeling suddenly ill.

“That’s right,” she said, giving him a smile that only increased his nausea.

“How very kind of you,” he said, lowering the food and sliding the bowl a few inches away. He tried not to think of how wonderful it smelled, or how hungry he still felt.

“It wouldn’t kill you,” she said. “Just stop all of your muscles from moving for a while.”

“I don’t think you want me spending another night on your futon,” he said with a forced laugh. “Do you live here with anyone?”

“No, but I like being alone,” she said, looking down at her hands.

“Then I suppose I’d better get going,” Shichi said, shifting to stand. He folded up the bed, placing the cushion and blanket onto a storage shelf.

“Well,” Chiyo said, but didn’t seem to know how to finish her sentence. “Maybe, ah . . .”

Shichi fetched his staff, checking it for damage before heading toward the sliding door.

“Thank you, again, for helping me,” he said with a low bow. “I truly appreciate it.”

“You don’t have to leave just yet,” she said, looking away as she spoke.

“My situation requires me to keep moving. But perhaps I’ll see you again.”

Shichi slid the door open. He was met by a heavy fog, making it difficult to focus on his surroundings. Squinting, he focused for a moment before piecing together exactly what he was seeing.

Water. It was all water.

The little structure had been built in the center of a lake, its surface perfectly still. Barely a ripple could be seen in its sheen. The shore was rather far, most of its trees obscured by fog. They were distant, pale ghosts, fading behind the cloudy air.

“Ah,” he said, feeling rather foolish as he stared.

“I was trying to tell you,” Chiyo said, stepping up behind him. “We’re in the middle of a lake. You should wait until low tide; you can walk back then.”

Sure enough, a few hours passed before the water level dropped. Shichi accepted a cup of tea after being assured it hadn’t come from the village. He let the steam rise against his face, remembering the scent and gentle strokes of warmth. His next cup might not come for a long time.

They stepped outside together. The land hadn’t been entirely exposed, but was shallow enough to walk through.

“I’ll see you out,” Chiyo said. “I need to go hunting anyway.”

There was a deck of wooden planks around the house, giving it the illusion of floating. Just as Shichi stepped off into the water, he felt a weight land on his shoulder, nearly throwing him off balance. Chiyo had returned to the form of a fox, hopping up onto him without asking.

“Do I look like a horse to you?” he asked, eyeing her with a slight turn of his

head.

“I don’t like getting my feet wet,” she said, not budging. She hung comfortably over him, using her paws to keep her balance on his robe. Her tails wrapped around to the other shoulder, giving her the appearance of a rather large fur muffler.

“Oh, and I do,” he muttered.

“Good to hear.” Chiyo ignored the obvious dryness in his tone. Shichi sighed and gave in, making his way toward the shore.

“So, you like to hunt?” he asked as he walked through the inch-deep water. The lake was frigid and clear, rippling silver behind his ankles.

“I have to. Even if I could eat the offerings, the villagers rarely give me meat.” She scoffed. “Stingy.”

“You poor thing,” Shichi said under his breath. Soon, they reached the water’s edge. A torii stood alone by the shore, the red gate signifying the sacredness of the lake. The more he got to know Chiyo, however, the less he thought “sacred” was an appropriate word for her. Once his feet found dry land, she leapt down from his shoulder and trotted down the path.

“Well, see you,” she said, painfully casual as she went ahead.

“That’s it?” he asked, brushing the white fur from his collar.

“What, do you want a hug or someth—” she started, but was rudely interrupted by a tug at her paw. The crude snare tightened around her leg, snapping upward until she was dangling upside down from a young tree.

“Ah! Stupid human, where are you?” She struggled admirably against the tight noose. “Show yourself! I’ll kill you!”

“Chiyo!” Shichi called, rushing forward to help. Right on cue, the man from earlier emerged from the trees. He wore the same thinly woven clothes and tense look as before. This time, however, he had a knife.

“Stay back,” he said, angling the blade toward the fox’s throat. She snapped at it, baring her small, pointed teeth, but he didn’t falter. Shichi stopped in his tracks.

Keeping his eyes on the tengu, the human took a firm grip on the tall sapling, giving it a shake. The kitsune flailed as the snare tugged once more, sending a silvery ball dropping from the thick fur in her tail. The man crouched to retrieve it, brushing a bit of dirt off of the side.

