The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

Chapter 99: Travel Adventures

Traveling with two spirits and a mage, I made much better time going south than I had flying north on my own. It was much more relaxing too, as I could ride on either Bobo's head or the wagon seat next to Floridiana, while the baby horse spirit clip-clopped along.

And by "baby horse spirit," I meant a glorious, golden stallion with lacquer-black legs who strutted like an emperor's warhorse. It was a far cry from the scrawny, broken-down nag I'd seen in Yulus' vision during my life as Mooncloud.

Hey, spirit, what's your name? I made the mistake of asking him our first day on the road. In my defense, I was bored.

The horse tossed his mane and swished his tail, nearly sweeping the hairs into my and Floridiana's eyes.

"Careful there," she warned, as if she were lecturing an unruly student. "What did we talk about, Dusty?"

His tail stilled, but he informed her stiffly, "My name is no longer Dusty, mage. When I awakened, I was granted the awareness of my true identity as The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind."

"It's an awesssome name!" agreed Bobo, who was slithering along next to the wagon.

The valiant prince of the victorious – whirlwind?

So...Dusty, I muttered, loud enough for Floridiana to hear, which was more than loud enough for the two spirits to hear.

"My name is not Dusty. I will not answer to that moniker. You will call me by my proper name, as befitting a true spirit."

If that level of reverence were what he expected from life as spirit, he was about to get crushed by a mountain's worth of disappointment. No one called me Flos Piri, not even the clerks up in Heaven. If I could resign myself to "Rosie" and "Mr. Turtle," he could cursed well answer to "Dusty."

At my unimpressed silence, he added, in the tones of one granting a nigh-unbearable concession, "In a pinch, if time is of the essence, you may also address me as 'Your Highness'."

Yeah, sure.

Maybe I didn't sound sarcastic enough, because Floridiana's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

Yep. Just as soon as I take over Heaven.

Dusty seemed to be pondering the timeline there, but Floridiana got the point. She snorted, and Bobo raised her head so her eyes were level with mine and giggled, "Promissse you will! Promissse you will! I want to sssee that!"

I chirped a chuckle, puffed out my chest, and spread both wings. It's a promise. On the day that I take over Heaven, I will address Dusty as "His Highness the Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind."

Bobo's laughter was contagious.

Days and then weeks passed as we made our way south. The landscape turned exuberant green, a shift that was highlighted by Floridiana's exclamations and frequent scrabbling for her journal so she could jot down notes and sketch plants and animals and even foods that she'd never seen before.

Is it really that exciting? I asked one time we stopped for lunch in a village square.

Floridiana had ordered a bowl of something that looked like irregular lavender and pale-orange chunks drowned in water. Rather than eating it like a normal person, though, she was alternating between sampling mouthfuls and scrawling down observations on the flavor and texture.