Spring was a good time to lay low. After all, it was one of the busiest times of the year. Mao found himself bogged down with work in his family’s medicine shop. A seasonal flu had made the rounds so people needed treatment for that, as well as reassurances that rest and hot food would see it pass just fine. Some arguments broke out where Mao and Josei had to convince people to not work as usual despite ‘just a bit of coughing’. General advice such as ‘wash your hands’, ‘don’t pick food you dropped on the ground back up again’, and one of Mao’s least favorite:

“Do not sneeze at people. I don’t care if it’s for a prank.”

“‘s just a bit of snot. What’s the worst that could happen?” A grimy farmer argued.

“They’ll get sick is what’ll happen. Snot transfers sickness.”

“Bah, and them nobles with their pocket napkins? Why ain’t every single one of them sick if they keep those things on hand all day? I seen them wipe their noses on em enough times to know they ain’t free of snot, blue blood or not.”

Mao had to resist the growing urge to jump over the counter and throttle the man. He smiled and said in his most customer-appeasing voice, “They clean the napkins. That’s why they don’t get people sick.”

The farmer blinked in disbelief. “What? Every day? Blimey, their washers must be gettin’ paid double for that amount of work. Maybe I should switch me son’s apprenticeship to washing. Unless you’re trying to pull me a long one, eh?”

Mao tried not to grimace as the farmer gave him a narrow eyed stare, maw still working despite him being quiet. There was a piece of sap mixed with something else making the rounds on the guy’s teeth in a constant amount of chewing.

“They don’t just have one napkin that needs washing every day. They keep a rotation just like everyone else does with undergarments and the like. Wash it all in one go once a week or so and you’re good.”

“Undergarments? Pah-hck-” the bastard actually nearly spat on Mao’s floor, but stopped himself in the last second as he noticed a simmering stare from Tulip. The rooster sat watch near the door, enjoying a bit of evening sunlight. Mao watched the farmer swallow what had nearly become a gross splatter on the floor.

“-’s I was sayin’, now I really know you’re tryin’ to trick me. You only need to wash your underpants once a week, tops. Rotation my arse.”

Mao blinked. Did he get that right… “You… you don’t change them every day?”

“Do I look like some rich git that can afford more than a few pairs o’ underpants? Ain’t like people see them so stains don’t matter.”

“...Sir.”

Sometimes being a medicine maker was a taxing occupation. Especially when you learned the connection between hygiene and health. Josei’s Medicine Shop made plenty of coin on simple soaps and cleaning tonics.

Aside from work in the shop, which was busy enough with the aforementioned flu, dismayed people discovering they’d developed pollen allergies, persistent colds after someone got a little too bold on the light wear despite the chilly weather… Mao spent a lot of time in the woods.

He found that being surrounded by trees, the whispering wind playing with the canopies, and the soft sound of mice frolicking through the underbrush, all had a very soothing effect on his mind. It was all well and good to let the busy times fill you with energy, but a calm break by a babbling brook was just as good for the soul.

Much of his time in the Maple Woods, Mao spent in his fox form. He chased hares, plundered bird nests, and marveled at the sights of lands untamed. Tobby preferred the city for their nightly runs, but had spent a few nights in the woods during Mao’s first shifts to teach him about hunter traps, signs of animal lairs, and other hidden dangers a fresh nosed fox needed to stay wary of.

It was a learning experience. You only fell into the abandoned well by the road once before learning to watch where you ran. Twice? Twice meant you got embarrassed when your friends teased you about it. Trice… Trice was really, really, really embarrassing.

Thankfully the old well had so much debris in it that the fall was short and cushioned enough that it only ended with a few bruises. And a lot of screeching until someone found you and could help fish you up. It was yet another reason to appreciate the daily Hunters’ Guild patrols through the woods.

When shop work was too tedious abd the woods a bit too slow, then Mao would go to the Crow’s Nest on Peak Street for a bit of delivery work. Most of the city’s mail went by crow. A sizable murder of them lived in the tall building with its fence walls and feeding alcoves.

