A fox came upon a kirin caught in a trap. He had been there many days.

“Fox, open this trap,” the kirin said.

“I cannot,” she replied, “for I have only the one tail, and have never yet worn a man’s skin. I have not their hands, and I cannot pry open its teeth with my paws.”

“Even so, fox, you need only dig the peg from out the ground so I may run.”

“I cannot,” she replied, “for I too must run. A hunter follows me, and I hear his dog. If I stay to dig I will be torn to pieces before I am done.”

“Then run, fox, and tell my family where I am, so they may free me.”

“There is no need,” she replied, “for I have led the hunter here. We will both be saved: you from the trap and I from his dog. Only offer him your blessing, for a kirin’s blessing is worth more than a fox’s pelt. Do as I say, and you will live a thousand years and more. Your grandchildren will crown emperors. Offer your blessing, and you will be free.”

The hunter came short minutes later. The fox had already left. She ran and ran, past the town, past the kirin’s family. Their antlers were hung on men’s walls, their silver-scaled pelts stretched over racks, their bones left to whiten in the sun. They had been dead for many days.

One more question the kirin had asked her, before the man came, before she ran:

“Is what you say true, fox?”

“Today you will be saved.”

“Then I will give you my blessing, tomorrow.”

A folktale of the archipelago