How to Catch a Fox (Ban X Reader)

Marks and Memories

You awoke to the aroma of flowers, dancing along sweet country air. Bleary and almost senseless, you could still name that lovely scent.

Sure enough, as you rolled onto one shoulder, you were greeted with a view of the hills outside of Bramstow, a location that was always seemed pleasantly sun-kissed and green.

You struggled to your feet though they felt wobbly and seared with pain, like your ankles were molten lead. After a few more moments of voiceless agony, the muscles seemed to relax, and the burning subsided. Still gasping, your eyes reluctantly wandered down to your ankle, and you prayed nothing was too gory. It was sticking out at horrid angles, jagged and sickening...

It was the worst splint you had ever seen. Whoever had bandaged you simply glued two twigs to your delicate ankle, and wrapped it up with a soot-stained rag. Still, you had to thank them. With as poor as the craftsmanship looked, it worked quite well in cushioning the aching.

After that little shock, you searched for your rescuer with no luck. You were alone and feeling woozy.

What happened?

Off in the valley below, the lights in Bramstow shone, like sunlight through amber. The sky was a rich blue, blending into a soothing purple as it nestled against the stark orange of evening. Low hills meandered from the North into into the distance before drifting into the trees with a smooth dip. The forest grew in patches, as islands of trees among a sea of rolling grass.

Snap!

You whirled around and almost choked. Only a few dozen feet away, loomed the most eerie sight. Cruel, gnarled trees burst from the ground, like zombies. Some appeared pale and sickly, with limp leaves barely dangling off their limbs, while others clawed at their neighbors with wicked branches of dark, oily bark. Trees wound tightly together as if they were barring the way into the forest, and what little of a view that was not smothered by trees was cast in terrible, unyielding murk. Nothing stirred. Your gaze trailed off to the South, where the wood continued to slink around the outskirts of your cheerful, little village.

The Tryst, it was called, though its true name has been lost for centuries, buried under generations of folktales and local legends, each wilder than the last. You vaguely recalled the story about a brave human being seduced by an evil woodland witch, and sacrificing everything to her. You assured yourself that it was probably the usual goblins and ghosts run around, nothing more than scary stories to keep children in line. You gave it a last, worried look and began the painful trek down to Bramstow.

Hopefully, Cohen could help you remember why you were out here.

Then you caught a twittering sound from down the hill. Giggling, singing, and music drifted up to you, and you limped a bit faster. As you approached, colorful tents poked up from the horizon. Children, wearing pastel gowns, spun around a tall, rainbow-striped maypole. A local band was playing a giddy tune for the droves of dancing villagers. People drank ale, cheered, laughed and ate their hardy foods. A summer's breeze gently tugged at your hair.

How you missed the harvest festival. Excitement welled in your chest, buzzing until you finally made up your mind and cantered down the hillside, ignoring the faint ache in your ankles. You twirled and spun around the maypole, your smile beaming bright. Round and round and round until the world was a carousel of giggling faces, rainbow tassels and, suddenly, the daffodil-dotted grass. Dizzy and bursting with laughter, you pulled yourself up from the ground. One of the children, a little girl, discarded her place at the pole and waddled over to you.

A delightful grin was painted on your features. "Don't worry about me! I'm just a little dizzy. Go have fun!"

She only stared as a twisted smile was etched along her face from cheek to cheek. "Oh, I will."

Her black hair fell enough for you to glimpse a purple mark just below her ear.

"Another toy to break!" She chimed. She spun on her heel, and rejoined the group, shrieking and sobbing madly. "Help! Help! She says she's going to hurt me! Please, someone get her away! I don't want to be like Mr. Cohen!"

The feasting villagers pricked up their ears. Glasses ceased to clink and laughter ceased to flow as a fearful murmur arose.

One burly villager, built like a mountain, charged to the front of the crowd. "How dare you show your face here. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HENRY!?"

In that moment the tension snapped and they people burst into an open riot. Curses and accusations surged forth. You thought you even caught weeping though the girl was nowhere to be seen. "Kobrun is right!" "You killed him didn't you!" "How could you?" "After all Cohen did for you!"

Your body began to shake as if you would topple at any second. Lips quivering, you tried to form an argument, but it was swallowed in the shouting.

The towering man, Kobrun, smirked and extended one of his meaty fingers at you. "Don't try to deny! You've been missing all week, and suddenly you appear here just as the Holy Knight said you would."

The Holy Knight? Cohen? What's going on?

You might have asked what he meant, but Kobrun hefted a woodcutter's axe onto his shoulder. The others must have noticed, as men produced knives from their belts while women ushered the children inside before marching out with heavy iron pans. It was too late for talking things out.

In a flash, you reached up and over your back, whipping out your bow and pointing an arrow at Kobrun's pompous face. It all happened before you could think.

Who even is this guy? I've never seen him around here before, but everyone seems to be following his lead.

Some of the villagers in the crowd gave each other doubtful looks, and others appeared to be distraught by having to turn on you. No one, save Kobrun, would look you in the eyes.

I would never be able to hurt them.

"Alright. I'll come quietly." You lowered your bow, and focussed on accessing your power. A warm, fluttering feeling was kindled in your chest, and you bundled that power and sent it flowing down your arms. A tingling, orange glow poured down them until it reached your hands. There the soft rays trickled out as twin streams of fire that slithered from your fingertips, dancing along the shaft of the arrow.

Kobrun blanched and began to shout an order, but was cut off by the woosh of the ignited arrow. With a swift fwip, the maypole erupted into a iridescent ball of flames.

The pyre was the perfect distraction: far enough to avoid destroying the village, but shocking enough to wipe the smug sneer off of Kobrun.

While the others were searching for water to staunch the blaze, you bounced a few steps back, and twisted, sprinting back the way you came. You managed to keep the sharp, needling stings from hindering you as you bounded back up the hill, but you could hear the bellowing of an enraged Kobrun rushing closer. His thunderous footfalls came unaccompanied, thankfully, but you could tell he was gaining ground.

Your only haven was in sight. The Tryst leered at you, imposing as ever. You imagined it was waiting in gleeful anticipation, waiting for its chance to devour you. You pushed aside those thoughts, and honed in on a narrow opening between the dense foliage. You glanced inside the gap, and found it was choked with diseased ivy and the glint of glistening thorns. You had made up your mind when you could almost feel the man-mountain's beastly snorts blast your neck.

"RAHHH!"

You had scrambled halfway through the passage by the time Kobrun brought his axe hurtling down. The wickedly fine blade caught a stray branch as it crashed towards you, sparing you just enough time to scrape out of the way.

Kobrun slowly lifted his weapon, brandishing it at his waist, and cracked a crooked smirk. "Go ahead, child, run and hide. You have abandoned him," he called after you.

His crude features carved themselves into the blankness of your memory, and in the last rays of natural light, you spotted something that would continue to haunt you for the rest of your journey: a deep, purple mark, just below the ear.