Crows were a clever lot, able to learn simple commands, the values of delivering things for treats and shiny trinkets, and that rude words could get a funny ruse out of most people if they croaked it loudly enough above a crowd.

A few small mail offices sat in most parts of the mountain city, ready to receive the crows as they came in with the letters. From there anyone could pick up a letter addressed to themselves, or send one off to avoid an otherwise long trek. Things too heavy for the large birds was commonly sent via runners, or couriers as they preferred to be called.They were mostly children hoping to earn a few coppers to spend on treats and toys, or to save up for something grand once the yearly festivals rolled around.

Older kids that had earned a degree of trust got to deliver the more precious packages, and people like Tobby who took up delivery runs as a full time job got paid the most. Mao joined him every now and then, mostly for the company, but a few extra coins in his pockets wasn’t so bad either.

Shop work, the woods, deliveries and nightly runs. All good and well for a certain span of time. Mao might have been satisfied with it for longer if the Hunters had found that merchant’s murderer, but precious few updates on the case reached Mao’s ears, so his curiosity remained a constant hum at the back of his mind.

The killer was still on the run, motive was unclear, and people lied about the way Isaac had died. Most said it was by a torn out throat, others by being gutted. Some said poison, another few said strangulation.

One nasty rumor even said that the merchant had gotten a little too rude with the Red Lantern girls, enough so that the security had made an example of him. That last one wasn’t true of course. Madam Riarin and her staff were highly professional. They turned troublemakers in to the watch. Mostly. Slights too small to be a proper crime could end up with a beating from the brothel’s security, but they wouldn’t go as far as murder.

So far it looked like it would end up being a remarkably unsatisfying mystery; one without an ending. A cold case, culprit gone and never to be found. It might have been forgotten in time, replaced by spicier drama and fresher news. It might even have turned into an urban legend told to cheeky merchants and rude tourists, a means to keep them on their best behavior when they ventured into the Red Light District to let loose and have fun.

It might have ended there, but then someone found a second body.

Mao heard about it during breakfast at the public cookery. Josei was sleeping in to make up for a late night studying a breakthrough in the studies of uses for the herb spidervän, a previously disregarded plant with few uses. Some madman had figured out how to make soup out of the roots. Apparently it was delicious. Josei would only believe it once she’d tried it.

The cookery was buzzing with excited whispers and muted theorizing about these grizzly news - the murder, not the spidervän soup. A low ranking noble on Peak Street had been found dead in his home after failing to turn up for a meeting later the same day. They said it was probably poison, but the watch wasn’t sure.

And get this, they say a Wild One might be involved. How else to explain the blood in his mouth, his caved in chest despite no ribs having been broken, no visible wounds. As if someone had simply sucked the insides out of his mouth, a morbid kiss of death.

Trying not to look too much like he was eavesdropping on everything and everyone, Mao ate his porridge and took it all in. The porridge had a bit of cinnamon, baked apples, and raisins. Delicious stuff. Mao cursed the oats for being too noisy when he chewed, it drowned out some of the nearby conversations. The Hunters and Riarin’s pet bartender had clued him into a Wild One being involved, but there were still details he was fuzzy on.

“I heard the Hunters’ Guild tried to corner the case. Wanted the Watch to let ‘em have it. That’s definitely suspicious.” A nearby cluster of masons made appropriate sounds of surprise and conspiracy as one of them regaled the rest with this frightening tale.

“They only get involved if they think the Wild Ones had a hand in it. Or if they did the deed themselves,” A lady with a crooked nose confided. The others nodded knowingly. A short guy with a bit of a lisp looked hesitant.

“You think they did it? Killed the poor fellow? Wasn’t a local. What could he have done to tilt them so bad?”

Someone else paused at that. Their eyes rolled to the ceiling as they thought for a bit, then blinked as they remembered something.

