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Threads of Fate

Preface: This was written four years ago for a prompt for a friend. I brought it back and expanded it because I loved the idea. The premise was exploring a character from another that was new and knew nothing. This website does not keep formatting unfortunately, so all of the italics and indents have been lost. Oh well. I hope you enjoy!

Google doc with original formatting: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NKCmmdKeCd6j5hdpW8oYiumFS3LwSoYbfNW4UgT4Cnw/edit?usp=sharing

“When are you going to get a job?” Clint’s mother berated him, as her deadbeat of a son rolled out of bed in his tiny room in her apartment. She had been beating on the door for some time now, and he was finally conscious enough to answer back. He checked his phone; two in the afternoon. No data. Which means his phone bill was unpaid. Fuck.

“I HAVE a job,” he shot back, groggily pulling on the same clothes he’d worn yesterday. It was the same conversation every day. She would forget eventually and then ask tomorrow.

“You’re gonna, what. Do random odd jobs for people for the rest of your life? How’s that working out for you, huh? You have my rent yet?” She could be really insufferable like this, but he couldn't say he didn't earn it. Still… Fuckin bitch.

“I’m working on it, okay?”

“You've been 'working on it' for three months!”

“Not many people need jobs done right now, alright?”

“THEN GET A REAL JOB!” She yelled back.

“Oh yeah like it's that easy,” he retorted sarcastically.

“It would be if you woke up before noon just once in your life. And took a shower, good lord.”

“Yeah yeah, I know,” he replied, dodging her on his way to the balcony for a smoke. Before he could get the first one to his mouth, his mother snatched the pack right from his hands.

“You have money for cigarettes but not for me, is that it?” Goddammit. There was no arguing with her when she was like this. He wasn't even going to try to get his cigarettes back, it wasn't worth the effort. She was in a mood, and there was no convincing her otherwise. Times like this he wished he had a drink, too.

“Cmon, you know what it's like,” he told her.

“Yeah, and that's why I stopped, cause it cost money I don't have,” she snapped back.

“Whatever,” he said, raising his foot to the railing and vaulting over the balcony. Thankfully, they were on the ground floor.

“Don't come back until you have a month's rent,” his mother threatened as Clint sauntered off. “I mean it this time!” she called out after him, louder. “I'm locking you out! I'm not joking!” Clint didn't answer, and instead walked off to see if he could bum a smoke from someone else along the way to God knows where.

It was a hot summer day, the kind that made you not want to be outside if you could help it. But what was his plan? He had no real plan. His efforts to bum a cigarette had paid off with exactly one, which he finished to the last few dregs and tossed in a gutter as he walked along the town road. Just get a job... sure, if only it were that easy. What his mother didn't know is that Clint had an affinity for ‘salvaging’ things others had forgotten about for spare cash, and sometimes it was less than legal. But it was always things people wouldn't miss. He never did robberies, he wasn't a total criminal.

One house that had always caught his eye was an abandoned one up a long and winding lane, but it had a bit of a reputation for being extremely haunted. Anyone who'd gone there and came back to tell the tale never wanted to go again, and it was rumored some had even vanished. But abandoned meant old. Old things were valuable. And if everyone were too scared to go, maybe there were still valuable things inside. It was a total shot in the dark, but he had nothing else to do today. Realistically, he wasn't going to get a whole month's rent, but if he could get a little something, he'd get his mother off his back for at least one more day.

After trudging for a while up a side road, the old abandoned mansion came into view. It wasn't anything impressive; it was just a house, Clint thought. He approached the faded front door, past the grass growing out of control, the vines choking the windows, and put his hand on the knob. Surely it wasn't this easy… He twisted it and it opened without complaint. So much for breaking in, the thing was wide open.

It was a decently sized house with several bedrooms, and surprisingly well kept for being abandoned; minus the dust. No decaying structures, no trash strewn about, all the furniture where you'd expect it to be... perhaps this would be easy after all. As he cased the joint room to room, all of the rooms were bare bones, more along the lines of guest rooms which, while aesthetically pleasing, provided nothing of value. Just neatly made beds, an end table, a bookshelf with no books, and dressers with no clothes. There still quite a few to explore, but at this point, he knew exactly what to expect anyway: nothing. However, he saw immediately that one of these was different, even from the outside.

The door had lettering on it in the style of blocks with the word “nursery” spelled out, but then underneath that, a more professional looking lettered sign that read “Please do not disturb.” As if that would stop him. The place was abandoned, if there had been anyone in there to disturb, they'd be dead by now. He shuddered at the thought as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He didn't know exactly what he expected, but he was almost disappointed. It was in the same overall state as all of the other bedrooms, except this one was infant themed. A bare changing table, a crib with no sheets, a rocking chair, dressers, and an empty closet. The one thing that stuck out was an old toy box in the corner of the room that seemed a little too well kept, brightly colored wood with no dust, it seemed to call out to him. There was a good chance that it too would be empty like everything else in the house, but he also knew that old and vintage toys sold for a LOT and while he was here, there was no point in not looking. Even so, it would only take seconds to dash his hope regardless, and he'd already wasted a whole day. But as he walked closer, Clint was pretty sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. It looked like something had moved.

“...the fuck?!” He exclaimed as the top of the box flew open, and several wooden blocks spewed out onto the floor, the kind with soft pastel lettering for play. He had to be hallucinating. Sure, people claimed this house was haunted, but he didn't believe all of that supernatural nonsense. Magic wasn't real. And yet, the blocks cared not whether he believed they were real as they began to move around on their own, levitating at different heights off of the ground. He marveled at the sight for a few moments, creeping closer for a better look---until the first one shot out at him with surprising speed. The corner of the wooden pastel child's toy bounced off of his shin, and pain shot through his lower leg. The rest of the blocks suddenly didn't look so friendly and inviting. He scurried back towards the exit as he felt two more ping off of his back and thigh, and as he scrambled around the door and shut it, he heard several more distinct thuds against the wooden barrier.

No wonder people were scared of this place. What other things were like this? The knives in the kitchen? He was suddenly thankful that wasn't the first place he had checked. On the other hand, if this is the thing that drove everyone away, imagine what must be inside that box. Imagine having magical cursed blocks. Someone would pay a lot of money for these. It was worth the risk, if he could keep them from hitting his face.

Clint cracked open the door once more and peered inside. All of the blocks lay at the foot of the entry, and there were several dents in the wood. But they seemed inanimate now, as if they had expended their energy. He hoped they had a recharge, otherwise it would make this story much less believable. He pushed the door open, sweeping the blocks to the side. They seemed not to react, but the toy box was still open, taunting him.

“Alright bitch, bring it on,” he taunted back, adopting a fighting stance as he crept closer. It felt like a stupid thing to do, but it made him feel braver about the situation. As if responding to his words, several plastic dinosaurs jumped out and charged. This time, he charged back. Though they were small, and most could only latch onto his clothes, there was one that found his ear with its little plastic teeth as it leapt at him, and it hurt. But Clint was determined.

Several more attackers started spilling out to repel him. A ring stacking toy tried to trip him up under his feet, but he kicked it away. A baby doll crawled out and promptly took a handful of his hair and pulled back, trying to pry him away. Unfortunately for the doll, Clint did not care about the pain, only the prize.

Despite these attacks, nothing was physically holding him back, and he reached the toy box quite easily, grasping the sides and peering in. Before he could get a good look inside, Clint yelped as the lid of the wooden container snapped shut, smashing down on his fingers, causing him to let go and recoil in pain. However, there was still no force actually expelling him or driving him away. If the box was trying this hard to keep him away, there was definitely something in that chest that didn't want to be found. At this point, Clint was dead set on finding out what, even if it wasn't valuable. This was personal, and clearly supernatural. Clint had always loved magic as a child, even if he no longer believed such things. He tried again to pry the lid open.

As if on cue, a long, slender tentacle slithered out of the cracked lid. Upon a glimpse, it wasn't a tentacle at all, but a series of blankets tied together. It snaked around his leg and attempted to pull him away, so forceful in fact that Clint was lifted from the ground and dangled in the air, still clinging to the lid for dear life, his grip now flinging it open as it was the last thing anchoring him down. But what the tentacle didn't know, as his loose change rained down, was that Clint always came prepared. He swiped a knife from his pocket before it too could fall to the floor, and used a free hand to slash at the soft binding.

Fortunately for Clint, it was still just a blanket, the material gave way easily as it was severed by the sharp knife. Unfortunately for Clint, he was suspended in the air over the toy box. And now that point of suspension was gone. There was a split second of realization, a moment where Clint processed what was going to happen, and panicked. He held his arms out in front of him to protect his face from smashing into the mass of toys below as he plummeted into the now-opened box.

But the smash never came. He did fall---right into the box of playthings, right into the heart of the chest, into the inky blackness. But there was no sudden stop, no crash at the bottom, no sickening thud. In fact, Clint seemed to pass right through the box, surrounded by every toy imaginable in a veritable cloud of objects. He descended into the emptiness of the void, as the only light shrank smaller and smaller, until only nothingness enveloped him. What the fuck is going on?! Clint tried to cry out, to scream, to flail, but the nothingness was absolute. It wasn't that he couldn't hear himself, it was that he felt like his lungs and the air didn't exist. And then the pain began.

It was fortunate that Clint could not scream, because if he had the ability, he would have destroyed his vocal chords. It felt as if every atom in his body was being slowly unraveled, like yarn in a sweater, until his very existence was threatening to be erased. To say it was painful was an understatement, a too simple term for a complex state of nonexistence; pain was a nerve ending. Physical signals. This felt like his entire reality was being undone, until only his consciousness remained. Whatever was in this void had dissolved him like sugar in water.

And then, the agony renewed, in reverse. Instead of being unwound, he felt the cloud of himself, whatever that may be, slowly knit and rearrange into a new form, enveloping his sense of self. Although this new form had been melded around him, it felt alien, unlike anything he'd felt before. But Clint wouldn't have to think about that for long.

Clint had the vaguest sensation of waking from a blackout, of laying prone on the ground, coming to consciousness. What the hell had he done last night? It wouldn't be the first time, or even the tenth time, although he couldn't remember what happened last night. But, what he did know was that he was cold. Very cold. So cold in fact, that it burned, seared his skin, and filled his body with numbness. It was actually the very thing that had shaken him from his coma and awakened him from his unconscious state of mind.

His bleary eyes pried themselves open. The first thing he noticed was white. So much white, everywhere, interspersed with specs of brown, and a gray, overcast sky. He could barely lift his head to take in the scene before him, it pounded so much. It felt like his entire body had been smashed with a sledge hammer and stretched out on a clothesline.

The second sensation that came to him, after the mind-numbing chill, was that he was somehow smaller. He wasn't sure how, but he felt minuscule, in a massive way. Even the snowflakes in front of his face felt huge. This was punctuated by the fact that every time he tried to groan in pain, to call out, anything, only a high pitched squeak would form. He struggled to push off the ground and get himself to move, to crawl away, to find refuge, but he felt frozen in place, both mentally and physically, too weak to continue. He realized with increasing dread that if things continued the way they were going, that if nothing changed, there was a very real chance he would freeze to death out here in the snow. What the hell had he done last night?! His frail body refused to move, it fought everything he tried to do; all he could do was lie there and cry as his eyes filled with tears. And why the hell was there snow in the first place?! He questioned, lashing out. It was the middle of summer! A heat wave! What was going on?! There were so many questions he wanted answers to, but it didn't matter now. All he could do was lay there, broken and alone.

There were a lot of ways he thought he would ultimately die. Getting stabbed on the streets. Being shot on private property. Alcohol poisoning. Drug overdoses, take your pick which kind, he’d done them all. But going through an unsuspecting rift? Having his body turned into spaghetti and flipped inside out, only to freeze to death in the middle of summer? That was not high on the list of fates that he would have imagined. Humorously, he pondered if he was overdosing somehow even now, strung out on a trip in some junkie's apartment.

Just as he felt the last ounce of life draining from his body, he felt something wrap around his waist and pull him from the snow, lifting him high in the air.

“Now what do we have here, hmm?” A soft, maternal voice graced his ears, as he felt himself pulled and pressed against an impossibly large, white creature. Any other day, he would be scared senseless from such a giant beast appearing from nowhere, snatching him up. As it stood now… this creature was pleasantly warm against his icy dying body, and he instinctively cuddled in to siphon heat. “A poor little lost kit, crying out in the cold, harsh snow.”

Th-thank you… is what he would have said, if his body was working properly. But the only thing that seemed to come out was mumbled gibberish.

“I know, little one,” the mysterious entity answered as it strode through the snowy white landscape, “you're cold and alone and scared. Don't worry, mama's got you now. You're alright.” There's no way this towering giant was his mother, that much he knew. This woman was delusional, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse---er, creature?---in the mouth. Clint was far too focused on remaining warm and staying alive to question her delusions. His vantage point wasn't the most advantageous to study her features, but she seemed to have velvety white fur all over her entire body, and that's about all he could make out for now.

Clint sensed it immediately, the moment they crossed the threshold, as the ambient temperature rose significantly, and the bright, overcast gray sky turned into warm, dimly lit interior. The whole dwelling seemed to be made of wood, cluttered and yet neat at the same time in its decor, shelves on every available wall and surface, with odds and ends and all manner of utensils and books and things he had no descriptions for filling those shelves everywhere his eyes could see past the large obstruction in front of him.

As the two made their way through what he was quickly deciding was a home, they eventually came to a stop in a place that Clint had the vaguest sensation was a kitchen. It had counters, a small table, cabinets high and low, a stove, and a large metal tub with a pipe and handle coming up through the floor. The tub in particular seemed to be their destination, as the white-furred woman pulled on the handle a few times, and water gushed from the spout, starting to fill the metallic basin.