“That’s mine!” She snarled, thrashing in anger but coming no closer to freeing herself.

“You said it was somewhere safe!” Shichi said, glancing up at her.

“It’s not like I have pockets or anything,” she hissed back at him.

“Your fluffy tail is not a safe—”

“Oh, like you’re an expert on safety, Mister Knocked-out-by-my-own-poppy-sap,” Chiyo said, her ears twitching in annoyance.

Attempting to take advantage of their exchange, the man began to back away with the ball clutched carefully in his hand.

Shichi pointed the head of his staff at the human. “You stop right there.”

“I need this,” the man said, his teeth grit in defiance. “And I won’t let you stop me again.”

“But she’ll die without it!” Shichi gestured toward the dangling kitsune with his hand. The farmer’s hold on the ball only tightened.

“And so will my wife!”

“Your . . . wife?” Shichi paused as he tried to piece together the man’s words. “What could she possibly—?”

“The fortune teller said that a star ball could heal her.”

“Heal her? From what?” Shichi slowly lowered his staff.

“Who cares? Just hit him with your monk stick and get my ball back!” Chiyo said, still contending with the rope.

“Be quiet.” Shichi kept his attention on the human. “Please, tell me.”

“She’s— she’s very sick. We can’t afford a doctor. But this,” he said, looking down at the ball in his hand. “This will make her healthy again.”

“I’m sorry.” Shichi gently shook his head. “But that’s simply not true. That ball won’t help anyone but this kitsune. And even if it were, how could you trade one person’s life for another?”

“I have no choice,” he said, his hands shaking. “It must be true. It has to be.”

Shichi looked down at the ground. It wouldn’t be very difficult to subdue the man and retrieve the ball. It would not, however, be long before he tried again. A man fueled by desperation would never give up. He would continue to harass Chiyo until his wife passed away, leaving him alone and full of anger.

“I’m a healer. Perhaps there’s something I can do.”

“I won’t fall for your tricks.” The man looked offended at the very idea.

“You took my satchel. What was inside?”

“Some old roots.”

“And?” Shichi’s eyes narrowed as he waited.

“And . . . acupuncture needles,” the human answered with a deep sigh. He ran his hand over his face, dragging his fingers in frustration.

“You can either let this girl die over a false superstition, or you can let a doctor tend to your wife. It’s your choice.”

“You’d better not let me die or I’ll—”

“Chiyo,” Shichi said, silencing her with a hand gesture.

“If you’re lying,” the man said. “If you can’t help her . . . then I’m keeping the ball.”

Shichi looked up at the dangling kitsune, waiting for her approval. She returned his look with an icy glare, then looked over to the ball in the human’s hand.

“Fine,” she said. “Fine, just get me down from here.”

With a quick cut at the sapling, Chiyo plopped down onto the cold earth, sending up a bit of dust as she fell. She shook herself off, then turned her attention to the human. It was clear that she was struggling against the temptation to lunge at him.

“This way,” the farmer said, then turned down a narrow opening between the trees. Shichi and Chiyo exchanged glances, then followed his path. Noticing that the kitsune was limping, he knelt and offered his shoulder. She hesitantly accepted the gesture. Though she had perched on him, the scowl hadn’t left her face.

“Can you really heal her?” she whispered, sounding rather doubtful.

“I certainly hope so.”

#

The human’s house was modest. Rather than the tile Shichi had seen on larger homes, the dwelling had a roof of thatched straw. There were farming tools and barrels against the outer walls, making his trade quite clear to anyone who might visit. The surrounding land was sectioned into several fields, all empty for the season. There was only cold, gray soil. Fog continued to hang over the landscape, causing the far end of the fields to disappear into a white haze. The farmer slid open the door, gesturing for Shichi and Chiyo to follow.

An embrace of heat welcomed them as they stepped inside. There was a hearth set into a raised platform, its flames sending a trail of smoke up toward a vent. The other half of the house was level with the ground, made only of tidy, flattened earth. There were jugs and casks lined against the wall, accompanied by cooking supplies and a clay oven.

The man said no more to his guests, turning his attention toward the hearth. It was then that Shichi noticed the woman lying beside it.

“My love, I’ve found a doctor,” the man said, kneeling next to her and taking her hand into his own.