“That’s right, my friend spoke to Miss Öl about it, y’know, the innkeeper near Market Square. Said he arrived the same day he died. What could he have done to piss them off into killing in a single day? Musta been damn bad, whatever it was.”

The conversation shifted into theories on how far one would have to go to be killed by the Hunters’ Guild. Mao listened with some distaste, disliking the dark reputation his heros sometimes had. You had to keep things hushed when dealing with the Wilds, but it didn’t shift public opinion much in their favor. People wanted to know, people were nosy. Mao was nosy. He wanted to know what they’d found!

He had to lay low though. Both Ulven and Gin had told him to. Gin could go walk off a short cliff for all Mao cared, but he respected Ulven and wanted the headmaster’s trust too desperately to disobey. That’s why Mao did not walk towards Peak Street and the Noble Road after breakfast. He did not. He was just… going to offer some prayers at the hen shrine in the city’s heart…

Yes, Mao was now a devout of the Lady Hen and her court. Definitely. He’d had a… religious experience. Maybe… Tulip had opened his eyes to the truth. That sneaky old rooster. That’s why Mao was standing by the shrine, eyes closed in reverence, ears twitching to catch the distant sounds of the Watch swarming around the dead noble’s house just a few stairs down.

Damn it Mao, stop getting closer. Lady Hen would be so disappointed in you.

Mao slid past a greenery shop, took one look down the stairs at the crowd of people - the Watch, nosy onlookers, and a few Hunters trying to lay low in the whispering crowd… and decided that he should go pay Joseph a visit instead. Yep, totally innocent visit to his good old friend Joseph Lejon who just so happened to live on Noble Road. It was nearby, just a short walk away. Maybe he wanted to have a quick chat. Maybe discuss some recent gossip like, say… the nobleman murder.

The Lejon estate was a vast affair of tall hedges, well tended rose bushes, and a 3 story building surrounded by a decorative wall. The wall had hedges around it too and a garden sat at the front of it all. Their family crest was of a lion, rose bushes, and a pair of crossed swords. They also happened to be the main sponsor of the local Watch, and were thus well informed about anything legal and not.

The main gate was a bit of an obstacle to get past, especially with the pair of bored looking guards standing on either side of it, so Mao went for the backdoor. Metaphorically speaking. The Lejon home didn’t have a backdoor, at least none easily visible from the outside. They probably had a secret escape tunnel or 3 hidden beneath the ground, like most clever noble families did in case of an emergency.

Mao slunk around the side of the grand building, carefully watching for people that might notice him. This side of Noble Road was practically deserted. Most were gawking at the house where the murder had happened. Mao didn’t remember the noble’s name but he vaguely recognized the tall roof with it’s moss green shingles. It stood empty during most parts of the year as the noble family it belonged to only came to Redlog for celebrations and to relax. They had their main business elsewhere.

The Lejons on the other hand lived here the year around, so Mao had to be careful. He took a glance around, found no eyes upon his so far innocent self, then slipped through an overgrown gate into a hidden garden. Said garden was fenced in by stone walls, top covered by a pergola that supported a waterfall’s worth of purple wisteria blooms, and any gaps in the wall of stone, wood, and greenery were plugged by peony bushes. It was the mayor’s garden, his secret hide-away for his time off. Rather cozy, especially compared to the building it was connected to, the office and public face of Redlog’s - in theory - most powerful man.

It was a place made by rich people, for rich people, with rich materials. In other words: an incredibly ugly piece of work. Glass windows installed into every bit of wall that could fit them, a huge lattice work of the more traditional red wood that decorated most other houses, dark wooden beams, locally sourced, and a roof overhang with carved beams depicting ornate patterns and stylized mountain scapes.

Ugly, lacking in function and efficiency, outrageously expensive, and open enough to showcase the rich insides, the massive hearth with its carefully laid bricks, the sanded and polished wooden floor, the giant desk in the middle, a carpet spanning most of the room… Exactly what the upper class expected - nay, demanded the figurehead of their city portray to anyone visiting.