“We'll get you warmed up in no time, and clean to boot,” she cooed down, stopping the flow of the water as it reached a certain height. He realized with trepidation she meant to place him inside of it. Oh no, he was going in there? IN the water?! What if she saw him---well, he was going to say ‘naked,’ but upon further inspection, he seemed to be naked already. And also covered in fur. This experience was entirely too bizarre and outlandish to be real. He'd already died, and this was some sort of strange afterlife, he was sure of it. But if this was hell, why was he rescued instead of kept in frozen misery and torment? There was no way he'd be allowed into heaven, he knew that much. Unless… this thing was cooking him for a meal, which he couldn't entirely rule out... But as he pondered these things in his delirious state of mind, he noticed a blue glow permeate the room for a few moments. If he'd been paying attention, he could have seen what caused it, but he'd been too busy with his face pressed into the admittedly comfortable body of his captor. But now he was being separated from her, forcefully. The woman peeled Clint from her bosom, much to his protest, and set him down in the water. He'd been expecting it to be frigid, like from a hose or a cold tap, but he was never more wrong.

As his feet dipped into the liquid, his logical mind told him it was about slightly above room temperature, warm but not scalding. And yet, as it washed over his brand new fur and soaked into his skin, it felt like he were on fire. The mature part of his brain told him that his extremities were reacting to a mild case of frostbite, where even lukewarm water felt scalding; and yet, a new, frighteningly immature part of his brain took over, and he was suddenly filled with very strong emotion, even brought to the point of tears. He wailed and cried out at this new painful sensation. He didn't know what the hell was wrong with him, and it scared him, but he was unable to control himself as the tears came. Though he tried so hard to squeeze his eyes shut and stop, he couldn't help himself. He hadn't felt this way since he was an actual child, when his mother had yelled at him for losing his favorite toy, and he couldn't calm himself no matter how hard he tried, even though he knew he should.

“There there, it'll only last a moment,” the giant woman assured him as she took a cup and ladled water over his head and ears, completely drenching him and washing away the snow and the dirt that had clung to his fur as she massaged his ears and fingers. Just as she said, the chill was quickly worked out of his system, leaving his ears and the tips of his fingers burning up as his body overcompensated. His little tantrum subsided as the pain did, and now more comfortable without the threat of death looming over him, he finally got his first real look at this captor who had saved his life---in between cupfulls of water cascading through his hair and over his eyes, of course.

She appeared to be a cross between a woman and some sort of arctic fox. She had pristine white fur all over her body, triangular ears and a muzzle, piercing blue eyes, and several long, fluffy tails that seemed to wave with minds of their own. It reminded him of one of those fox spirits from the anime the kids watch, nine tails and whatnot. She had a simple red robe around her to keep her covered, and that was about it.

On the other hand, Clint himself was smaller. Much smaller. He also appeared to be covered in fur, and though drenched in water, from what he could tell it was fluffier and much more downy than hers. He felt over the rest of his body with his paws---because he had those now, apparently---and found that he too had the same set of ears and a fox-like muzzle, paws and paw pads in place of hands and feet, though he only had one tail where she had many. This surprised him a lot less than it should have, although it might also just be the shock from his traumatizing trip through the void. In comparison, this seemed mild. Although, the fact that he was tiny and seemed unable to control his emotions was very worrying. How was he supposed to figure out how to get back home if he couldn't even figure out his own feelings? And then, as he sat there pondering these things and questioning his reality, the fox woman left.

The rational part of Clint’s mind knew that she wouldn't just leave him here all by himself after all that trouble of rescuing him. But this new, weirdly emotional and impulsive side was immediately filled with a deep sense of panic as soon as she vanished from sight. He could feel it take over his body like ice in his veins, and a feeling of dread gripped him.

“Bah?” He called out, not even sure what he was saying, he just wanted to say something to get her attention. “Bah!”

“Shhhh, it's okay, little one,” she cooed as she returned to his field of view, and relief and happiness washed over him. “Mama just needed a towel. Let's see if you can stand up. Can you stand for me?” She encouraged, lifting Clint up by the underarms to assist. Stand? What kind of question was that? Just this morning he had leapt over a balcony like it were nothing. As she took her paws away, it became immediately clear he was going to collapse, so he grabbed the water pipe for support. Even with the help of the pipe, the world seemed to spin and he couldn't stay upright, toppling over into the water with a splash. The sudden fall scared him, causing him to cry out in panic.

“There there, you're not ready for that yet, are you?” she told him, lifting him to his feet again, this time she used the side of the tub to help support his body with one paw as the other one slowly squeezed the water out of his tail. After she was satisfied with her work, she lifted him up by the underarms yet again as his little feet paws dripped everywhere, plopping him on a noticeably warm towel where she promptly wrapped it around his tiny frame, swaddling him in the soft cloth and holding the bundle to her chest. Though still damp, he was now pleasantly warm from the experience, and he finally felt himself relax enough to rest his head on her chest.

It felt like a big, tension-filled balloon in his own chest was slowly deflating. It was the first pleasant thing he'd experienced since his trip through the pain and suffering of the void portal, and it brought him comfort... both his new sense of self and Clint. He let out an exhausted sigh, releasing all of the stress that had built up ever since that fateful moment, breathing in the pleasant aroma of her fur, which smelled oddly like herbs, spice, and wood smoke.

“There there,” she soothed as her fingers traced through his damp hair and along his tiny ears, sending tingles down his spine. “Doesn't that feel better?” And although he wanted to answer in concise sentences, the only thing that came from his muzzle was a stream of babbling, which immediately made him fluster. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he speak? His small moment of comfort was now fraught with confusion. But it wasn't his new self that was complaining this time. This was old Clint, somewhere deep inside. For once, his new self was happy, but now it was his old self that was trying to make sense of the world.

“I know, it's all so confusing,” she commented as if reading his mind, continuing her tender ministrations and, this time, both of his selves quieted. Her paws were like magic, and her touch sent happy shivers through his fur. “Everything will be explained in time. For now, rest up, little one.” It wasn't much, but it was a step forward, at least. Finally, an explanation…

The white fox lady carried him a short way through the house to a small room with a fireplace and a chair, settling down into it with Clint nestled up to her chest, a phenomena that was getting far too familiar for his taste. He couldn't move if he wanted to, swaddled so securely in the towel, but then again, he wouldn't anyway. Now that his harrowing near death frostbite experience was over, and he was cozy and warm and safe, he suddenly felt completely drained of energy both mentally and physically. He could barely keep his eyes open as she continued to massage his ears, trailing her fingers down his back and up to his head, filling him with a sense of happiness and contentedness.

Suddenly, he no longer cared if the world was ending. If he had died, then this was heaven. He thought again about the fact that he didn't think he did anything to warrant heaven, but if it existed, this was it, and for some reason, whatever gods ruled above or below had seen fit to allow him to end up here. For a moment, he was afraid that if he fell asleep, he'd wake up again in a strange house or possibly rehab from a drug or alcohol induced coma, but even those fears weren't strong enough to keep his eyes held open. In the moments before his consciousness gave way to restful slumber, he could swear he heard the voice of angels floating in the air around him, escorting him to the land beyond.

And then the world coalesced around him. He reached out in panic, only to feel the cool wooden bars of his prison surround him on every side. The sight of a small fuzzy paw emerging from a blanket greeted his eyes as he reached out, and all of the events of the day before came rushing back; the abandoned house, the void, the unimaginable pain, the frostbite, the bath, the fox woman... fox woman!

Clint flailed around under the blanket, trying to free himself. He had to alert the fox woman! She would know what to do. She promised to explain everything! And now that he was awake and refreshed, he demanded answers! ...as soon as he could figure out how to demand answers in this sad tiny state. And… maybe breakfast. Now that he was up, his body was telling him that he hadn't eaten since he was an entirely different person; he didn't even eat breakfast when he was human. Yes... he had been human once. He knew that. Despite his nightmare, despite everything that had happened, he remembered his full life before this moment. He had to cling to it, keep it secure like a life raft in a tossing sea of uncertainty that threatened to wash him away. He was Clint, a human from the... human place. Earth. And he needed answers, now.

“Muh!” He yelled, attempting to call the fox woman. With his limited movement, he attempted to wiggle out of the blanket and stand, but he could only manage to sit on his rump and hold the bars. He appeared to be naked save for a bundle of cloth bound around his waist, which made moving even more of a chore than it already was. Trying to move in this tiny form was like trying to steer a bike with no handlebars, and flat tires. It felt like so much work for such little results. At least he was upright; that was a good start. “Muuuuuuh!” He didn't even know what he was trying to yell at this point, just that he wanted her attention, and words wouldn't come.

“Ooh, it sounds like someone's finally awake~” came a singsong voice from the other room, as the fox-woman sauntered into view. The Clint side of him said ‘finally, maybe they could get to the bottom of this!’ But another part of him, deep down, was flooded with joy upon seeing some sort of parental figure, like a soothing ointment on a sunburn.

“Mamuh...” he mumbled; It was the only way he could communicate at the moment in this stupid tiny body.

“That's right, mama's here,” she cooed back sweetly, lifting Clint from his wooden prison into her warm embrace, brushing his hair back with her paw. In this moment, it was like his brain short circuited, he nearly forgot everything he had psyched himself up for, lost in her magical touch and soft fur. Nearly. Even fluffy cuddles couldn't fill the hole in his stomach, and he looked up at her pleadingly. “I bet you're hungry, aren't you?” She guessed knowingly. “Mama knows just how to fix that.” There she went with the ‘mama’ thing again, even though Clint knew she wasn't his real mother. But… she was caring for him when he clearly couldn't care for himself, so he let it slide. On the way over, she tested the cloth on his bottom, and he finally realized what it actually was. A cloth diaper. Everything else in this shack was rustic and old-timey, it would make sense that disposables didn't exist here... wherever ‘here’ was. Clint noted that even though he appeared to have the body of an infant in this world, his adult mind persisted, making this a very embarrassing moment, and he hid his face.

Out of one prison and into another however, as Clint was plopped down into a stiff wooden high chair, his legs dangling out of the seat at the bottom while his paws sat atop a wooden surface. Mama---or rather, the fox-woman, he reminded himself---immediately busied herself with ransacking the drawers, shelves, pantry, and every other available container-holding surface, all stuffed to the brim with jars and bundles and boxes. She lifted each one with the speed and skill of a woman who knew exactly what they were and what she was looking for, and some, he mused, even moved along on their own without being touched… almost alive, which seemed to captivate him. She set aside one particular jar as well as an oddly-shaped spherical object that looked like a tiny pumpkin next to a plate that, like everything else in the cabin, appeared to be carved from wood.

The utensils at least appeared to be made of some sort of metal, including a small knife which the fox woman used to skillfully carve the pumpkin-like object, revealing a mass of ruby red jellied goop inside which she scooped out onto the plate. Is this what he'd be eating? It didn't seem very... appetizing. He actually had no idea what it was, it looked like no other fruit or vegetable he'd seen before, but it didn’t appeal to him at all. After that, the lid of the jar was popped off, and she took a small scoop of the contents, plopping it casually on the plate. Clint had to be honest. It looked... terrible. Even worse than the ruby red goop. It was an orangish-brown paste this time, hardly edible. It kind of reminded him of-

“There we are, that will have to do until we can go into town and get some better nums for you,” she said, interrupting his train of thought. Town? There was a town? Suppose he hadn't thought about it until now. He hadn't even seen outside her cabin properly, just the white of the snow through the windows with streaks of brown from bare snow covered trees. She might even have neighbors. Exactly who and what was she? What was he? All questions he needed to ask, after a well deserved meal. That is... if he could even stomach this ‘meal.’ He was hungry, but was he that hungry? Alas, he would have no choice in the matter as the first thing she scooped up with a tiny wooden spoon was some of the brown goop, poking it at his fuzzy vulpine muzzle. It smelled as terrible as it looked, and he turned away.

“Cmon little one, I know you're hungry. It's good for you, I promise~,” she almost seemed to sing to him, following his ornery mouth with the spoon as he turned to and fro. He dare not protest verbally, for he would have to open his muzzle to do so, giving her the opportunity of attack. But instead of continuing to force the nasty substance upon him to no avail, she instead leaned in close. Exceptionally close. She even turned her head ever so slightly so that her muzzle wouldn't poke him in the face as her brilliant, sapphire eye gazed deep into his own. As it came mere inches from his face, the scale of her size eclipsed his entire vision, such that she was the only thing in his field of view. He was transfixed by the enchanting blue sea that faded into the black void of her iris, almost as if she were looking directly into his very soul.

“I know you're in there,” she offered in a voice that sounded distinctly like teasing, but the implications caused a wave of dread to wash through his body and stand his fur on end. “I know what you are.” Did she know that Clint was-

But just as his mind started to go into overdrive, in that brief lapse of concentration, she shoved the spoon into his muzzle. It was... bland, and bitter, and the infantile part of his mind recoiled, scrunching his face and fussing. But the mature side, the adult named Clint knew it had to be done, his tiny body needed food to survive. He forced it down despite how terrible it was, determined to get a handle on his other irrational half. The fox woman leaned in again, though not as close as last time, staring deep into him with those mesmerising sapphire eyes.