“Really?” she asked. The act of speaking caused her to cough, and Shichi could hear the buildup of phlegm in her throat.

“Yes, but don’t be alarmed. He’s not human,” he said, then slowly turned to eye the tengu in his doorway. Shichi knelt, allowing Chiyo to jump silently to the floor. He approached the wooden platform, removing his shoes before joining the man at her side.

Even without a proper diagnosis, it was clear that the woman was ill. Though she was next to the fire, she still shivered beneath her blanket. Each breath was audible, making a harsh, gravely sound as she inhaled. Her long, black hair stuck to her damp skin, splaying onto the mat below.

“Do you need anything?” the farmer asked.

“Tasuki,” Shichi said. “And a bucket of water, please.”

As the man went to fetch the items, Shichi noticed that the woman was staring up at him. To his surprise, there was no fear in her eyes. Her gaze was weary with exhaustion, holding to her last shred of hope as she looked.

“What may I call you?” he asked softly.

“Kumi,” she whispered. “Are you a tengu?”

“Yes,” he said. “My name is Shichi. I’m going to do my best to help you.”

The woman smiled in response. Her husband returned, offering a white cord and shallow bucket. Shichi immediately set to work, holding the end of the cord in his beak as he tied up his sleeves. He washed his hands thoroughly, then leaned in to take her pulse. His fingers rested on her wrist, his eyes low as he counted each beat of her heart.

“How long have you been sick?” he asked, gently touching her forehead. Though tengu had higher body temperatures than humans, her skin felt hot against his wrist.

“Almost two weeks.”

Despite her apparent disinterest, Chiyo had settled down next to them, watching the procedure from the corner of her eye. She remained out of Kumi’s line of sight, not wanting any more human attention for the day.

“Has Junya been rude to you?” The woman wheezed a bit as she spoke. “I’m sorry if he has. Inside, he’s a kind man. Well, deep inside.”

“Don’t worry, Kumi. He’s been a pleasure,” Shichi said as he examined her tongue. “Let’s try to avoid talking now, all right?”

She nodded between coughs, laying her head back against the buckwheat pillow. Her husband sat on the edge of the platform, carefully watching the tengu’s every move. When Shichi lowered his head to her chest, the man stiffened but didn’t protest.

“Can you take a deep breath?”

Focusing, he listened to her inhale, taking note of the faint crackling of her lungs. She had been breathing rather quickly and with difficulty, leading him to one clear diagnosis.

“She has pneumonia,” Shichi said, straightening himself.

“Is it— is it treatable?” Junya asked, trying not to choke on his own words.

“Yes,” he replied. “It’s more dangerous for children and the elderly. Kumi is young and quite strong. But I’ll need to work fast.”

“What can I do?”

“Do you have any garlic?”

“Yes, we have plenty of garlic,” Junya said, sitting upright as he prepared to fetch it.

“Prepare it in a tea,” Shichi said. “And in a paste, if you can.”

Soon, Junya had returned to the hearth with a ceramic cup. Strong garlic fumes emanated from the tea. He helped her sit upright, supporting her back as she drank. Her face contorted at the powerful taste, but she remained silent.

“Here,” the farmer said, offering Shichi a mortar filled with an equally pungent garlic paste. Before Shichi could respond, the man pulled a wooden box from under his arm. He lowered his head, offering it to the tengu with both hands.

“. . . and this as well.”

Shichi glanced down at the box of acupuncture needles, then back up at Junya. He accepted it with a grateful nod, relieved to see them once again.

“Thank you, Junya.”

The case was made of a fine, dark wood. The lid was embossed with the crest of his temple—the temple which no longer stood. The only place the symbol existed now was on his robe and on the old, sturdy box. When Shichi had discovered it missing, he had tried not to pine for it too terribly. It was a mere possession and not worthy of true despair. Seeing it again, however, brought a warmth to his heart that could not be denied. He ran his fingers over the crest, thinking back to all the days Sagiri had trained him to use its contents.

It was then that he realized his training held one glaring complication; he had only been trained on the bodies of other tengu. He had never performed acupuncture on a human before.

From the neck down, humans and tengu were quite alike. There were, of course, differences—feathers, claws, and certain organs. The flow of energy, however, was the same. They shared the same key parts—the same muscles, joints, and functions. He would simply have to use the points that he normally would. Perhaps it would even be easier without the obstruction of feathers.