Thus the hidden garden, a bubble of privacy hiding a much smaller set of doors that led to the mayor’s private abode beneath his office building. The garden was also an excellent place to sneak into to shift into a fox. The audacity to trespass into this clearly private garden was not the most common trait among Redlog’s general populace.

From there it was a simple climb up the wisteria bushes and onto the stone wall that surrounded the garden, then a daring leap to land on the edge of the Lejon household’s roof. Easy as pie.

Though daylight wasn’t ideal for a fox to skulk around on rooftops unseen, Mao’s dark pelt blended in well enough with the dark wood that made up most of the noble building’s upper floor. A quick trott across the red shingles saw Mao to one of the bigger windows of the second floor, one he knew was part of Joseph’s rather large room.

He saw the young man bustling about within, platinum blond hair ruffled from busy movements and dark eyebrows set in a determined frown. Joseph was grabbing notes off his desk, stuffing a leather bag with books, pencils, more notes, all the while trying to down a meatbun without using his hands. It was probably his breakfast. Nobles liked to wake up later in the day, so he was probably only catching the news about the dead noble just now.

Joseph shut his bag, looked around in a harried manner, then made for the stairs at a pace that looked curiously like a walk at running speeds. He choked on the bun as he saw Mao squatting outside his window, fox mask grinning.

Mao opened the window from the outside - Joseph didn’t lock it, trusting in its position on the second floor to keep him safe from burglars, the fool - and slipped into the room while Joseph tried to coax the piece of bread back out of his throat.

A firm slap to the back from Mao saw the offending piece of food horked up and spat on the ground. Joseph stared at it as if it had told him a great offensive secret. Then he whirled on Mao.

“Stop doing that! I nearly died!”

Mao just grinned as his friend shook a fist in his face. “Good morning to you too! Heard about the murder I take it?”

Joseph huffed, tensed up as if to snap, then took a deep breath. Inhale, exhaaaale… Mao grinned at him and nearly got punched, but the noble did eventually calm down.

“Yes. I’m on my way there now to check it out,” Joseph said, eyes flashing with irritation despite the twitch to the corner of his mouth. He was trying not to smile.

“Mind if I tag along?” Mao asked. Joseph paused, brow furrowing.

“You’re not with the Watch.”

“Neither are you.”

That made Joseph’s frown deeper. For all that the young noble wanted to help the law, his was not an active role in enforcing it. He didn’t lack for trying though.

“Touché. Come along then.”

Joseph made for the stairs - then rounded on his desk to pick up one last bundle of notes. He had a damn lot of them. Someone was getting a little too into the local conspiracies… Once another bundle of tightly written parchment had joined the rest inside the tightly packed bag, Joseph turned back for the stairs again. Mao watched it all with an amused grin and not an ounce of hurry.

“Is it related to the other murder?” He asked.

Joseph nearly fell down the stairs. Mao caught him by the shirt and hauled him back up. The noble gave Mao a wide eyed stare. Now it was the medicine maker’s turn to blink.

“You didn’t hear?” Mao asked.

“Hear what? Someone else was killed? It’s not even noon yet-”

“Not today. It was what… a few weeks ago? Not too long. Same night as that accident at the stables.”

“Gods below…”

Joseph stumbled despite Mao’s concerned hand on his shoulder. He looked around, considered the stairs and his earlier hurry… then decided to sit down to hear Mao out on what he’d missed. Mao told him about the dead merchant. He was surprised to hear that Joseph hadn’t heard.

“I thought it was just another rumor. The Watch didn’t get involved at all so… Did the Hunters’ Guild hush it up?”

Joseph’s questioning stare made Mao feel uneasy.

It was a kind of accepted thing that the Hunters could hoard a case away from the Watch. Was it legal? that was up for debate. A real hot topic in certain bars at certain hours of the day. To describe the Hunters methods of hushing down a case… it was a little bit like bullying. The Guild lacked the numbers of the Watch, but the Watch were not as closely tied to the Wilds. And in a town like Redlog, built on a mountain far, faaaaaar away from the rest of the world, the Wilds were too real not to fear. So if the Guild said the Wild Ones had a part in a case where the Watch shouldn’t meddle… well, the Watch tended to respect the expertise of the Guild.