“I know what you are, because I'm the one that wrote the spell that brought you here.” Clint's mouth hung open in surprise, providing the perfect opportunity to shove another spoonful of that muck into his muzzle. Bleh! She readied another one, hovering it close. “Good little kits get the jellyfruit,” she informed him as he swallowed another gross lump. “You want to be a good kit for mama, don't you?” Clint scowled and crossed his arms, but opened his muzzle, prompting another spoonful.

“I know you probably have a lot of questions.” That was an understatement. “And I will answer them as best I can. First of all, you're here because you went through a portal, a gateway to another dimension. And not just any portal, you went through my portal. My portal, in an abandoned house, with nothing of interest inside, in a back room, with a warning sign telling you not to. And not only did you enter that portal, you had to fight off my portal guardians, a bunch of objects I animated with magic with the sole purpose of preventing anything from entering with their very lives. And even then, after all of that, you still entered. So here you are. You got your wish.” She said the last part matter-of-factly, shoving yet another serving of that slop in him as his mouth hung open. If he could talk, he would argue the point that he hadn't willingly entered the portal, he was grabbed and suspended above it and thrust inside, but he suspected she wouldn't take that as an answer even if he tried. If there were any good in this situation, it was that she only had one more spoon full to go until... whatever the heck a jellyfruit was.

“Now for the obvious question...” she mused, scooping the remains of the brown goop into the final serving. Despite how small the servings looked, Clint was actually getting rather full. “'Why are you a fox instead of a human?' Yes, I know what humans are. The people of this realm... some know of them, as myths. First, I must tell you a story.” After the final bit of torture given mush form, she finally offered some of the jellyfruit, which he voraciously accepted. It had an... odd taste, being alien to his human palette, but not an unwelcome one. True to its name, it was definitely sweet. He decided he liked it.

“Mmm, you like that, don't you?” She mused, echoing his thoughts. He nodded. “Good boy.” She offered another, and another. “You see... you aren't the first human to venture forth into this realm. Other Keepers of Magic have had... shall we say... less than secure portals, in the past. The last human to pass through to our side met a lovely wolf family out in the woods. Unfortunately, our people do not speak your English, and this visitor had no way of knowing our language in turn. Misunderstandings happened. Mistakes were made. He killed the entire family in fear. When their village found out, he was hunted down and publicly executed. Since then, humans have become a haunting legend, a scary story that parents tell their children. Hated. Reviled. It has been said repeatedly that if a human were ever seen in this realm again, they would be exterminated. Their words, not mine. Perhaps their views have changed... but as the maker and keeper of my portal, it was not a risk I was willing to take. So why a fox? So you won’t be executed on sight.” She continued to feed him the sweet jellied substance, until nothing remained but a clean plate, but it suddenly tasted a bit less sweet. She took the plate and the spoon away, and talked while she worked.

“Now, about your age… I’m sure that sticks out as incredibly odd, and maybe even a touch cruel, to turn you to this. It simply wouldn't do to take a human, change them into something they're not, and release them into the countryside. That would be an even bigger mistake than leaving an unguarded portal. So, in the event that a human ever found one of my portals, I inscribed into the spell as a failsafe that took an unauthorized user and rewrote their essence into a kit of my own species. That way, they could do no harm to the environment, and I would get an amusing opportunity out of it, to say the least. And, on top of that, if they chose to stay, they would have to grow and learn as our own children do, to gain a personal understanding of our culture and our language. The best compromise for everyone involved.” The one thing that stood out to him in the entire explanation was… stay. There was a choice? An option? He could go back to the real world if he chose to? What was his mother… his real mother, doing right now, he wondered... but then he felt a crushing realization in his chest. She would be doing absolutely nothing. She told him not to come home if he didn't have money. If he didn't come home... she would simply assume he didn't have money. She wouldn't even look for him. She wouldn’t even care.

Meanwhile, fox-mom returned to lift Clint out of the high chair after rinsing off the plate in the wash tub and willing it dry with a wave of her hand, taking him into her arms once more. With Clint sat on her hip, she opened a cabinet containing many jars and wrapped objects, and a gust of frigid air filled the room. He reasoned that this must be a... fridge? Without power or refrigeration? Everything else looked so old-timey, the lamps were oil, everything was made of wood, there was no electricity to speak of, he wondered how such a thing existed. Then again, magic existed here, and he was a fox instead of a human; anything was possible, he supposed. He dared not question it. The fox woman took a large brown jar with a cork and set it on the counter, followed by some sort of bladder with a wooden spout. The bladder stood on end all on its own, allowing the fox woman to remove the spout and open it with her free paw, uncork the jar, and pour just a bit of what appeared to be milk into the receptacle.

After replacing the wooden nozzle, and the jar itself back into the refrigerated cabinet, the two made their way to what appeared to be the living room they had settled into the previous night with the fire place and the cozy looking rocking chair off to the side and everything. She immediately settled into it, cradling Clint to her chest. There was a soft blue glow in her eyes, the same kind of glow he'd seen yesterday when getting ready for the bath, a soft supernatural emanation. He wondered what that was, but he wouldn't get the chance to ask as the fox woman put the nozzle up to his muzzle, and instead of the frigid cold milk he was expecting from the icy cabinet, it was quite warm and soothing. As with the jellyfruit, whatever animal this milk had come from was not native to his human senses, so the taste was quite odd for him. Still, it was drinkable at least, rich and creamy, and it filled his belly with warmth.

“As for when you can return... you can't.” Clint immediately stopped drinking. Suddenly, the milk seemed a lot less palatable, and he found himself unable to swallow. “At least, not yet. Your soul is far too weak to survive the return trip through the portal. You'd be stretched so thin you'd unravel and come apart. Once you've rested and recovered enough to make it through, then you may choose to return to your old life. But, for now, enjoy this little respite from whatever chaos and bad choices led you to travel to our humble world.” That was fair enough, he supposed. He did almost die on the journey through. Clint returned to nursing on the odd ancient bottle in thought. But how long would it take? Please, fox lady, if you had mind-reading powers, use it to answer this question.

“You're very lucky as it turns out, little kit. Mama already needed to go to town, and this would be a lovely opportunity to show you around. Won't that be fun?” Apparently, she could not read minds. Was she asking his adult self inside his new body? Or the tiny body itself? That was an odd thought. Was he two people, or just one? More questions, more questions... he gave her a gentle nod, anyway. “There's a good boy. If you’d arrived any later, I might not have even been around to find you~” She teased as she tilted the end of the bladder up so the last precious drops poured into his muzzle, and despite the gelatinous liquid nature of all of this nourishment he’d just had, he was filled to the brim. That last comment caught him off guard; if he’d been one day later, this story would have turned out much differently. He shuddered at the thought, but before he could descend into a spiral of thoughts, she shifted him up to her shoulder, gently patting him on the back, and it wasn't until he let out his first burp that he realized what was happening. He could have fought it, told her he didn't need it, but what was the use? It was already in progress, and clearly it was working. He resigned himself to his fate, sulking.

However, he need not endure this humiliation for long as, seemingly satisfied, she stood up and carried him into yet another room in this quaint little abode she called home. He didn't think it could possibly be as big as it was, but every time he looked around, he was surprised by yet another neat detail or knicknack. This time, it seems they were bound for her personal quarters, as it held a bed, a wardrobe, closet, vanity, and a full length mirror, among other personal items of furniture one would find in a master bedroom. It was the mirror she was after, lowering Clint down while standing in front of it, facing him forward. Now that he had a closer look with the help of the mirror, he could see exactly what he had become.

He was small, a mere fraction of her size, with dusty gray fur all over his body. The fur was the fuzzy, floofy kind, almost like down. He had a poofy, bottle-brush tail, tiny paws for hands and feet, and little claws on those paws. A vulpine muzzle and triangular ears completed the look. He had to admit to himself (and absolutely no one else, ever) that he looked kind of adorable like this.

Whatever her plan was, it involved disrobing apparently, leaving her completely bare. She was… stunning. A real fox. If Clint could blush, now would most certainly be the time---and yet, although the mature part of him knew he should be attracted to something like this, he felt nothing. This was… mama. Or at least, she called herself mama, and his new little self was very receptive to it. She hadn't actually said her name, not even once, so for now, she was just ‘fox woman’ or, to the other half of his self as it were, ‘mama.’ Bleh. She pulled what looked like a long scarf from a peg beside the mirror, twirling it around herself like a ribbon. It slinked and twined around her body of its own accord like a living snake, coiling and wrapping Clint up along with it, and he cried in panic.

"Shhh, it's okay, little one. It's just a little touch of magic~" she assured him, giving him a gentle kiss on the head. The living scarf thing settled into place around her chest, holding him securely so she need not hold him herself. Clint now realized he'd just been put in a baby holder, and he pouted, hard. Hard enough that he hoped she could see it. His brain was twenty years old inside of this tiny body, and she knew that! He didn't need to be coddled and kept out of trouble like an actual child!

"Oh you are just too cute when you pout, you know that?" she teased, giving his head fur a ruffle. This elicited yet another pout of protest, which as it turns out may actually be working against his favor, but so be it. "Besides, this way you can get a good look at everything mama is doing. If you're going to be here for a while, you might as well enjoy it." She gave him another kiss between the ears, and that made him blush softly as warmth and happiness filled his soul. He decided that he liked her kisses and cuddling, even if he was pouting and would never admit it to anyone. Although… he reminded himself that he couldn’t become too attached. He had to go back eventually, after all.

But even Clint himself, old Clint, human Clint, could feel it in his soul that his heart wasn’t in the statement. He hadn't even been here twenty four hours and he could already tell that this woman, who had taken him in without knowing who he was---nay, she knew what he did, and had saved him anyway---had shown him more love than his own mother ever had. Not that his mother hadn't ‘cared’ for him, per se… he was allowed to stay in her apartment even three months behind on ren, he was never thrown on the streets or starved. But it wasn’t love. Maybe he wouldn't be so fucked up if there hadn't been rumors following him all his life that his father would still be in the picture and his parents would still be together if it weren't for him. If, when relatives were sufficiently drunk, they hadn't let slip that sometimes his own mother wished he hadn't been born. Yeah, that might have something to do with his upbringing.

Even as he fought back anger, fox woman had already re-dressed, covering the baby sling with the top of her robe such that only his head poked out of the V that formed from her shoulders to her chest. He had to admit, it was quite warm and snug, and he felt rather safe and secured lashed to her like this. He sighed in defeat and settled in, wiggling his little foot paws cozily, resigned to his fate. He was rewarded with a paw through his hair, and gentle scritches between the ears, which he happily accepted. His tail was trapped, not uncomfortably, but if it had been free, it might possibly be wagging.

The outside world was a wonder to behold. Clint had been raised in the south where it never snowed, so this winter wonderland was new even to the human portion of his soul. He wished so badly that he could be freed of this cloth prison and explore the snow, but then he remembered what had happened literally yesterday, and he shuddered. Maybe when this body was older, or had more clothes, but oh how he wished to dive in and play. The fox woman scooped some of the powdery whiteness in her paw, though it was hard to tell where the paw ended and the snow began. She held it up to him for him to admire, and he gazed at it in wonder.

"Wuh…" he declared.

"Yes, snow. Isn't it lovely? I know you don't get snow where you came from, so this must be especially exciting, huh?"

"Muh!" he agreed.

“If you stay long enough to heal and gather your strength, we can go play outside in the snow and have lots of fun~” she mentioned, holding up the paw of soft white flakes and giving it a puff, as they were set free in a white cloud upon the gentle wind, intermingling and dancing with the translucent fog of her warm breath, entrancing and captivating his attention until they eventually faded away into the wind, joining the other flakes slumbering on the ground or dancing off into the pale gray sky. Such a simple thing, and yet it seemed everything this woman touched, down to the flakes of snow upon the earth, held a bit of mysticism and wonder. It was like viewing the world through a fresh pair of eyes, a new chance to experience the joys of the simple things in life.

Now that he had a better look (and wasn’t dying), he cast his eyes about the land and took in the whole scene before him. Snow-covered trees, their dormant life safely tucked away deep inside skeletal brown hands reaching far into the sky stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with the occasional colossal pine standing like sentinels against the cold, refusing to give up their colors, both conforming to gentle, rolling hills. The cabin they had come from was a cozy little thing with a chimney lazily trailing its smoke into the air and soft yellow windows that seemed to glow with an ethereal light, but not in the shape as you'd oft expect from a ‘cabin.’ This one was more circular instead of square and boxy, it reminded him of those old cartoons of fantasy dwellings in times long ago. Perhaps there was an element of truth to it after all.

Nearby the house, presumably on the same property, there were a few other notable structures all made of wood; one that prominently stood out as it had clear glass walls and a roof and looked as if it were positively glowing green on the inside, another had the distinct shape of a barn with its double-tiered roof, and the final one looked like… just a big box, almost like a warehouse.

Clint may not have grown up in a snowy area, but from the looks of it, there had probably been a heavy snowfall recently. The trees and the house and the path before them were utterly choked with at least a foot of snow or more. It was almost serene in its complete and inescapable consumption of every available surface, transforming the landscape and anything caught under it without a roof into a solid white velvety blanket. That did posit the question, though… was she just going to trudge through it? People in the old world---or was this the ‘old’ world?---would shovel snow for hours and complain about it the whole time.

He need not wonder for long. Fox woman held her paw aloft and then gave it a snap. Clint squeaked in surprise as a plume of wind suddenly gushed forth in front of them at their feet, exploding the snow upward like a cosmic leaf blower, sending a rain of icy powder high into the sky which drifted along into the wind even more majestically than before. The sudden cyclone quickly traced along a stone path like a gunpowder fuse, leaving only clean, smooth stone in its wake. In short order, a cleanly walkable path was created, pristine in its condition. Clint’s mouth hung open in wonder, still processing what he’d witnessed as fox woman strolled along toward the warehouse structure as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. As they approached the square unassuming building, the two actually stopped just short of it, in front of a massive, irregularly shaped lump that was almost as large as the fox woman was tall.