“Can you help her turn over?” he asked the farmer, opening the metal clasp on the box and lifting the lid. Inside lay two rows of thin needles in various lengths. Junya complied, helping Kumi out of her robe and onto her stomach. He pulled her hair aside, leaving her back exposed.

Bending low, Shichi began to feel down her neck and spine. He took note of each bone, measuring with his fingers toward her shoulder blade. It was then that Chiyo lifted her head, no longer attempting to hide her curiosity as she watched.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, taking a needle from the box. She gave a slight nod. He found the first point, positioning the needle before pressing it into her skin.

“Do you feel any pain?” he said.

“I don’t feel anything.”

Shichi’s brow lowered in concern. While the absence of pain was positive, the lack of any sensation at all meant he had made a mistake. He wondered if he had inserted it correctly, or at the right depth. Noticing the anxiety building in his chest, he reminded himself that it wasn’t over yet. Keeping his hand steady, he turned the needle, applying faint pressure as he manipulated it.

“Now?”

“Nothing.”

Shichi’s pulse began to quicken. If he had spent all of these decades learning acupuncture, only to find that his technique was useless on humans, how could he be expected to help them? There was only so much one could accomplish with herbs. His hand began to shake, hovering over the needle with hesitancy.

“What’s wrong?” Junya asked, his tone low with suspicion. Seeing an acupuncturist with trembling fingers wasn’t exactly comforting.

“I . . .” Shichi wrapped one hand around the other. His heart jumped inside his chest, pattering like rain on the surface of a roof. He could feel the weight of eyes on him, imagining their inner thoughts. Is he really a physician? Was he lying?

Shichi closed his eyes. He focused on breathing—on allowing his body to calm. It was his first attempt on a human; he couldn’t expect everything to go perfectly. He would simply have to try again. Waiting until his palm was still, he removed the needle.

“One moment,” he said, taking a fresh needle from the case. He held it up to examine, making sure it was the proper length and thickness. Placing his hand flat on her back, he kept her steady as he looked for the point. He thought of the years he had spent memorizing every location—the ones that he should use, as well as the ones that he shouldn’t. He visualized the meridians, considering the depth of her skin and the strength of her body. Taking in a soft breath, he slid the needle down into the point.

“I-it tingles,” she said immediately, unaccustomed to the feeling. Shichi exhaled, finally allowing himself to breathe properly.

“That’s good. It will fade in a moment,” he said, attempting to hide his relief. He continued in a row along the side of her spine, finding the points in relation to her vertebrae. Each insertion took a few adjustments before creating the proper sensation. He could only imagine the look of impatience Sagiri would have had were she present. His master would certainly have done it correctly the first time, human or not.

“Is it finished?” Junya asked as he watched Shichi remove the last of the needles.

“Yes,” he said, taking in a slow breath.

“When will she get better?”

“It will take some time. I’ll stay until her condition improves, so don’t worry,” Shichi said, though part of him wondered if he was being too generous. He was still being hunted by Zaisei. The longer he remained in one place, the more danger he put himself in—and those around him. Hoping the hunter wouldn’t stoop to breaking and entering, Shichi resolved to stay as long as it would take.

As promised, he remained at her side through the night. He applied the garlic paste to a thin cloth, placing it on her chest in intervals. Chiyo had curled up in a corner of the room, sleeping as Shichi worked. He continued to check the woman’s pulse and listen to her breathing, noting that it was beginning to slow. As she rested, he sterilized the used needles with a low flame, waiting until the metal glowed red before moving to the next one.

The moon was high in the night sky when Junya approached once more, this time holding a bowl of rice porridge.

Shichi shook his head. “She’s asleep now, but—”

“No, it’s for you.” The man offered the bowl once more. Shichi paused, his eyes dropping to the porridge. He had forgotten to eat anything since the potentially poisoned food, having been too focused on his work. Though the meal was humble, the gesture itself gave the monk a sense of warmth and purpose.

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the bowl gratefully.