“Seems like it.” Mao answered. It didn’t sit quite right with him though. “Any chance the Watch simply kept it from you?”

“That chance is slim to none.” Joseph shot that notion down immediately. “I’m practically sleeping outside the watch captain’s door- I’ve volunteered to become her secretary. She isn’t too keen on it… For now. But I keep up to date with most Watch business.”

Mao eyed Joseph’s cluttered desk. Bits of red string connected points on a map of the city to each other, with little paper notes hanging off here and there. His keen eyes saw mostly notes of robberies, brawls, the occasional shanking. For all it was a tradehub, Redlog didn’t see too much crime. He suspected the Hunters’ Guild and the high population of Wild Ones was to thank for that.

Wild Ones could get territorial and most minded their territories well. Katja and the Havre family had ganged up on some teens harassing strays a month ago. One cat acting hostile might not scare most, but 20 of them cornering you in an alleyway at night? You learned to treat strays with respect after that. Joseph pulled a hand through his hair.

“It must be Wilds related then. The watch probably got to this one first since it’s on Noble Road… Damn, damn. This is going to escalate fast,” Joseph grumbled. Mao agreed.

The Watch and the Hunters didn’t always get along… especially not around cases like this where it wasn’t entirely clear if the murder had been mundane or magical. The Watch would prioritize upholding the law, but you couldn’t just jail a Wild One, at least not without knowing how to keep them subdued. Yet to hand it over entirely to the Hunters meant that public opinion would tear the Watch a new one if they thought a murder case was being ignored. Without knowing for certain, both sides would be under heavy pressure.

“It’s a mess,” Mao agreed, “but if we’re lucky people will think the two are unrelated. How did the nobleman die?”

“The reports aren’t certain. They’ll have to cut him up to check the inside. Some kind of odd injury… no open wounds though. Poison? It’s all theories.”

“Could we get in to see them do it?”

Joseph turned pale at the idea of watching an autopsy. That was apparently a little too involved, even for him.

“...They’ll document any findings. Give it a day.”

Mao nodded reluctantly. He could do without seeing a corpse. He just needed to know. He was a suspect in this case and he wanted to know why. Since both Ulven and Gin had lied about the first one, the cause of death was his biggest clue.

Eager to investigate what he could, Mao said, “Where are we off to then? The scene of the crime?”

Joseph paused. Much of his earlier haste seemed to have faded by now. Perhaps he’d been moving before thinking things through properly first. He corrected that now.

“To… the watch captain’s office. I’ll offer my aid however I can. We’d only get in the way at the crime scene. You… might want to sit this one out, Mao.”

Mao winced. The Harpy of Redlog- the watch captain that is, was not a great fan of Mao’s. She was rather strict, a bit scary, a good match for butting heads with Ulven Jägare and his stubborn lot.

As frustrating as it was to admit, Joseph was probably right on that one. Mao let the noble run off to badger the Harpy on letting him be of assistance. Mood quickly souring, the fox debated nosing around the dead noble’s house, but getting caught by the Hunters’ wasn’t worth it. Sadly that left him without any other satisfying options. So, reluctantly and with a great deal of disappointment, Mao went home.

The rest of the day went by at a snail’s pace. Mao minded the shop, processed herbs, and ate lunch with Josei. His mother took off in the evening to go do some grocery shopping with Katja and her friends, leaving Mao alone to mind the house.

Tulip was content to doze by the hearth so Mao sat in the armchair and watched the flames burn. He felt antsy, full of unspent energy. Despite something as exciting and rare as a murder happening in Redlog, the fox hadn’t gotten much amusement out of it. His curiosity was eating away at him. It was like an itch lurking just beneath the skin. It was a terrible thing, the murder, yet it whisked the mind away with questions and fears that begged for answers.