“Khora!” The fox woman demanded, hands on her hips. It was the first time he’d heard her actually raise her voice, and it surprised him. She bent down and started scribbling in the snow, going in a counter-clockwise direction around him, writing what looked like sentence upon sentence in a circular pattern; it was a series of lines and shapes he’d never seen before. “I will never understand why you like falling asleep in the snow, but now it’s time to get up. We’re going to town, your favorite.”

After speaking to him in English---or whatever common language was spoken here, since she had said her ‘people’ do not speak English---she murmured a quick phrase in an alien language he had no knowledge of. If he had to ponder a guess, it was the same one as the runes in the snow, as that would make the most sense, but far be it from him to tell. As she finished her incantation, the mysterious blue glow once again emanated softly, and the runes lit up as it did, sinking down into the frozen ground. Almost immediately, the snow that had been accumulating on the lump started noticeably diminishing as a cloud of steam started forming and wafting around the small hill, slowly melting away. The object of her attention was gradually revealed beneath, leaving a rather scary looking creature emerging from the slush before them. It looked like a… some sort of boulder, but it had several large spines protruding from every available space on it, at least two feet in length and razor sharp on the ends, with sunken holes around the bottom.

“He’ll wake up eventually,” the fox woman noted as she then proceeded along the path toward the large emerald glass structure this time, rather than the warehouse beside them. “They go into hibernation in cold weather. Once he warms up, he’ll be back to normal.” He? Clint had so many questions, as usual. He imagined a talking boulder rolling around like a sea anemone, and the thought made him giggle.

As the two crossed the threshold into the green building, Clint could now see and feel what gave the verdant splendor he’d glimpsed from outside. It was a greenhouse, a veritable explosion of growth, all neatly organized into rows and shelves and sections with some of the plants reaching all the way up to the ceiling. Some were in pots, some were in raised beds of soil on the floor itself, some hung from the ceiling, trailing down like some cosmic vegetative jellyfish. He counted leafy greens, twining vines, even a few trees, some containing the jellyfruit he’d seen before, and all manner of herbs and shrubs and flowering things he didn’t even know the purpose or names of, all cultivated in this rather impressive building. The greenhouse itself wasn’t massive per se, about the size of a large house, but all available space had been efficiently utilized for the plants. It was quite humid, and so warm he was starting to become uncomfortable, almost hot. It felt like he was back in the summer of his old home, a tropical climate where things grew out of control. All of this splendor was interspersed with hanging green lights that cast an eerie glow throughout the whole place and was probably what gave the building its iconic glow when viewed from afar.

“Mmm…” she mused, a paw to her chin in thought. “Now where did I put that… oh.” She raised her paws together and then gave them a little clap, and at first, nothing appeared to happen; but as the fox woman tapped her foot impatiently, Clint’s new triangular radar dishes picked up a scraping sound in the distance like rolling or creaking wood. After a few more seconds, a cart meandered into view, slinking in through the open door like a child late to class, stopping right in front of its mistress. It too was made of wood with solid wooden wheels, the front of which could steer, and it appeared to have a place for either a harness or a handle. It had wooden sides that went to just below her waist, continued by a wooden lattice that rose up even further and finished about at eye height.

Fox woman lowered the lattice down on one side so it folded over the lower section, giving easy access to lean into the area for cargo should she need. She gave a nod of approval and ventured into the orderly thicket, cart following close behind of its own accord like a loyal puppy. First on her apparent agenda of harvest were bunches of leafy greens, which she gathered up in one paw and ripped straight out of the planter bed, shaking off the dirt and tying them up with a roll of nearby cord. She proceeded to do this with many different types of plants all throughout the greenhouse, steadily filling her cart as Clint watched. There were… onions, maybe? Cabbages, probably. Turnips and potatoes and celery, at least what he could gather as turnips and potatoes and celery.

“I don’t go to town very often, so when I do make my way, I help wherever I can,” she told her tiny bundle of fox as she worked. “Fresh plants are, as you can imagine, hard to come by in the dead of winter. Sometimes I get things from them in return, but it’s not required. I do it for the people.” Here she tossed another bundle of what he could only think of as ‘ruby gem corn’ into the cart, which was starting to get quite full with everything she’d tossed inside. Along the way, she paused, standing still for just a moment. Without any activity, the only sound he could hear now was the lazy twining of the wind between the trees outside; otherwise it was deathly quiet in the heated interior. The sudden stillness made his hair stand on end, like something wasn’t quite right. Just as he could feel himself growing concerned enough to-

“Ah,” fox woman noted matter of fact, moving between a row of hedges and trees, looking up precisely under one of the glowing green lamps from before. It was just out of reach, and Clint couldn’t wait to see what kind of shenanigans she pulled to adjust this. Her answer seemed to be a pole which she produced before he could see where she even pulled it from. She leaned on and put an arm around it, and Clint gave a surprised squeak as it suddenly extended, bringing them up to a level height with the lamp, which wasn’t far to be fair; a few feet at most. The lamp was quite the impressive contraption, it gave vague semblances of asian inspired decor, a paper lampshade with a little sloped roof, hanging from a string. Fox woman unlatched one side of it and opened the paper shade, revealing a brilliant, glowing green gem the size of a softball that seemed to emit light of its own accord (it was a lamp duh).

“Magic crystal~” she whispered, reaching in and taking it in her palm, all while perfectly balancing on the pole ten feet in the air without falling. “See how it’s faded from use?” It wasn’t like he could confirm or deny, he’d never seen a crystal like this in his life, nevermind a magic one, but he took her word for it. He did see that it appeared to be more like glass near the edges, or really clear ice, warping and bending the image behind it, but clear enough to see through.

“A touch of magic…” she whispered, and then started softly chanting in that mysterious language, just listening to it made his head swim and his vision blur. The crystal then thrummed with energy, slowly breathing back to life until it almost hurt to look at in its brilliant splendor. No, it actually did hurt to look at, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel the air rise a few degrees around him, growing uncomfortably hot, like looking into a heater. Relief finally came at last, as his stomach dropped; quite literally, the two slid down the pole with the task finished. Clint opened his eyes and glanced up; the lantern was hanging serenely with its shade pulled, like all the others, although it was now much more vibrant, he noted.

“Imbued crystal,” she explained without needing to be asked, which he was grateful for. “A carefully crafted spell. Raises the temperature, provides light, fertilizes the plants, and accelerates the growth cycle, all with a bit of magical energy.” Was there any limit to the wonders and ingenuity of this woman? This would also be the perfect thing for grow houses, he mused wryly, thinking of all the weed someone could grow with magically imbued crystal fertilizer.

Now satisfied with her haul, fox lady ushered the cart out of a side door and onto the pristine path that connected to the main one, still spotless from the whirlwind. As they crossed the threshold, he was instantly reminded that the damp, hot, humid warmth from inside was artificially cultivated, and the real temperature’s icy grasp instantly stung him in the face and caused him to recoil as he tried to cover his head to no avail, still locked in the grasp of the baby carrier.

“Oh, poor thing,” she cooed down, covering his head in her sleeve and breathing warmth into the little air pocket, chasing away the cold. After a moment to calm down, his soft little whimpers faded. Now that the temperature difference wasn’t so extreme, he was more receptive to the cold, though it was still quite chilly. Thankfully, his soft downy fur insulated him from any risk of frostbite---at least from the open air. If he’d been left in the snow, it’d be a different story.

The cart full of produce was guided to one of the other structures in her area, the one that looked like a giant warehouse. As they passed through the main entrance, it was something of a sight to behold. A gigantic cauldron sat near one of the walls, with jars and vials and every ingredient you could ever wish for lining the wall next to it. It reminded him of a well stocked pharmacy aisle. Another portion of wall was taken up by a large desk with copious amounts of bookcases flanking it, the desk itself had a quill and inkwell, as well as a stack of blank parchment on one side and several freshly scribed pages on the other.

On yet another wall was a large sliding door equal to the size of the wall itself, which she promptly opened, and Clint stared in wonder as it revealed a massive cart that looked more like an entire caravan; hard-covered with plenty of storage space and a spot for riders at the front, with a person-sized door on the side for entry. Lanterns hung on every side, four prominent ones in the corners and strings ringing the outside, but none were lit at the moment. These lanterns, and even the structure itself, were also reminiscent of the lanterns in the greenhouse, a distinctly eastern theme (at least, that was his perception of it from his upbringing; it could have totally different meaning here). The entire thing was less of a cart and more of a rolling building, impressive in stature.

It was this traveling structure that they were ultimately after, moving along toward it. Fox woman walked around and opened the rear of the mobile building, which folded out into a ramp, and the produce cart promptly and obediently rolled right in, but not before she snatched one of the leafy green bundles from before in passing.

As they ventured forth to the outdoors after finishing their task, he could see that whatever spell she had used on the spiny boulder thing had done its job; the snow in a good six foot ring around it had vanished. Clint now realized, in equal parts horror and amazement, that it was a giant turtle, and the thing had come out of its shell, gazing at them with its beady, reptilian eyes, razor sharp beak, and talons on all four feet to match. It was so startling and menacing that Clint audibly whimpered, squirming in his cloth prison.

"Shh, it's okay," she assured him, brushing her fingertips through his head fluff, sending a pleasant tingle through his fur and down his spine. "I rescued Khora's egg from poachers and hatched him myself. He's a gentle giant." To prove her point, she approached the head of the beast, and Clint, still unsure, held his ears flat against his head and kept a wary eye out.

"You finally awake?" She questioned it in a playful manner, and the giant stone turtle thing let out a deep growl, opening its large beak-like mouth. Fox woman took the bundle of greens she had swiped earlier and tossed the entire thing cord and all into the beak, and it snapped shut with a loud crack. Khora proceeded to chew it at least one or two times before swallowing it all in one go, staring at them once more.

"Did you hear me earlier? We're going to town. Or were your ears too clogged with snow?" It tilted its head, and its whole body shook with a hurk… hurk… hurk… sound, and Clint realized with great amusement that it was actually laughing.

"Uh huh, real funny," fox woman continued, although Clint could tell there was a smile in her voice. "Get up, lazy bones. We're leaving soon." With a great groan of protest and a flex of its large muscular legs, it rose several feet off the ground and let out a deep throated grumble, shaking its head and its body to and fro. Fox woman, seemingly satisfied, returned to the caravan cart in the warehouse shed. And, although he couldn't see anything other than what was in front of him, he heard the giant reptilian creature shuffling along behind them with loud, clacking steps that sounded like stone grinding on stone.

Fox woman spent the next twenty or so minutes loading the large cart with every selection of goods imaginable; jugs, boxes, individual potions, boxes of potions, sacks, and even a pair of live chickens from the barn---which constituted the third structure in the trio---to say nothing of the trip back into the greenhouse for an armload of grain and haygrass that she filled the troughs with.

The barn animals happily indulged, and like something out of a fairytale back home that seemed too on the nose to be real, she barked commands at a corral of farm equipment in the corner, and they shuddered to life and started acting all of their own accord, mucking stalls and raking trash and scrubbing surfaces. The animals at least seemed happy to see her, several nuzzled up and showed her affection which she returned, not unlike the affection she bestowed upon him; gentle scritches and cooes and shushed praise. A few goats, a couple sheep, two massive cows, and plenty of chickens, two of which she fetched for the trip.

After she was satisfied with the amount of luggage in the cart, she closed the doors and returned to the cabin for her own supplies for the road. Among other things, it included, much to his chagrin, a bag containing a few of those nozzled bladders filled with milk, a few jars of the bland goop, a few jellyfruit, and a couple spare cloth wraps he could only deduce the purpose of.

And just like that, the fox woman was on to the next thing on her agenda, striding through the cozy homestead. Back through the living quarters, the object of her attention seemed to be a chair, a different one than the rocking chair in the corner from before. It was pleasantly padded, well worn, plush and cozy. It looked faded from many years of use, covered in loose white fur, although not falling apart. It wasn’t actually the chair she was after, but a small table next to it, which held a leather satchel and a long, narrow curved stick that ended in a cup at the end, which he realized was a pipe. As she stashed it in her robe, the faint aroma of herbs and spice graced his nose, intermingled with a note of smoky aftertaste.

As she pocketed her smoking pipe and moved on, it was then that Clint noticed something, or rather the lack of it. He hadn't had a craving for a cigarette since he got here. No nic fits, no withdrawal, no irritability; he hadn't even remembered that he smoked until he’d seen her pipe, despite it being part of his daily life for years. Sometimes a pack a day (if he had the spare cash). The reality crushed him like a giant stone, and he was left struck with a profound sense of… hope? Optimism? Relief? Not unlike nearly getting into a head on collision and narrowly escaping, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. A wicked vice that had consumed his time and money, reduced to nothing, an afterthought.

But thankfully, as had happened many times today, he was pulled from his spiraling thoughts back to reality as he was finally and mercifully freed from his cloth binding. She seemed to have the perfect knack for this, it was almost… supernatural. He flexed his fingers and stretched his legs from having held the same position for quite a while now.

However, Clint probably would have preferred his spiraling and confined wrap to what came next; a quick check, a tut of the tongue, and a trip to a side room, the same one he'd woken up in. A soft plop on a padded surface, a quick, skilled unbinding of the cold and clammy garments between his legs, the tender affection of being cared for so intimately and yet so casually as if it were normal, expected… if anyone had shown him such in the real world, he’d probably have punched them in the face and told them to fuck off. The image of him doing such in his tiny little body, squeaking out a threat and bapping them with his tiny paws, sent a giggle through his body which did well to combat the self conscious embarrassment at having to be tended to in such a way.

