The snow crunched deliciously under little white paws as the fox sped through the trees, dodging underbrush and around trunks as if he had springs in his long, slender legs. His tongue lolled happily as he followed a scent that was becoming more and more familiar.
Rory.
His friend had a name.
And he had invited anyone who wanted to come out to his home for a hunt, Jigano had overheard people talking about it in the Rathskeller. Tracing Rory's path had been something he'd studiously avoided before this, wishing to give his friend his privacy. But he wouldn't mind, surely, if the fox showed up by invitation? That wouldn't be strange at all...
Well. It would be, but he didn't dare come in his two-legged shape. Rory knew him best on four legs, and perhaps he'd let the fox sit beside him for awhile and rest his hand on a silk-furred back.
He burst out of the trees like a fuzzy white arrow, moving low and fast until the buildings of the little steading rose from the snowbanks a little ways ahead. He skidded to a stop, throwing up a little shower of snow and panting from his run as he looked over his friend's home in the blue-grey half-light between night and dawn. There were pens for animals - all of those that he'd smelled on his friend's skin and clothes before - and sheds and a house for people and--
There, by the goats, a familiar blond head knelt over something in the snow.
Jigano tilted his head, chest still heaving with his exertions, considering how to approach. He jumped up and began to move with stalking grace, low and smooth as he eeled his way down to the farmstead and circled around to crouch behind a shed with feed for the sleeping goats, staying instinctively downwind of them. But by the time he got there, the blond had already left. Popping out with ears perked forward and muzzle wrinkled in disappointment Jigano trotted forward to see what had caught the man's attention and found--
Himself.
Smaller and distinctly less fluffy, but the little creature made of snow was undoubtedly a fox. Not me, necessarily, he reminded himself gently. There was every evidence that Rory just liked foxes in general. But it still sent warmth curling through his chest, an unexpected spring of sentiment welling up as he leaned forward to touch noses to the little totem. Watch over him when I'm not here, he instructed it softly, and for once the part of him that might have scoffed at such silly superstition stayed silent.
There was nothing easier to follow than fresh tracks, and finding Rory was the work of moments when Jigano turned his mind to it. On silent paws he ghosted to his friend's side and then sat, tail curled neatly so its tip just covered his front toes. He glanced up slyly at his friend, waiting for when he would be noticed and ready to join the hunt.
Rory.
His friend had a name.
And he had invited anyone who wanted to come out to his home for a hunt, Jigano had overheard people talking about it in the Rathskeller. Tracing Rory's path had been something he'd studiously avoided before this, wishing to give his friend his privacy. But he wouldn't mind, surely, if the fox showed up by invitation? That wouldn't be strange at all...
Well. It would be, but he didn't dare come in his two-legged shape. Rory knew him best on four legs, and perhaps he'd let the fox sit beside him for awhile and rest his hand on a silk-furred back.
He burst out of the trees like a fuzzy white arrow, moving low and fast until the buildings of the little steading rose from the snowbanks a little ways ahead. He skidded to a stop, throwing up a little shower of snow and panting from his run as he looked over his friend's home in the blue-grey half-light between night and dawn. There were pens for animals - all of those that he'd smelled on his friend's skin and clothes before - and sheds and a house for people and--
There, by the goats, a familiar blond head knelt over something in the snow.
Jigano tilted his head, chest still heaving with his exertions, considering how to approach. He jumped up and began to move with stalking grace, low and smooth as he eeled his way down to the farmstead and circled around to crouch behind a shed with feed for the sleeping goats, staying instinctively downwind of them. But by the time he got there, the blond had already left. Popping out with ears perked forward and muzzle wrinkled in disappointment Jigano trotted forward to see what had caught the man's attention and found--
Himself.
Smaller and distinctly less fluffy, but the little creature made of snow was undoubtedly a fox. Not me, necessarily, he reminded himself gently. There was every evidence that Rory just liked foxes in general. But it still sent warmth curling through his chest, an unexpected spring of sentiment welling up as he leaned forward to touch noses to the little totem. Watch over him when I'm not here, he instructed it softly, and for once the part of him that might have scoffed at such silly superstition stayed silent.
There was nothing easier to follow than fresh tracks, and finding Rory was the work of moments when Jigano turned his mind to it. On silent paws he ghosted to his friend's side and then sat, tail curled neatly so its tip just covered his front toes. He glanced up slyly at his friend, waiting for when he would be noticed and ready to join the hunt.