Mao tried to do some reading, then when that failed to entertain him, went for a run. Tulip could well maul anyone foolish enough to break into the shop - he’d done it once before. As long as it was dark, the black roster was near impossible to see, even when he came at you at high speed, talons first. Without any candles burning and the windows at the front covered by the screens, their home lay in darkness. He’d be back before Josei, probably.

After closing and locking the door, Mao took a deep breath and let his body relax. The sun was setting, shedding the stone streets and wooden buildings in a rich orange glow. Dusk drew long shadows from every corner and crevice, so Mao slunk around a wall and put on his mask.

-

Redlog was bustling that night, full of people making merry in the bars, restaurants, and shops that stayed open late into the darkest hours. Paper and glass lanterns lit up the streets with dim, colorful lights. Mao counted green, red, orange, and purple as he ran through a dazzling path of refracted light.

In an alleyway made narrow by a tree the city had missed, an owl made a swooping charge at another owl that had gotten a little too cheeky in its disregard for other birds’ territory markings. Mao watched them screech and hoot, round eyes gleaming whenever they caught the light of the moon.

His tail kept twitching, mirroring his restless mood, even while running. He sat on the roof of the Lilja household’s tall home. It was perhaps the only roof in Redlog to not be red. It was a pale purple, lavender or some color equally floral in its name. It was also the home of Tobby’s sweetheart, Maridot Lilja.

The roof was a fair bit taller than the surrounding houses, built in some foreign style that put effort in portraying steep angles and curling spires. The walls were made of pale stone rather than wood, and the windows had glass instead of paper screens. It still had shutters to ward off bad weather and snow, but these were ornatly carved and painted purple to match the roof. A rich building, one of the older ones.

It was an excellent vantage point to look down from. From there, Mao had an nearly unobstructed view of the house of the dead nobleman. The rest of the family had vacated to safer grounds, probably to a friend’s place or a distant relative. Now the rich building lay dark with only the lanterns of the Watch illuminating it from outside. They kept vigil over the place in case the killer were to return.

Darker shapes skulked around past the lights held by the Watch, Hunters moving without the need for fire to see through the night. Mao thought he saw a furry shape sniffing the air in an alleyway, with a pair of Hunters keeping watch to ensure the beastman wasn’t spotted by passerbyes.

Not that Noble Road saw much traffic tonight. The murder had spooked the rich folks something fierce, so most hid in their homes and hoped that this was a one-time-thing. They had theories about it like everyone else, but their urge to go up and goggle at the scene was far more subdued. During night? None dared to get close. Some of the more common folks might have gotten close if not for the Watch. To be seen sneaking about on Noble Road, an almost purely residential part of the city, near a dead man’s home in the middle of the night, well… let’s just say that wouldn’t have looked very good.

Funnily enough the nobles’ theories on the case were a lot less surprised and wild than what was being discussed in the rest of the city. A vicious lover’s spat perhaps, or vengeance for some old debt. Nobles could be bloody vipers if they got tilted enough about something. It was a far cry from the rumored games of politics found in larger cities, but it was still enough to chill ones bones whenever a bad case cropped up. So while murder was taboo and illegal and all sorts of bad… it wasn’t entierly off the table either according to the nobles. Heavily advised against… but most probably assumed it would happen at some point.

So there really wasn’t a whole lot to see other than people patrolling or sniffing the ground for clues one might have missed during the day. Mao was about ready to head off, finding nothing of interest to spy on from his safe distance. He didn’t dare go closer, not that he would have found anything the Hunters or Watch hadn’t found already. It was frustrating, so frustrating.

A flash of red caught Mao’s eye as he stood up to leave. It froze the black fox in his tracks. A small shape was sneaking along the roof ridge beneath Mao’s perch. It looked like… a cat? No, the proportions were off. Confused, Mao watched a mirror image of his own carefully tread across the red shingles. A red fox.

He might have dismissed the sight if it had been out in the woods - or even here, if it had been rooting through the trash heaps for an easy meal or stalking mice near the stables. Foxes were clever scavengers. This one was different to their mundane counterpart though. It had more than one tail.