“What are you giggling at, you silly little sweetroll?” her soft motherly voice chimed in with a note of amusement, as she gave his nose a playful tap. It sent a tingle through his body that tickled and made him scrunch, swatting at the invading finger.

Every moment of this interaction played at the back of his mind like a burr caught in his skin, and told him this wasn’t right or dignified, that he deserved to be treated with respect. But another felt… natural. Overjoyed. Comfort, in a storm of anxiety. They played a tug of war with his waking mind, and he couldn’t help but feel that he was drifting ever closer to the point of no return, dragged down by a whirlpool of acceptance. What if it was a trap? The part of his mind that still knew he was Clint, that he was not from this world, held onto that possibility like a rock in a churning water. But he would play his part, if that is what she wanted from him. Alas, his retaliation had earned him a solid smooch on his tummy as he tried to push it away, which she seemed to find highly amusing.

“All done~,” she noted, and as he looked down, he saw that he was now solidly re-bundled. Glad that’s over with… he noted to himself dryly. “Now now… what else is left to do…” she mused to herself, gathering her little ‘bundle of joy.’

The next few minutes involved the final check before one would leave on a long trip away. Doors were locked, plenty of food was left for the animals. More mysterious chants were whispered. When no other tasks required looking after, it was time.

Fox woman approached the turtle-thing named Khora, who had successfully relocated himself to the front of the cart-building and was awaiting instruction. With swift precision and a touch of magic, a sturdy leather harness with metalwork woven into points of contact was swiftly affixed to his back spines and tightened. The massive door to the warehouse was slid open, and with a deep wooden creak and a groan from Khora, the caravan pulled out of the building and onto the stone path, door sliding closed behind it.

Now that the cart had rolled out in the open, the odd pair of foxes took their position on the front seat, he in her lap. Fox woman gave a swift flick of the reins, and the gigantic tortoise dug its rock solid feet into the hard earth and sauntered off down the lane, cart in tow. It was a good thing that Khora (and fox woman) knew where to go, because to Clint, it looked like they were going blindly into the woods with no direction in mind. The whirlwind that had cleaned the paths around her compound had not traveled far it seemed, and almost immediately, they were forging a trench through snowbanks, around trees, and between hills, the wagon wheels making deep ruts through any snow the massive turtle hadn’t bulldozed through. Still, despite the resistance, it seemed to not even phase the giant creature. If he felt any fatigue or hardship, it showed not. It was almost eerie, the silence of the forest contrasted with the slosh of snow and grind of turtle, interspersed with occasional birdsong from those ready or able to sing mid winter.

“Hmm… we need a name for you,” Fox woman offered, interrupting the serene stillness and hypnotic lilt of the caravan. A name? But he already had a… oh. She didn’t know, because he couldn’t speak, and even if he did, who would understand? Maybe, if she went through each letter of the alphabet, and he would nod or shake his head until she spelled out his name…

As she spoke the idea into consideration, the fox woman deftly removed the leather pouch she’d grabbed from earlier as well as the long thin handle of the pipe that ended in a cup (the ‘bowl’ he would later learn) and with the practiced hands of someone who had perfected a habit over decades of use, she fingered a pinch of some sort of pungent dried herb from the satchel. His sensitive vulpine nose twitched at the complex array of scents brought about from its presence. It wasn’t unlike tobacco, but… markedly sweeter, with more complex, earthy notes. She pushed it into the pipe with one swift motion, cupping her hand around the receiver end and blowing into it softly. The dried herb immediately reacted, and the smell of sweet smoke filled the air as she puffed on the narrow end.

“I’ve been doing some thinking…” because of course she had. He sighed. Having no agency was a drag. She opened her mouth to speak, the sweet smoky tendrils lazily flitting into the wind… and what she said sounded sort of like words… but most of them were beyond his comprehension. Was that supposed to be a name, or an entire magical incantation? He couldn’t tell the difference.

“But if you simplify that to Common speak,” she continued, as if it were a perfectly normal thing, “it’s Ash’ton da Maevali. In your tongue, ‘the one who came through the rift.’ Quite fitting, no? And Ash is such a lovely name for you.” Yeah. sure. An unpronounceable name, that was his life now. Add it to the list. Clearly, she wanted this, and it would only make life easier to agree with his new found ‘guardian angel.’ Besides, if he went back to his own world, it wouldn’t even matter. No one would have to hear the name Ash, ever. And if he stayed… well, she would be happy with him. Win win. If he stayed…

“Bwuh,” he agreed.

“Are you my little Ash?” She cooed, leaning her tall face down to nuzzle noses with him, enveloping him with her sweet, herbal scent. He wasn’t sure what kind of strange mind magic she was using now, clearly that’s what it had to be because there’s no way he’d ever agree to this, but her affection was infectious, causing Clint to fill with a sense of happiness and giddy warmth, beaming up at her in return.

“Bah!” He agreed more earnestly, genuinely joyous to see her approval.

“There’s a good boy~” she praised as she caressed his ears, lifting her head back up to fully exhale a plume of smoke into the air. Being a smoker of many years, Clint knew what smoke should look like as it exits the lungs and streams out of a mouth or a nose, but that was about as far as it got before he was mesmerised by what came next. Instead of dispersing into a cloud, the exhalation twined and formed into the shape of a long, winding serpent, twisting and undulating through the air with an agenda only it understood. Clint---or, Ash? No, not yet---could only stare in amazement as it finally lost its form and faded into the wind. After a quick puff, the next cloud of smoke sailed on the wind in the shape of a ship, complete with sails and rigging and a realistic bobbing motion of being tossed in the waves. The next one was… her. Or at least, another kitsune that resembled her. It danced and twirled about gracefully as it was held aloft, giving the best performance of its short momentary life, ending with a pirouette that ended its solid form.

Stealing a glance upward at her face, it showed the utmost essence of joy and whimsy. She truly enjoyed this, this calm, simple moment. And he couldn’t say he didn’t feel the same. Perhaps she needed him as much as he needed her. Such a lonely, solitary life, in the middle of nowhere. But now, she had found someone, to share the simple things in life with. Someone to teach, to guide, to love. Was it coincidence? Or perhaps fate that had brought him here. Perhaps they were meant for each other. Or, it could just be this magical land toying with his head. As his head swam with all of these thoughts and their implications, he heard the most sweet, angelic sound. The same one from the night before, as he was falling asleep. She was singing now as they rode along, a more jaunty and upbeat tune instead of a lullaby, and he felt himself completely enchanted in the rhythm, nodding and moving along to the beat.

As the expression of her voice filled the empty woods that stretched for miles, he decided that he didn’t mind the long, monotonous stretch of trail they found themselves winding around, as long as she was there to share it with. After a while though, even the mature part of mind couldn’t continue to combat the growing emptiness within his stomach, and after just a few minutes of noticing it, he started squirming impatiently, and couldn’t help but let out an involuntary whimper, pressing a paw to his muzzle to keep quiet. He felt a calming touch between his ears, and while it did nothing for the hole in his appetite, it did quell the whimpers, at least for a moment.

Without so much as a verbal acknowledgement, a bladder of warm, soothing milk was procured from her bag, and the ritual from the night before was set in motion. He knew he should be calm, composed, mature about such things, but screw it. His tiny little frame had instincts otherwise, and a mind of its own. As he hungrily nursed from the bottle, she resumed her song, but this one was softer, soothing, lulling. He could feel himself nodding off already, even mid meal. He felt his intense hunger satiated, but as the sounds of her captivating melody danced in and out of his head, stealing his attention and willpower for its own, the last thing he remembered was the wooden nozzle still lodged in his muzzle.

Madame Helena! Madame Helena! The words echoed from the darkness. The fox woman held him by his hands, suspended above a gaping wide toy box, the bottom of which was black as the eternal void. Inside, he could hear a cacophony of voices and activity.

"No!" he complained, kicking his tiny feet. "Anything but the box! I don't want to go back!" A single yellow strand spun from his chest and extended into the void until it couldn’t be seen, and exuded a subtle but constant pressure not just on his body but on his very soul, gently trying to pull him down into the blackness. He tried holding on with all his might, but he could feel fox woman's grip weakening, slipping through her fingers as the filament pulled him downward. Eventually, her grip failed.

Clint jumped the moment the lid to the ‘box’ slammed shut, startling himself awake. He was in a bassinet or some sort of basket, small and cozy with a blanket for bedding folded over and tucked around him, keeping him warm. There was noise all around, hustle and bustle, a crowd, loud voices. Way too loud, and he was still frazzled from his nightmare. It had felt so real, like he were on the edge of oblivion, being pulled again strand by strand through the portal that had brought him here until he completely unraveled once more.

He felt tears brimming as he tried to free himself from his blanket binding, squirming around and letting out an instinctual cry, to get fox woman’s attention. It wasn’t something he did intentionally; whatever part of his mind was devoted to his other self, the part of Clint that wasn’t Clint, knew that he needed attention, and there was only one way to get it. And so it let out a wail, as he felt the tears spill out.

“There there. Did the commotion wake you up? Poor little Ash,” he heard his guardian call down softly to him through the haze of noise and confusion. She lifted him from the basket to her chest in one fluid motion, nuzzling affectionately through his hair with her nose, and the panic and the terror receded with a simple touch, washed away by her tender ministrations. As his primal mind soothed and his fears allayed, Clint desperately clung to the part of him that made him… him. His name was CLINT, not Ash. He was twenty years old. He was trapped in a strange body, and was waiting for his soul to heal enough to return home. As long as he held onto those, he would be okay. And now that he had established those in his mind, he could move on and start to process the world around him and what he’d woken up to.

“Madame Helena!” he heard a voice off to the side exclaim, and he dared a peek out from the safe world of soft, white fox fur. From what he could tell by the passing buildings and clack of cobble and din of noise coming from the shared lives of people, they had entered a small, quaint little town that seemed alive with activity. Smoke from chimneys, dull yellows of lamps through frosted glass, and a crowd of what he could only describe as furry animal people gathered on the small road through main street, watching them in wonder as the last rays of the afternoon sun burned the atmosphere a brilliant yellow orange and cast everything in a splendorous golden light. Was this the name of his beloved “mother?” Madame Helena? It was… intriguing. Mystical. Fitting, he thought.

Despite the people excitedly calling out her alleged name and surrounding the caravan, she only had eyes for him. A gentle kiss, a tender brush through his fur. Soft scritches to reassure his poor little mind that everything was going to be okay. He wasn’t even treated this well by his own mother as a child. He’d be told to stop bawling and man up. No one ever got anywhere by crying. Helena---if that was her name---knew exactly what he was, what he’d done, and where he’d come from, yet she still treated him like her very own child, and tenderly too. Why? What was the reason for all of this? He couldn’t figure it out, much as he agonized over it.

“My little love,” she assured him, still holding him close, but turning him so he could see out into the village proper. “Look! A cozy little town, don’t you think? I quite love visiting Goldenleaf, there's always something going on.” Now that the excitement of his nightmare was over, his little head had space for curiosity. All of these animal people he’d never seen before! This was the first time he’d seen… well, anyone, actually, besides fox woman, of course. But now, there were plenty to see.

It was mostly the children that followed the cart closest, poking at Khora, chattering among themselves, waving up at fox woman… Madame Helena. The adults stood further away, watching as they passed by, some waving themselves. They seemed to be a mix of all races; canines, vulpines, felines, even some odd ones like a badger or two.

“This is the main town I keep up with,” she explained softly as they rode along. “I’m a Guardian of Magic. I watch over the realm and keep it safe. And when I’m not doing that, I care for its people. If you stay with me long enough, you'll see a number of towns, a sea, and even a big city, in due time.” There she went again with the ‘if you stay’ part. She was baiting him in, he knew it… she wanted him to stay. She was trying to convince him. And if he was being honest with himself… he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t falling for it, either. He was enjoying himself here, but he was deathly afraid to admit it.

He pushed those worries away for later as Khora abruptly stopped without needing to be told, and the massive cart slowly rolled to a crawl behind him. They had stopped in front of an oddly shaped building that was stocked like that one wall of Helena’s workshop, with jars and potions and herbs crammed in every available space. This one looked a bit less well stocked and more haphazardly organized, he decided.

“Mr. Anderson!” she called out, and Clint could see movement inside as someone shuffled about. A moment after, the door creaked open, and a bespectacled old badger stepped out, adjusting his glasses as he did so.

“Miss Helena!” he greeted up at her, “What a pleasant and truly welcome surprise! So good to see you!”

“I have some things for you!” she called back down to him with a smile, pivoting her body and disappearing into the cart. She opened up a side door much like an RV, where Mr. Anderson was waiting, who invited himself right in. Up close, he sort of… smelled a little like medicine. And not the good kind. Harsh chemicals, vaporous substances, the like. Clint wrinkled his poor nose. With a quick snap of her fingers, several lamps hanging above them burst into life, shedding their soft light on the cargo within. Shelves containing all of the supplies previously packed filled every available space, with a small open area in the middle that itself held more crates and standing shelves, lending itself to a small walkable path.

“Wonderful, wonderful,” he commented, poring over the contents, picking up a bottle here and a bundle of herbs there, squinting every now and then behind his spectacles. “Top notch stuff as always. How DO you do it?”

“You know exactly how,” she remarked knowingly, and Mr. Anderson chuckled.

