Seiji watches, bemused, as the two creatures gambol in the snow. They don’t seem to mind his presence, at all. He can’t help but laugh at their antics, a smile touching his lips, as they keep pace with him. Of course, the fox probably doesn’t understand — or doesn’t believe — what he just told it. Do foxes even like apples? Do spark birds, for that matter?
At least the company keeps his spirits up, and his thoughts from wandering too far. Seiji is surprised, though, when the fox trots ahead and gazes back at him as if with some intention. He hesitates, his own head cocked, as he eyes the creature’s mischievous features. “You know where we’re going?” he asks, a little wryly.
But he has no better guide. Seiji walks along behind the fox as it leads the way, its small companion riding its tail like a sled, the path they leave a wide swath of smooth snow. Probably the strangest thing he’s seen yet, even counting the spire and that night Kiada turned into a bird right in front of him.
Which makes him wonder — just for a second — but how many people around here can change themselves into animals? Kiada only told him about birds. He frowns a little, eyes narrowing at the fox. Would it make a difference, if it were a person in a fox’s skin? Not really, Seiji supposes. It could very well be an animal specific to Caido. He’s soon rewarded for his patience, anyway, as he glimpses a structure through the trees ahead.
Heavy timbers reach up toward the sky. It still smells of cut wood, as if erected recently. And clustered near the base, Seiji spies what look like previous offerings: bundles of fruits and vegetables and other things. Seiji approaches the structure and gazes up, thinking back to the notice he read on the board a few days ago. A perch. It could very well be — for a bird big enough to swallow him with its shadow alone. Seiji stands in silence for a moment, contemplating, before he turns back to the fox and smiles.
“Thank you, fox. And thank you to your friend.” He draws his bag over his shoulder and reaches in to produce a single small apple. “This is the best I have. Do you like apples?” he asks, and sets it on the ground nearby before he turns back to the perch.
His offering still feels inadequate, but he brings each piece out carefully to arrange it all near the base of the perch. Then, hesitating, he kneels in front of the offering and bows his head. It feels like the right thing to do — offer a short prayer before he leaves.
At least the company keeps his spirits up, and his thoughts from wandering too far. Seiji is surprised, though, when the fox trots ahead and gazes back at him as if with some intention. He hesitates, his own head cocked, as he eyes the creature’s mischievous features. “You know where we’re going?” he asks, a little wryly.
But he has no better guide. Seiji walks along behind the fox as it leads the way, its small companion riding its tail like a sled, the path they leave a wide swath of smooth snow. Probably the strangest thing he’s seen yet, even counting the spire and that night Kiada turned into a bird right in front of him.
Which makes him wonder — just for a second — but how many people around here can change themselves into animals? Kiada only told him about birds. He frowns a little, eyes narrowing at the fox. Would it make a difference, if it were a person in a fox’s skin? Not really, Seiji supposes. It could very well be an animal specific to Caido. He’s soon rewarded for his patience, anyway, as he glimpses a structure through the trees ahead.
Heavy timbers reach up toward the sky. It still smells of cut wood, as if erected recently. And clustered near the base, Seiji spies what look like previous offerings: bundles of fruits and vegetables and other things. Seiji approaches the structure and gazes up, thinking back to the notice he read on the board a few days ago. A perch. It could very well be — for a bird big enough to swallow him with its shadow alone. Seiji stands in silence for a moment, contemplating, before he turns back to the fox and smiles.
“Thank you, fox. And thank you to your friend.” He draws his bag over his shoulder and reaches in to produce a single small apple. “This is the best I have. Do you like apples?” he asks, and sets it on the ground nearby before he turns back to the perch.
His offering still feels inadequate, but he brings each piece out carefully to arrange it all near the base of the perch. Then, hesitating, he kneels in front of the offering and bows his head. It feels like the right thing to do — offer a short prayer before he leaves.