Agog, Mao watched not 1, not 2, but 3 streaks of red waving to and thro, dark-brown tips the only way to really count them as they kept swirling in a loose tangle of fur. The red fox eyed the house of the dead noble, the patrolling Watch, then turned its snout in Mao’s direction.

A Wild One fox! Was it the killer? The Hunters seemed certain that a fox had been the culprit, and Mao knew no others like himself in Redlog.

The two locked eyes, just for a moment. Dark red meeting brown with flecks of forest green. It lasted only for a moment, then the 3 tailed fox took off. Mao was too stunned to react at first, then he dove from his perch and gave chase.

It took him a breakneck sprint to catch up with it, and even then he had to keep his pace not to fall behind. The red fox glanced over its shoulder as it ran, ears swiveling back to catch the sound of its pursuer. Mao panted as it led him across the roofs of Peak Street, paws hammering the shingles so hard and fast that it made them all clatter.

They dove onto the roof of the bakery, leapt off a curved corner to land on the edge of the smithy’s chimney, then raced on as smoke clung to their fur in twirling wisps. The chase scaled the peak of one rooftop, paused there to regard each other, then on it went. Mao leapt and nearly missed as they landed on the Hunters’ Guild’s roof.

It was a steep climb but the red fox flowed up the treacherous ramp like a ghost, pawpads making nary a sound as they brought the fox higher and higher. Mao snapped his teeth and missed one of its tails as it dove down the other side of the roof’s sloping spine. A growl of frustration bubbled up from his throat, but he followed without any clearer thoughts. Too late he realized that the roof ended in an impossible leap, one that would see him crashing down to the level below Peak Street.

Desperately he dug his paws in to try and arrest his fall, but momentum forced him onwards. He saw the red fox brace as it reached the last row of shingles, then it leapt.

A beautiful arc in the air, soaring through the night towards the curve of a roof overhang, impossibly far from where it’d taken off. It kicked off the curve, flew, hit the cornice of another rooftop, then landed softly on the cobblestone street. A feat that boggled the mind.

Somehow Mao had to do the same or he would be crashing into the cobblestones far, far beneath the rooftops. He tried.

His body folded like a bear trap around the edge of the Hunters’ roof, paws scrambling to find purchase on the ornate curve of carved wood supporting the shingles. He found none, slipped - and hit the ground hard enough to see stars.

Laughter like crackling branches met him when he came to. A shrill, throaty sound not naturally found in a fox’s mouth. The red fox cackled merrily, sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light of the moon. In the time where he’d been out, the red fox had found a way down from the roofs and onto the painfully solid ground. Mao shook the last of the stars from his eyes, then stumbled to his feet, body aching from the rough fall.

The stranger slunk up to his side, a wave of forest smells and aged mead that circled him like a ghost. So silent, it moved with such grace. It kept a short distance from its dark furred counterpart, just close enough to feel intruding. Mao regained his senses and made a lunge for it, but the other fox just leapt back, red tails waving in amusement.

It made a playful lunge for him, snapping its teeth right in front of Mao’s face. It caught him so off guard that he flinched, but the stranger just laughed that shrill sound again. It was a little intoxicating. It made Mao want to join it. To pester it until it told him what the joke was. It urged him on, a playful twitch of its ears, a quick bow, then a dash down the street. It paused to see if Mao would follow, and the black fox couldn’t resist.

They ran at that same breakneck speed as before, and he felt so slow when chasing this crimson wonder. It was everything he wanted to be, speed, grace, and daring. While he opted for the safer leaps down stairs and hedges, the red stranger soared down the walls, dark socked paws correcting its course with quick taps. It led him through a planter of azure bluet flowers, and petals and leaves flew into the air and rained down around them in a peaceful flutter, Mao forgot why he’d give chase in the first place.

