The Fox's Jewel

Evil Fox Spirit

Snow continued to fall as autumn left, the moonlight reflecting beautifully off the icicles that hung from the corners of hanging roofs. Night was quiet, not a single footprint in the fresh snowfall.

There was only one person to catch the falling snowflakes, the time far too late for anyone to be out. The lone person walked lightly, leaving faint footprints as they gracefully moved down the snow covered streets.

Stepping onto the bridge of the village, they stare into the chilly water below. Ice began to form in the river, the running water enough to see the starry sky.

Peeking at themselves, their image was faint and blurred, though some of their aspects were visible. Their most striking feature was their long and silky silver hair, the person leaning onto the railing, gripping the wooden bars.

The figure stood peacefully, staring down into the river of the village as it slept. Small fish hurried, swimming swiftly with the current as the temperatures continued to drop with the days.

"What are you doing, pup?"

Hearing that, the figure's attention is taken, turning to see a middle aged man who stepped towards the riverbank with a hefty fishing net over their shoulder.

They walked bare foot, somehow immune to the affects of frostbite as they moved through tall snow. His gray hair was slicked back like a shaggy mane of a beast, the old man bearing a few scars on his face.

He took a seat by the riverbank, dipping their net into the water casually before dragging out a classroom of fish. Many of them fell back into the water, though the few he did catch was enough.

Scratching his gray stubble, the middle aged man picked out piece of his bounty, lifting the wriggling fish by its tail as he spoke.

"There's nothing finer than winter fish, don't you think, pup?" He asks, raising it above his mouth before dropping it, vanishing down the feral man's throat.

Chewing, he drags out a clean skeleton, tossing it back into the river before wiping his mouth.

"What a waste, not enjoying the winter's bounty. You should try to live off this land a little more."

"You wouldn't have to live alone if you stayed in this village."

Sticking the net into the snow, it stood upright, the fish like fruits of a leaning tree as they sat stuck. The man stands up, stretching his arms out widely as he responded.

"I'd rather not. Travellers who stumble across me often call me a werewolf."

As he spoke, a tail appears behind him, one covered in coarse gray fur as it lazily hung behind him. He crossed his arms, a frown on his face as he continued.

"To mistake a demon for a folk tale..."