A Fox's Whisper

16: |几卂尺|

I found squirrel meat to be tough, bland, and stringy. Were I not ravenously hungry, I would've been quite content to spit it back out onto the ground. As it would turn out, I was hungry. So I choked down the disgusting stuff and it managed to ease the hunger pangs that had grown in magnitude.

I could tell Kazuha didn't like the meat either, and it wasn't just due to the texture. From the last couple of times he'd cooked, he seemed to relish taking his time and slowly coaxing the food to its maximum potential of flavor. I wished Kazuha had made dinner instead. Squirrel can be a sweet almost nutty meat. But it was not the case, and we all suffered through mealtime in silence.

My shoulder and neck hurt to the point of making me nauseous. Any sudden movements caused spots to reel before my eyes and the world sometimes tilted and spiraled. Yet I found I wasn't focusing too much on the pain. Rather I paid attention to the lingering feeling of when Kazuha's hand had briefly been in mine, the sensation of his callused skin touching me. I felt silly for even thinking about it or trying to savor such a ridiculous thing, but I couldn't help it. He'd been so gentle...

Oh, come off it Inari, you're being stupid, I thought. What on earth was I doing?

I barely paid attention to Haru asking who wanted to tell a story first. I didn't feel much like listening to idiotic tales passed down from foolish generation to foolish generation. And I certainly didn't feel like telling a story myself, not that I knew any. My fellow kitsune used to love stories. They'd stay up late into the night spinning tales but I never thought to join them. Besides...they never asked me to.

"I'll go first!" Sora said, rubbing Pochi's ears. She was sitting next to Haru. Haru looked like he'd died and ascended to Celestia. "I know a lot of scary stories. My father used to tell them to me when he was still alive. Scared me half out of my wits every night." She laughed but it didn't sound happy.

"What happened to him?" Kazuha asked. I looked up suddenly. He was sitting across from me, and I was almost certain that if anyone else had asked the question, Sora would've planted an arrow in their brains. But when Kazuha asked it, Sora's eyes filled with a distant melancholy. Kazuha hadn't been rude. I still didn't see why he felt the need to ask about Sora's father. Why bother bringing up painful memories? In the end all they do is hurt.

"He was a soldier in the Raiden Shogun's army," Sora said stiffly, hunching her thin figure a little lower. "That's pretty self-explanatory."

It was. Everyone knew the fate of soldiers belonging to Baal. They died. Their lives were as meaningless and expendable as anthills are to giants. The Raiden Shogun didn't care what happened to anyone so long as she was satisfied. My own race seemed to be proof of that. Choosing to be a soldier for the Shogun was practically a death sentence. I shuddered.

"But...that was a while ago," Sora added. "And that has nothing to do with my story, so enough of that."

Kazuha smiled and nodded, turning his gaze back to the fire. His crimson eyes reflected the flames as clearly as a mirror.

"My story," Sora began, her voice taking on an imperious tone that made me want to vomit even more than the hainu bite did, "is the story of Kuchisake-onna."

It was such a common story that I knew I would be bored out of my mind listening to it. Nevertheless, everyone except Sora fell silent and listened as she told in a hushed whisper the tale of the slit-mouthed woman...

Long ago in Inazuma, there was a beautiful woman, pledged to marry a samurai. Such marriages were common, and everyone talked of how lucky the samurai was to have such a pretty woman as his future wife. After all, her smile was sweet, her eyes were like jewels, her hair was like the finest black silk, and her voice was as sweet as the pealing of silver bells at a festival.