His lungs burned, his legs ached, but the stranger was like the wind itself, tireless and without hesitance. He chased those red tails, like 3 waving banners that coaxed him on, urging him to speed up further yet, to run like the Wild.

The stranger surged up a wall beset by moss, twirled around a statue of a rooster, then flew down a set of stairs. It leapt and landed on a roof, then took Mao down onto a busy street. To his shock Mao realized that he’d landed in the middle of the main street of the Red Light District. People jerked back, some dropping cups or skewers of roasted meat or other snacks sold by the late night vendors. They’d been seen, noticed, caught in the middle of a crowd- yet the red fox didn’t halt, didn’t even slow. It snagged a skewer from a woman’s hand and kept running, wild laughter gurgling at the back of its canine throat.

The sudden fear that had frozen him in place slowly melted away. He might not be in trouble for being seen, yet - so he best keep moving. So with his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, Mao set off. He winded his way through legs and skirts, twisted past a rolling wagon and nearly lost his tail to the heavy wheel. He nearly lost sight of the trio of tails among the busy night crowd, nearly succumbed to his screaming instincts to get away from the humans.

Then all at once the street ended, a steep, near vertical fall down the mountainside and into the farmlands far, far, down below. The red fox didn’t stop, it didn’t hesitate, so Mao leapt after it over the edge.

It was a fall that tore his breath away. It tugged at him like a million small hands, grasping and pulling at his fur, his skin, his very bones. Gravity bore him down like a rock dropped from a tower. Mao’s senses screamed at him, fear tried to worm its way into his thoughts. It fell of deaf ears. The fox felt alive.

He watched the red fox’s paws catch subtle grooves in the old stone wall, how it pounced and bounced in a controlled fall, how its tails flicked and the wind humored its descent. Mao tried to mimick it and found - to his surprise, that he could. The moment flowed slowly. Time slowed. A faint voice at the back of his head screamed at him, told him he would die, break every bone in his body and end up as a mere stain on the ground. Yet His feet found purchase so Mao pushed.

The mountain evened out beneath the pair, turning from a wall of rock to a slope of gravel and stubborn dirt. Mao’s paws moved so fast that it felt like he was flying, as if failing to keep up would have him falling all over again. Before he knew it grass was beneath his paws. The slope faded, leaving the foxes to continue running in a desperate dash to spend the last of their momentum.

Mao thought they would stop there, slow and pause and breathe until their lungs could take no more. Not so. He should have left the stranger to continue without him, but one look at them disappearing into a field of tall grass told him that it wasn’t even a choice. He had to follow. Follow or forever wonder what he’d missed out on.

Blades of green broke around his face as he entered the field at a run. The ground was a rich carpet of dewed soil. He could hear mice and voles fleeing the sound of his hammering heart, the thundering of his paws that sent tremors down through their hidden tunnels.

The hunt for the other fox spun him in a circle. Into tight loops that had the grass whipping at his snout with every turn. He snapped his teeth, saw the dark tips of the stranger’s tails as he slowly drew closer to them. Almost, almost…

Mao’s body tensed, it coiled like a tightly wound spring. He dug his paws into the dirt and lunged. A fox’s laughter filled his ears as his mouth closed around something warm. He could smell the forest, an earthy den deep beneath the roots, but also something like home. Mead and rich spices, the dry timber of paper and the oil of a lantern. Scents from far and wide clinging to the red fur to tell where it had travelled.

They broke through the end of the grassfield and tumbled, mouth full of fur and the other laughing. Mao kicked and growled, but playfully so, head swimming with gleeful joy. Then he finally fell to a halt, chests heaving and legs quivering with exertion. Mao found himself laying on a gravel road next to the field, his own tail bit tightly in his mouth. It took awhile for the world to stop spinning.

When it finally did, Mao was alone. Alone and yearning for more. He felt as if an entire world he’d missed had revealed itself to him in tantalizing glimpses. He hadn’t known a fox could move like that. Nor that they could have more than one tail. The unexpected hunt left him with so many questions… and the sorest body he’d ever had the very next morning.