By the time the sun rose, even the farmer had fallen asleep. He sat against the wall, his head lolled forward with his arms folded across his chest. Shichi was glad that the man was getting some rest. Worry could be just as bad for one’s health as exhaustion. As he checked the woman’s breathing once more, she startled him by opening her eyes.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

Kumi cleared her throat, taking in an experimental breath. The sound was clear, no longer clogged with fluid. She placed her hand on her chest, her expression brightening with each intake of air.

“My cough is gone,” she said, shifting to sit upright.

“Careful,” Shichi said, holding up both hands. “You still need to rest.”

“Kumi?” came the farmer’s voice from her other side. He hurried over to his wife, grasping her hands as he spoke.

“Your voice . . . your fever,” he said, his face taut with disbelief.

“She’s still not—” Shichi said, but went ignored as the two embraced. He sighed, figuring there was no use in ruining their moment. They had been so desperate that even a slight ease of her symptoms seemed like a miracle.

The commotion stirred Chiyo, who made a few lazy stretches before looking in their direction. She looked relieved—not that the woman was healthy, but that their stay might finally be over.

“Can we go now?” Her tails twitched simultaneously. Junya looked up over his wife’s shoulder, having forgotten about the impatient kitsune in his home.

“Ah, yes,” he said, fishing the pearly ball out of an inner pocket. “Here you are.”

Chiyo’s teeth clicked around the sphere as she snatched it away, giving the man an irritated glare as she did so.

“Please forgive me, Miss Kitsune. I should never have tried to steal from you,” he said. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Chiyo only snorted, turning toward the door without a word.

“She forgives you,” Shichi said. “Somewhere in that heart of hers.”

“You stole something?” Kumi narrowed her eyes at her husband.

“Ah, I— I’ll explain that later. You need rest, don’t you?” he said, forcing a soft laugh.

“You do need rest,” Shichi agreed. “It can take a long time before you’re fully healed. Stay in bed and have plenty of hot water and garlic. Pneumonia can return, so you must be careful.”

“We will,” Junya replied, bowing low as he faced the monk. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I-it’s quite all right,” Shichi said, not accustomed to such gratitude.

“I’m sorry that I can’t offer you more, but this—” Junya said, holding up a string of copper coins.

“That won’t be necessary.” Shichi held up both hands. “You kept your end of the bargain.”

“Are you sure that—”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Shichi said, lowering his head respectfully. “I need to be on my way. But I was honored to meet both of you.”

The three said their goodbyes, though not before Kumi insisted that he take some dried vegetables. As he stepped outside of the farmhouse, Shichi noticed that the previous day’s fog had cleared. It wasn’t until he was a fair distance from the house that his actual emotions pushed through.

“I did it,” he said, touching his forehead in elation. “I helped someone. I actually did it.”

Before he could make an even bigger fool of himself, Chiyo’s voice cut through the air behind him.

“Good for you.”

Shichi turned, startled at her presence.

“Ah . . . Chiyo? I thought you ran off.”

“You should have taken the money,” she said, looking up at him in disappointment.

“That’s not the reason I helped them,” he said, looking helplessly back at her.

“Yes, but he offered!”

Shichi only laughed. He noticed that, as he continued to walk, Chiyo was keeping up next to him. Her lake, however, was in the opposite direction.

“Are you following me?” he asked, glancing down with a raised brow.

“No. You’re just going in the same direction I am,” she said, proudly lifting her

nose.

“And which direction would that be?”

“Ah. This direction.”

“You are following me,” he said, stopping in his tracks. Chiyo stopped as well, averting her eyes in embarrassment.

“Well, I . . .” she started, still refusing to make eye contact. She fussed for a moment, then lowered her voice. “I lied. I don’t like being alone.”

Shichi’s look of annoyance quickly faded. He was surprised to hear such honesty from her and was caught off guard by the softness of her voice.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s safe to come with me,” he said. “I’m being tracked by a hunter.”

“Can’t be worse than a lying fortune teller,” she said with a huff. “I can’t stay near the village anymore. Not with those rumors.”

“Well,” Shichi said, rubbing the side of his face. “I suppose it would be all right if you accompanied me for a short while. Until you found a new home.”

“Great,” she said. “Can you let me up? My leg still hurts.”

The empathy in Shichi’s expression dissipated with a sigh. He took a knee, allowing the white fox to clamber up on his shoulder.

“And could you walk a little faster? I’m getting hungry.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Kitsune.”