“Magic, but of course.”

“Magic,” she confirmed, with a smile. As Mr. Anderson browsed the cart, he seemed to just notice Clint for the first time, readjusting his spectacles and leaning in to get a better view. The aura of medicine was overpowering, and he shrunk away at the scrutiny. Clint felt anxious as this new person drew closer, and he hid his face.

“Oh, why hello there,” he greeted with a cheerful, friendly air. “We seem to have a new visitor today. And whom do we have here?”

“Mr. Anderson, this is my little kit, Ash'ton. Can you say hi, Ash?” Clint was suddenly gripped by nervousness and anxiety, not trusting himself to even give a proper ‘buh,’ whatever that would mean. But he did peek out an eye and observe warily.

“Oh a shy little bugger, isn’t he?” Mr. Anderson commented, and Helena chuckled, a wonderful, heavenly melodic sound to anchor him in reality and give reassurance.

“He’s never seen people before. You’re the very first person he’s seen up close, other than myself.”

“Why hello there, little one! Welcome to the world! It’s so exciting, isn’t it?” he commented cheerfully, before glancing back up to Helena. “So he’s yours, you say?” Helena gave a nod. “How wonderful! Congratulations!”

“Thank you Mr. Anderson. You’re too kind, as always.”

“Oh, I’m just a humble apothecary, and your skill far outshines my own. You are ever the kind one, bringing me materials for my craft, allowing me to take care of the town…”

“I do it out of love for the people, you know that.”

After helping mister Anderson with his supplies (and receiving copious amounts of additional thanks), it was on to the next destination, which seemed to be just down the road. It appeared to be some sort of inn or tavern both in location and decor, with a bar and a handful of kegs and bottles of what he could only assume was booze situated behind it. Clint couldn’t definitively say he wasn’t tempted to sneak some booze himself just to see what interdimensional alcohol was like, but it was a pipe dream in his current form. The pair parked the cart outside as before, with Helena electing to simply leap---or, more of a float, as graceful as she was---right down from the front platform onto the street, giving Khora a pat on the shell, who simply grunted in reply.

Inside, Helena sat down at the bar waiting to be noticed, Clint sat contentedly in her lap. There were a few people milling about, most staring excitedly and whispering, but the proprietor appeared to be away at the moment. Even as he noted this to himself, he saw a cat woman enter from the rear. Clint wasn’t sure how to tell the age of animal people yet, but she gave off the air and appearance of someone middle-aged. She was incredibly fluffy with a mix of gray and white fur with gray spots, and a tail for miles to match. She wore a simple brown dress, carrying some clothes inside.

“Miss Helena!” She exclaimed, immediately dropping the clothes on the nearest possible surface and rushing over, absolutely overjoyed. “Good to see you again! I just tapped a fresh honeywine cask, would you like some?”

“I would love some, thank you Ella,” Helena offered with an equally familiar smile.

“It’s been a while. What brings you to town?” Ella asked as she danced around the bar with all the grace and experience of someone who’d been around the job long enough to commit it to second nature. A mug was swiped, lever pulled, and she poured a fresh mug of a tantalizing looking golden yellow liquid, sliding it across the bar to Helena. The fox woman held it under her nose, savoring the aroma before taking a nice, long draught, letting out a satisfied breath.

“This little guy right here, actually,” Helena answered, motioning at Clint, giving him a pat on the head.

“Oh my god!” Ella exclaimed, coming closer for a closer look, “He’s adorable!” But then, her face creased worriedly. There was something else there. A pause. Trepidation. Almost… apprehension. “Are you leaving him with us?”

“Oh no, this little one is all mine,” Helena answered matter-of-factly to dispel any false notions, taking another sip, and all of the aforementioned emotion washed away from Ella’s face, replaced again with a pleasant smile. “I’m giving him his first view of the town and other people besides me, and I needed some supplies anyway. That reminds me, I have your shipment in the cart.”

“Bless your heart, you’re too kind. I’ll get that squared right away,” she replied, moving toward the door even as she spoke it.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” Helena offered, “as soon as I finish this delicious honeywine, if I may.”

“Of course! Take all the time you need!” As Ella rushed off to raid the cart, fox woman smirked down at Clint, swirling the glass.

“I wonder. What do you think of this, little Ash?” She held the drink up to his nose and/or muzzle for him to sample if he so wished. Was this the first time she was going to let him do anything remotely ‘adult?’ Clint had been a heavy drinker in his day, a little wine was nothing. He had even been pining for it not ten minutes earlier, in fact. He sniffed at it, and to his surprise, it smelled oddly harsh and full of fumes, like gasoline or nail polish remover. Helena expertly tilted the mug till the golden liquid was perfectly balanced on the edge, begging for a sip, and Clint gave it a little taste with his tiny tongue. He immediately regretted his decision. Not only did it taste terrible, it burned his poor sensitive palette, and he was filled with an odd sense of ornery fuss, complaining loudly, taken just under the point of crying. Fox woman simply chuckled, and while her laugh was still angelic to his ears and good natured, he couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed. He looked up and gave her the biggest pout, and she laughed again.

“I’m sorry, my little sweetroll,” she apologized, ruffling his head fur, which did help to calm him down. “I had to check if you were still in there. I suppose even the embodiment of temptation can’t overpower your physical form. You are adorable and I love you.”

“Hmph…” he grunted, crossing his arms. And yet, he couldn’t help but give a half-smile. So, she still knew who he was on the inside… of course she did. And she was reminding him. Putting him in his place? Or just relating to him, perhaps? This woman was an enigma he wasn’t sure if he’d ever solve.

The tavern stop cleared nearly every bit of produce from the produce cart, on top of a lot of clutter in the cart itself. It seemed the tavern was the main donation spot for Helena’s philanthropy, and for her troubles, she received two casks of honeywine to take home with her. Hardly a fair trade in Clint’s eyes, but it was a charitable donation, and Helena had tried to refuse the second cask, after all… but Ella wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The next stop wasn’t far; in fact, it was right next door. It seemed to be the source of many of the children running rampant, as Helena stepped out from the tavern into the snow covered street, making her way down the row. As the sun continued to set, a chill filled the air, and he snuggled a bit harder into her for warmth. Despite the frost, several children sat crowded around the large turtle monster, who seemed perfectly content letting them do whatever they pleased, as one child bravely demonstrated by climbing on his back between the sharp spines.

“Mind the spines,” Helena chided, but otherwise let the spectacle continue.

“Yes Miss Helena,” “How old is he?” “What does he eat?” “Does he bite?” The young crowd assaulted her with questions as they gathered around, some tugging at her robe, and she smiled warmly, engaging with them.

“Let’s see… over two hundred years old, he eats whatever you feed him, and he only bites if you try to hurt either of us,” She answered in rapid fire. “But when he does…” here her grin became devilish, the most wild look in her eyes. “He’d bite you in half with one chomp!” She accentuated this with an extended claw, and a grin! A couple of the kids gasped, and recoiled. “So, best to be nice,” she added softly. There was a collective nod and a profound agreement within the crowd, with a “woah… cool…” from one of the boys in the back.

“Can we feed him?” came the voice from the kid atop the spines.

“Sure, just don’t give him anything you care about, because you’re not getting it back.” She paused for a moment. “Well, not in the way you think.” There was an “Ewwwwwwww!” From the group before they quickly scattered to go find whatever they could get their hands on, and Khora let out his trademark hurk hurk hurk. “This is why Khora loves going to town,” she remarked to Clint. “They stuff him so full of random objects he won’t eat for a month, and he loves it.” Clint couldn’t help but find that fact equal parts amusing and endearing as Helena stepped inside the building right next to the tavern, having sufficiently distracted the children. A far younger and smaller looking version of Ella greeted them, with a pup on her hip as well, and a toddler grasping her dress. Much like her older copy, she absolutely glowed upon seeing the pair, a common reception to her presence, he was learning.

“Bella, you’re looking like a proper woman more and more every time I visit,” Helena greeted, giving her a warm embrace---or at least as much as either could muster with a baby in each of their arms.

“Helena!” She greeted, “And you’re starting to look like me! Who’s the little one?” Clint heard for the hundredth time that day, rolling his eyes. Bella's face fell a little darker as she almost perfectly mirrored the other feline’s concerns and worry. “Are you here to drop him off?”

“Oh no,” fox woman all but purred happily, “this is little baby Ash, and he’s mine.”

“Oh my god! Congratulations!” Clint heard also for the hundredth time that day, as Bella offered a renewed, bright smile. From below, several of the children looked up in curiosity, deciding the fox woman was more interesting than the turtle, now that she was over here and the turtle was out in the cold.

“He’s just so sweet,” Helena praised, and then she looked down at him with a smirk. “And damp. Goodness! Would you mind changing him while I bring some stuff in for you?”

“Of course!” Bella said brightly, and Helena handed Clint over to the feline woman’s floofy, poofy embrace. The first thing he realized, immediately, is that he did not like this at all. Despite how nice she looked, how sunny and cheerful she was, and he was sure she was a nice person, taking care of all of these kids… he did not trust her, he only trusted mama, his savior and (hopefully) temporary guardian. And not just that, but for something so intimate!? This was not going to go over well for his emotions, he could already feel it. As he watched Helena walk away to get… whatever it was she felt was necessary in order to leave him here alone, he could feel his anxiety spiking. His young brain did not like it when mama was out of sight.

“You’re a little cutie, aren’t you?” She praised, bouncing him in her arms. She was definitely very soft, warm, and inviting, motherly in her own way. It helped to ease his fears a little; a cute cat girl talking sweetly to him was definitely a plus, in any other timeline he’d lay on the charm and probably hit on her. It just wasn’t… her. He hadn’t realized just how accustomed to her sight and smell he had become, even in just a short time.

“Can we try, Miss Bella?” A small voice asked, and Clint glanced down. It was a pair of twins, racoons from the looks of them.

“I don’t see why not, you change Caeric all the time,” she noted, laying out a nearby blanket on the floor. The twins bounced eagerly, grinning. “Just be really careful, okay?” Oh hell no. Clint was maybe on the fence with Bella, but two literal children? He’d rather scream. And he was about to. There was a force coming that would wake every sleeping person in three city blocks. Fortunately for Clint, Bella was experienced with children, and seemed to pick up on this right away.

“Actually, it looks like we have a fussy little one, let's hold off on that until his mother gets back," she cautioned, holding off on the blanket idea for now. The cat woman and her children were spared the eardrum splitting treatment… for now. But Clint was still grumpy. Fortunately, Madame Helena was nothing if not quick and efficient, and she was back in seconds with a huge armload of clothes. Upon her entering the room, an immediate sense of relief washed over him, and he reached out for her as she approached. Save me! he thought. Save me from these strange people!

"We have a fussy one!" Bella repeated for Helena, holding Clint out to her, who took him again after neatly stacking the laundry. He clung to her robe like his life depended on it, burying his face in her chest. "After you left the room, he wouldn't even let us lay him down. He was gonna throw a tantrum! But as soon as you came in, his face just lit right up~”

"Why doesn't he like us? Did we do something wrong?" one of the raccoon twins asked, and Helen's expression softened.

"No no, little ones," she answered reassuringly, this time laying Clint down on the nearby blanket herself. Because it was Helena doing this, and not Random Child Number Seven, he decided to allow it as he was getting quite uncomfortable and clammy now that she had brought the issue to his attention. But he still didn’t like how public this spectacle had become.

"He's just a little kit," she explained as she unbound the bulk of damp cloth around his waist and set it to the side. Clint wasn't too sure about the whole being naked in front of people thing, especially other women and children, but the rational side of his mind knew that it was quite common for infants for a variety of reasons. But it was the rational part of his mind that was uneasy about it in the first place, an assault on his dignity.

"He hasn't been in this world for very long, everything is new and exciting and he can get overwhelmed easily." She produced a cloth square identical to the one she'd removed, expertly tending to his needs and fastening it snugly. "This is the first time he's ever seen other people before. He's just shy, that's all." Just as soon as it started, he found himself nice and clean and dry.

“Why don’t we show Miss Helena how we brush our fur?” Bella offered for them instead.

“Okaaaay,” the twins reluctantly agreed, going off to fetch some brushes.

“A wonderful idea!” Helena announced, producing her own brush from the bag. It held wisps of white fur in its bristles.

“I know it’s not ‘cool’ or ‘fun,’ but it keeps your fur silky smooth, and soft. It’s part of becoming a grown up.” Bella reminded them.

“We knoooow miss Bella, we know,” they chimed in.

“Alright, each of you take a tot and help, I’ll get Caeric.” It was obvious they’d done this many, many times, most likely a daily routine. What he was not expecting was the soft touch of the brush on his head to feel so... pleasant. As it gently brushed down his head fluff and along his back, he felt pleasurable shivers tingle up and down his spine, like a back rub from a light touch. She took his tail and brushed through it gently but methodically, before continuing to the other areas such as his arms and legs. He could see the others doing the same, and had to admire this odd ritual that he would never have seen otherwise. The attention felt so good that he started babbling and trilling happily without even realizing he was doing it.

“I think someone likes brushies,” Helena cooed softly in his ear, and when he realized what he was doing, he went ghostly pale as he was absolutely mortified. He hid in her chest fluff in embarrassment, not daring to show his face.

“Goodness, he really is shy!” Bella commented, and Helena just laughed softly as she continued the grooming. After the fur was sorted, it was time for another bottle of milk. Surprisingly, he was able to stay awake for this one, as the environment and the excitement kept him energized. As before, after he’d finished, she promptly burped him, eliciting a fresh round of blush… and a little happy wag, much to his embarrassment. Stupid tails with a mind of their own!

“Do you mind keeping an eye on the kids for a moment while I go talk to mother?” Bella inquired.

“Go right ahead~” Helena assured the younger woman, and Bella rushed off on her errand. Helena looked around at the disheveled state of the lodge. “Let’s give her a little help, shall we?” Helena put Clint in her bosom as before, tightening it so he didn’t fall out. She picked out a broom and, instead of sweeping with it, spoke a few words, where it began sweeping itself. With a snap of her fingers, the scattered clutter of toys on the ground started marching to a nearby toy box, which made Clint unnaturally anxious given his recent nightmare. Clothes strewn about neatly folded themselves. Another flick, and a fire blazed under a large iron cauldron.

“Oooh!” a couple of the children exclaimed, chasing around the broom and poking it occasionally. Some followed the toys to the bin and studied them intently, their tails twitching. “How do you do that?”

“Oh, just a touch of magic,” She responded quite simply, digging through some utensils by the cauldron.

“Can we learn magic too?” Helena chuckled at the question.

“Perhaps when you’re older.”

“Awwwwww!”

“Now, let’s see about some dinner…”

“Oh goodness!” Bella exclaimed as she returned after a while, with another child in tow. “Miss Helena, you don’t have to go through so much trouble!”

“Oh it’s nothing,” she noted, holding up a paw as a book flew into it of its own accord, which she promptly opened and flipped through the pages. “As you know, I gave your mother the bulk of the food, and she knows to provide for you. In the meantime, I’ll cook up some dinner for us, my treat.” Bella seemed overcome with emotion, holding one of the children close.

“Bless you…” she said softly. Helena simply gave a nice, deep smile.

“It takes a special soul to care for children the way you do. You deserve nice things, too.”

“Bless you, Miss Helena,” Bella repeated again as Helena began chanting a spell. The air around them seemed to twist and shift, and the cauldron started slowly filling with water before their very eyes.

Clint expected some more magic and some more tricks to magically summon up a dinner, but after all the mysticism she’d been throwing around like nothing, it seemed she wanted to work with her hands for a bit. Veggie after veggie, cubed, sliced, placed in the water. Spices diced, crushed, more vegetables peeled. Meat quartered up and dropped in. It was… relaxing, in its own way.

“There, that’s on the stove for now,” Helena finally concluded as everything bubbled in the cauldron, wiping her paws on a cloth. Just then, the door of the lodge opened, and a very disheveled looking canine man stepped in.

“Hello? Excuse the intrusion, I… I heard Miss Helena was in town…” he spoke meekly, removing his straw hat as he entered. Helena looked over at Bella and gave an apologetic smile.

“No rest for the weary,” she offered, taking Bella’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I will return later.” She gave a nod.

“Alright children, let's all gather up for supper!” Bella announced, shifting her attention to the kids so that Helena could address their newest guest. She took her leave, moving to greet the man at the door. He was a terrier looking canine man, brown, long hair, with a big, bushy mustache and bangs that threatened to engulf his eyes. Even with his limited experience with animal people, Clint could tell there was something wrong with him. His eyes were deep, tired, sunken. It scared him.

“Mr. Peterson,” Helena greeted, taking his hand. “You are… not well.”

“It’s… my son…” he choked out, almost unable to speak.

“Please, tell me about him,” she continued, placing her hand on his shoulder and leading him back outside.

“He… Has the sickness…” Upon hearing this, Helen took him by the shoulders and looked directly into his eyes.

“I'm going to fetch my bag from the cart,” she told him, holding him steady, “and then you're going to show me.” He nodded meekly. “It's going to be okay.” He simply nodded again, unwilling or unable to reply. True to her word, she entered the massive traveling wagon, swiped a few things into her pack, and was back out in minutes. “I'll be gone for a bit,” she told Khora. “Keep an eye on the cart while I'm gone.” He gave his signature grunt, and Helena and the dog man walked side by side down the street, around a corner, down a narrow alley, and across a small field as a humble looking abode came into view, smoke barely making it out of the chimney.

As they entered, he could immediately tell things were… not great. Everything was scattered, dirty. Haphazard. And the smell… He attempted to stuff his nose in her robe to escape it. He didn't even want to ponder what it meant.

“E-excuse the… mess… my wife…” his voice caught again as he placed his hand over his mouth. He saw tears. He couldn't be sure, but if he caught the meaning of the words… no wonder he was a wreck. Clint felt like crying in shared sympathy, tears welling in his own eyes.

“It's okay,” she assured him. “Show me your son.” He nodded silently and led her through the decaying structure, to a small back room at the end of the hall which they pushed open. The smell here was even worse, and Clint whimpered a bit. “Shhh, we'll be done soon,” she assured him, giving him some soothing pets. It did little to quell the smell, but it did settle his nerves.

As the trio filed in, it was painfully clear who and what was the issue at hand. A small boy lay in a cot in the center of his room, blood staining his ragged shirt and the sides of his mouth. He looked to be the same color and breed as his father, though his fur was lighter and his mustache patch wasn't nearly as filled in. As if to punctuate the sickness, the boy started a prolonged coughing fit, eventually fading away back into restlessness. The man looked at Helena pleadingly, and his expression said everything. Clint was no medical doctor, but whatever this was looked serious. He had flashbacks to history lessons of ‘black death’ and ‘plague’ ravaging old Europe back in the day. He wondered if they knew about sterilization or germ theory. He suddenly felt a lot more… vulnerable.

“Get me a jug, a cloth, and a cup,” Helena ordered.

“Y-yes… Ma’am,” he agreed as he hurriedly left the room. Now free to work, fox woman moved to the child's side and knelt down, placing her hand on his forehead.

“Mmm…” she mused to herself, and started reciting the strange language, tracing patterns along his fur. Whatever it was, her temperament seemed to sour, as she held her hand up to her chin in thought. In the distance, frantic clattering and shuffling caused his ears to twitch at the noise. “Right…” she agreed with something playing out in her own mind, and dug through her bag.

Helena pulled out a long slender object, but this time it wasn't a pipe. It seemed to be some sort of fine tip brush, stained black on the end. Next was a small glass vial of black liquid, which she uncapped and dipped the brush in. She swept the covers off the boy and tossed them aside. The next few minutes involved hastily scrawling runes in black ink across his fur, though even ‘hasty’ for someone like Helena looked immaculate.

“Runes focus the magic…” she absently noted as she worked, and Clint realized she must be annotating for him, of which he was grateful. Not that he'd ever hope to understand any of it, but this was at least interesting. At some point, the older dog man returned with her supplies; a pitcher of water, a cup, and a small cloth as requested.

“What are you doing to my son?” He questioned, and Clint could tell it wasn’t hostile or demanding, but sincere.

“He’s almost gone,” she responded bluntly, and the color seemed to drain from the man’s face. “I need to carefully draw out the sickness.” He simply gulped and nodded, wringing his hands nervously. Helena took the jug of water, a simple tin receptacle with a spout and crude handle, and first poured a small amount of it into the cup. She then dipped the cloth in the jug until it was dripping wet, laying it across the boy’s forehead. “This helps the fever,” she instructed. She then took the cup of water, an equally matching crude tin piece of metal, and brusquely blew into the top. Steam abruptly burst forth from the surface, not unlike a mug of hot coffee. She then withdrew a bundle of mixed herbs and placed them inside, gently blowing again until it was a roiling boil.

“By the divine…” the old man murmured. “Magic in my own house…” with a quick swirl, and another breath (this time eliciting an icy fog), the water returned to normal, though it was a soft brownish color, not unlike broth.

“Give this to him,” she instructed, handing him the cup. He complied immediately, not even asking what it was for. It was… difficult to watch him in this state, almost pitiful.

“There there, William… drink up… this nice lady is here to help you…” he pleaded, holding the cup to the boy’s maw. The boy groaned and a portion of it dribbled out and onto his cheek, but to the father’s credit, he got him to drink most of it.

“Stand back, please.” She instructed, finishing up the final touches with her black tipped brush, and the man immediately complied, hastily shifting to the wall. “This will be… intense.” she warned, and this time it was Clint who gulped. What in god or whoever’s name had he gotten himself into? One thing he did know, this was not germ theory. A few antibiotics would have gone a long way.

Helena held a paw poised over the boy’s chest. She started chanting in the alien language that made Clint’s head swim, and the runes she’d drawn in black ink slowly traced themselves with a brilliant white hot light, beginning at the extremities and working their way upward towards his heart. Subtle blue lines appeared on her vulpine hand and up her arm, which he’d never seen or noticed before. As the magic took hold, she seemed to move her hand about in a way that seemed like it were pushing or drawing out an invisible force, like swirling water, or pulling a strand. Over and over she waved over him, until he seemed to come to momentarily, drawing in a sharp breath. Whatever she was fighting with seemed to be putting up quite the resistance, and had this not been too critical or life threatening or serious, he probably would have mistook it for a mime show.

What she said next he would not understand the words themselves, but it held so much weight and impact, he could feel them resonate as she barked them out. It was a command, a statement, an order, said with all the burning anger of a thousand curses. It frightened him. He’d never seen even an ounce of anger ever color her personality, he wasn’t sure if she even had the capacity for it. He was still reeling from this when another thing caught his attention. A thin black line coming from the boy’s mouth, slowly extending upward toward her hand. Was she… doing it? Succeeding, whatever that meant?

The line continued to extend, thickening into a tendril. It was a nasty black sludge, given form, fighting against its aggressor the entire time. After an agonizing few seconds, the line extending from his mouth grew thin as the last was extracted, and the ink scrawled runes on his body faded away, but the sludge remained suspended in the air. She splayed her fingers and turned her palm upward, and the malevolent black substance dispersed itself along the lines on her arm. The lines vanished along with the sickness, and Helena let out a breath that she seemed to be holding the entire time, exhaling loudly and slumping, steadying herself on the bed. She let out a cough that Clint could feel, but quickly steadied herself.

“I…” the man started to attempt, but she immediately righted herself and held up her hand.

“You,” she stated, and he shrunk back in surprise. “You have it too.”

“Oh lords below…” he exclaimed. “I… I don’t want to die either!”

“You’re lucky,” she continued. “Latent. Not yet bound to you. A simple spell will do.” She made a hand motion and waved it in front of his face, which elicited a gasp.

“Ah, it burns!” he cried, holding his stomach.

“That’s your body burning it away. It will subside momentarily.”

“And… my son?” he questioned through gritted teeth.

“It is done.” She said simply, letting out another cough, but again steadied herself as if trying to hide it. She took him by the shoulders as her gaze burned into his. “The sickness is gone, but the damage is still there. It will take him some time to-...” another cough. “... heal. You WILL clean this place. You WILL be there for your son, and you’re going to do the things required of you to take care of him and give him a good life.” There was no question. There was no ‘okay?’ or ‘do you hear me?’ It was a command.

“Ma’am…” he breathed out, falling to his knees. Tears streamed down his face. “How can I…”

“Do not thank me,” she retorted. “Do as I told you. That is all the thanks I require.”

“Yes, I will…” he shuffled on his knees over to the bed.

“Father…?” the boy asked, sitting up in bed and coughing again, but it was a cleaner cough, a test of the lungs.

“My son…” he let out a sob as he embraced him. Helena’s expression seemed to soften for a moment before he felt her chest compress again.

“Who is… that?” The boy questioned, looking up at the pair.

“I have other matters to attend to,” she informed them instead of answering. “Remember what I told you.” And before he could beg and plead for ways to repay or give thanks, she flew out of that place ‘like a bat out of hell’, his mother used to say. His real mother.

Her speed startled him. He never knew she could move so fast. With what seemed like mere seconds, she was already approaching the streets which were filled with people enjoying the night, the wind in his face stung his eyes. Instead of ducking, dodging and weaving through the people, Helena simply elected to go up… up, onto the roof. Like some sort of ninja movie anime, she cleared to the top of the building effortlessly, running along the top. If anyone had seen them, there hadn’t been any signs, at least until they descended from the rooftops right in front of the cart caravan home-away-from-home. There were a few shocked gasps, but she ignored them and flew inside, slamming the door.

“Don’t be afraid…” she choked out, grabbing a shelf for support. “Please don’t be afraid…” As she said this, she frantically unbound him from his now-familiar baby carrier arrangement in her garment, gently setting him on the hard wood floor of the caravan, now clear of the stuff it held just hours earlier. Now, without the fear of crushing him to hold her back, she collapsed onto the floor beside him in the fetal position, clutching her stomach, coughing and hacking.

“I had to…” she gasped between breaths, and Clint wasn’t sure if she was explaining it to him or just rationalizing it to herself. She coughed again and shuddered. “It was bound so tightly, it would have destroyed him along with itself. I had to take it…” If she had anything else to say, it wasn’t meant for him as she fell silent. She simply laid there, groaning, eyes shut. He could see how much pain she was in, he could sense her agony, read her body language, the flattened ears, the extravagant tails that had once extended and fluttered about tucked between her legs in distress. He had seen her as this god, this supernatural force of nature, but to see her so vulnerable and in pain, so alone in her burden… he cried. Not the silly immature nature of his dumb body, but his actual self, the part of him that understood what was going on, the stakes, the self sacrifice.

He suddenly understood his purpose here. She needed him as much as he needed her. Perhaps that was why he was sent to this place. Who helps the helper? Who guards the guardian? This was his chance to actually do something useful in his life, as small and insignificant and worthless as he was. To provide something of value, not lie about like a useless leech. He squeezed his tiny hands in conviction, blinked away the years. Damn this useless body, he was going to do something even if it killed him. He did the only thing he could think to do, the only thing his form allowed. He crawled forward to her damp, stained face, and gave her cheek a lick. Why a lick? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was instinct. Perhaps it was what this species did when there was an elder in distress. It felt… right. What he didn’t expect, though, was the sudden jolt of electricity as his tongue brushed her fur.

What came next was near impossible to describe to mortals, but he would put his thoughts to the best of it. For just a brief moment, an instance of time, he felt as if he were connected, like he were standing at the edge of an endless, unknowable abyss, so deep and vast, it could not be quantified by his tiny mind. He stood poised above it, merely a grain of sand in an endless ocean of consciousness. Whatever form this entity had chosen, it was only the physical manifestation, an idea given shape. But in that briefest of an instant, before he could process it further, just as fast as the spark that had jumped between he and her, it was gone, and he was left gazing at the soft foxlike features of her face.

“You…” she exclaimed suddenly, opening her clear sapphire eyes, gazing into his. There wasn’t anger or irritation at hassling her while in pain, or (for lack of better words) static, there was… acceptance. Love. She reached out, clutching him in her arms as before, but this time it was a tight embrace. Her nose buried itself in his hair. She squeezed so hard it threatened to suffocate him, but he dare not resist. If this is what she needed, so be it. He accepted his fate, burying his face in hers in kind.

Clint was not sure how long the two laid there, on the cold hard floor of the caravan. Minutes? Hours? His muscles long since cried for relief, and there was a burning hunger in his stomach, but he dare not make a sound, dare not twitch a muscle. Her coughing and spams of pain had long since stopped, and the only sound creeping up from the floorboards and sneaking into the caravan was the low din of people passing by outside, soft voices, footsteps on cobble. Inside, only his shallow breaths and her deep ones dared disturb the silence. He wondered if she had fallen asleep. Should he sleep too? He would have resigned himself to trying to sleep, if it weren’t for the empty pit in his stomach demanding to be filled.

Suddenly, graciously, relief flooded through him as he felt her stir and move about, loosening the death grip in order to hold him far enough so that she once again looked into his eyes with her piercing blue ones.

“How did you know to do that?” She questioned softly, touching his nose with hers, even though had no hope in hell of answering in anywhere near a coherent manner. Perhaps she knew. Perhaps it was rhetorical.

“I’m sorry,” she continued, closing her eyes and lowering her head shamefully. “I shouldn’t have brought you along for that. You didn’t need to see that. I was… foolish… I should have left you with Bella.”

To what, suffer alone? Suffer in silence? Is what he wanted to reply, but alas. “Bah.” Is what he said instead, and rather than try to explain, he simply reached up and grabbed her nose in his tiny paw, as if to say ‘shush.’ Her expression softened into a warm smile, and she nuzzled his hand, managing to let out a little chuckle.

“Sometimes, I get lost in the day to day life and forget you’re a rational person in there, and not just a child. Thank you. You are a blessed individual and a blessing in itself.” She moved his hand and gave him a kiss on the forehead, which made him giggle in turn. He didn’t feel like a blessing, he actually felt like a burden most of the time, especially in the real world. But, he couldn’t deny that he felt pretty blessed, being around her.

Now that the worst was over, and they had had their touching moment, and she was finally awake, she finally, mercifully let go of him and raised herself up, rubbing her forehead to soothe it. Not terribly unlike a drunk waking with a hangover, he noted.

“I’m okay,” she reassured him. “I’ve had worse. I’ve had times where I spent days in pain, unable to move. That kind of magic… it hurts. This one wasn’t life threatening for me, but it would have been for him. It was, however, painful.” This one wasn’t life threatening, he noted. It was then his eyes started to well up and fill with tears without his consent for a different reason… and he realized the growing pain in his own stomach could no longer be ignored. As much as he tried, he couldn’t quell the whimpering and whining as tiny cries escaped from his muzzle.

“There there,” she wearily assured him, placing him firmly back in her hold, “mama’s here. Let’s go see what Ella has for din din, hmm?”

“Ella,” Helena greeted as she stepped across the threshold into the tavern once more. The woman in question had been wiping down her bar and cleaning glasses, chairs were on tables.

“Oh Miss Helena! What can I do for you?” she asked pleasantly, cloth in hand. “It’s quite late isn’t it?”

“It is, I do so sincerely apologize, I had some important errands that ran late,” Helena put forth, and Ella set down her cloth.

“Nonsense. What can I do for you?”

“The little one is hungry, and I require sustenance as well. I am weary from travel. Do you have a room I could rent?”

“Oh Miss Helena, I know you tease me. You know you’re always welcome to say free of charge any time, for as long as you require.

“Thank you, Ella,” she said wearily, making her way toward a set of stairs in the back.

“Miss Helena, are you okay?” Ella questioned earnestly. She paused to consider the question.

“I… am simply weary from errands,” she responded.

“Anything I might could help with?” There was a pause. More consideration.

“You know old man Peterson?” She put forth. It wasn’t so much a question as a lead-in.

“Yes, I know him. Poor old soul. Lost his wife not long ago to the consumption. His son-”

“Will be okay,” Helena concluded with a weak smile, and Ella breathed a sigh of relief.

“That’s wonderful to hear!”

“He needs all the kindness you can muster right now.”

“Yes of course, I’ll see to it right away.”

Their lodgings for the night weren't anything five star hotel worthy, but they were quaint. It was the old world, he had to remind himself. A simple bed and mattress, night stand, table and chairs. A meal was brought to them, meat on the bone from some animal supplemented with bread and cheese, a goblet of ale for her, and a skin of milk and some mashed up fruit for him. It wasn’t anything nearly as good as the stuff she had brought in the chilled bladders, but to his burning aching stomach, it was mana from heaven. She even let him sample the meat, which held a wonderful, savory aroma and flavor, but unfortunately was difficult to consume in his current state. He barely even had any teeth, he noted dryly. But it was enough to give him hope for the future.

After an empty plate, Helena unceremoniously disrobed and collapsed wearily in bed with Clint in tow. She held him as before, close to her chest, though thankfully not tight enough to squeeze the life from him this time. Not that he wouldn’t do it again for her, if she needed it… but maybe not every time. Instead, he happily returned the affection, enjoying the radiating warmth and soft place to sleep.

Clint wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, but he woke to an empty bed, sprawled out under the covers. Fox mom was nowhere in sight, and his gut instinct was to cry. His stomach ached again from hunger---curse this tiny form. There was no use just sitting here waiting for someone to notice. What was he going to do, stare at the ceiling all day? So, he… gave in for once, and let nature take its course.

A wail sounded through the halls of the tavern and/or inn, a shrill, piercing cry, alerting everyone and everything that a certain little fox kit lie abandoned and hungry and ready to start the day. His efforts earned him an open door as a head popped in; it was actually Bella, to his surprise.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, upon seeing him sitting there all alone. “I’ll go get Miss Helena. You stay right there!” Not that he had a choice mind you. And just like that, as quick as she’d opened the door, it stood empty as the sound of paws padded along the hallway. Clint waited for what felt like an eternity, to the point where he was sure he was going to erupt again. But, finally, graciously, his guardian angel appeared through the door, and he instantly felt all of the worry and anxiety fade away.

“Good morning, my little Ash~”

Despite his nervousness and unease with so many strange people, seeing the town had been an amazing experience for him. He never knew there could be so many different furry people, all so nice and interesting, tucked away in this mystical pocket dimension. After a hearty breakfast, the sayings of copious amounts of goodbyes, sorting all her traded supplies and new acquisitions (and figuring out just what the heck Khora had eaten, much to his amusement), Clint and Madame Helena began the long trek back home through the snow. The town of Goldenleaf shone brightly in the morning sun, almost itself waving goodbye.

Clint started the journey cradled in her arms as was becoming the norm, but this time, he got a wonderful treat; she sang to him, a soft lullaby, and it was still the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Her singing was as effective as it was beautiful. And, despite getting a full night’s sleep not hours prior, in minutes, the only thing Clint was aware of was the serene grip of slumber.

The next week was one of the best weeks of Clint’s life. It wasn’t even that exciting, necessarily. It was days spent tending the garden. Reading storybooks of old legends. Demonstrations of magic. Warm nights by the fire, watching dancing smoke images in glee.

It was tenderness, it was love, it was affection. Things he’d never realized he’d been starved of until he had them properly. He was becoming attached to Helena, genuinely happy to see her when he woke, and to spend time with her throughout the day.

His favorite, though, had to be the tender moments. The soft brushings to keep his fur clean. Being bottle fed (even though he would never admit it to anyone). Being cradled in her arms. It made him happy. It gave him the heartwarming tingles in his fur. He babbled, he trilled happily. He didn’t even care if adult Clint would have found it weird or cringe, he may as well enjoy it before he had to…

Leave.

Every time he thought of the subject of leaving, he felt a pain in his heart. Up until recently, every time his mind wandered to the subject, it was that he had to leave. He was doing this and that until he was leaving. But now… for the first time since laying with her on the floor of the caravan, he was unsure. She said he’d had a choice, once upon a time. What if… what if he chose to stay? Could he do that to his mother? Not Helena. His real mother. The one who didn’t love him. The one who wished he hadn’t been born. He didn’t know. And it kept him up at night---as much as his body could handle before passing out, anyway.

Sometimes, during sleep, he would dream about the toy box. It was always the same. A golden thread, tethering him to it, constantly pulling. A red thread leading to fox woman, pulling him the opposite direction. Sometimes the golden one won, sometimes the red one won. And sometimes, neither won, and he simply unraveled.

But, despite the struggle, there was one thing he knew. One thing this world couldn't take away from him. Every time he woke up, he reminded himself. His name was Clint. He was a human from Earth. He wandered into this world by mistake. He wasn’t a fox kit. As long as he kept those facts straight, he could think clearly, even if his body and his emotions were infantile.

Unfortunately, all things had to come to an end.

One day after morning breakfast, Clint sat in Fox Mom’s arms, looking up at her happily. Despite his morning mantra---that he was Clint, he knew he was Clint, and that he was human---it didn’t mean he couldn’t become attached to her, too. And that he was starting to love her… as a mother. But today, she seemed… different. Like she knew something he didn’t (which, amusingly enough, was all the time, but he digressed).

“Muh?” He questioned, and she smiled.

“It’s time.”

“Bah?” He inquired further.

“Your soul,” she answered, touching his chest. He looked down, but saw nothing but his chest fluff. “It’s healed. It’s time for you to choose.” He felt an icy surge of dread flood through him. It was the moment he’d been waiting for, trying to ignore. To give up this life? Or embrace it? Maybe he didn’t have to… if that involved giving up one part of himself. His old life, or his new one. He valued both. He was immediately filled with anxiety, his pulse quickening, heart racing, and he clung to her.

“It’ll be okay, my little love,” she assured him, kissing him between the ears. “Whatever your choice is, I know you’ll make the right one. And even if you go back to your old life, I’ll understand. I’m a Guardian. I know these things happen.” How was he supposed to choose? How was this fair? He could feel tears welling up in his eyes.

“Shhh,” she calmed, stroking his head fluff fondly. “We still have time. I still have to prepare it.” Helena stood up with Clint in tow, bundling him close to her chest. The two made the familiar march to her workshop, but this time there was trepidation in his heart.

Inside the workshop, she cleared a wide open space on the floor away from other obstructions. She nestled Clint into her bosom and tightened the wrap, so one paw could hold a book which she summoned from the bookshelf, and the other a piece of chalk. She opened the old leather tome, poring over the pages. From his vantage point, he could see… scribbles. At least, that’s what they looked like to him. He couldn’t even make out shapes that formed words, just a bunch of vague scribbles.

“Mmm…” she mused, holding the book open as she drew a circle on the ground, pivoting to use herself as a compass. “I haven't done this in so long.” Her fingers flew with speed and precision, covering the border of the circle in an equal amount of scribbles as in the book. Neat, precise, evenly spaced. She had a look of intense concentration about her face, and though Clint was dreading what was about to happen, he couldn’t help but become fascinated, admiring her handiwork. Most of the magic fox woman had used was spoken or gestured, very little did she use rune magic. After several minutes of constant writing, with multiple rings of text, some that went sideways in branches like trees, and some inside even more smaller circles, she put her hands on her hips and observed her handiwork.

“There we go,” she said. “That should do it.” She gently removed Clint from his wrap, and laid him upon the cold floor in the center of the circle. She knelt down, gazing at him with her cool, blue eyes. “Whatever you choose, I just want you to know I had fun taking care of you. It has been a blessing. If you choose your old life, I wish you well. You were a good kit, and you brightened my life. Good luck.” He felt a crushing weight in his heart.

“Muh…” he mumbled weakly, with tears in his eyes. The world went blurry as his face became increasingly wet. Why was he so scared of a choice? He couldn’t fully comprehend his emotions, but they raged all the same. Fox woman answered his cries, but it wasn’t English she spoke. It was an incantation in the same language that was used to scribe the runes on the floor, which lit up and started dancing. They spun, they rotated, they lifted from the floor and surrounded him, toying with him, taunting him. With a final, forceful word, he felt a surge of energy, a rush of wind, and then… everything went black.

Clint wasn’t sure how long he floated in the void, time didn’t exist here. Or if it did, it was beyond his human perception. It was the same inky blackness as the one that had unraveled his existence like an old sweater, but this time, he had kept his form.

“Hello?” he called out, but it didn’t make a sound. Nothing existed here. For a moment, he had a stabbing fear that he’d been shunted between the two worlds forever, that her spell had backfired, forever to float in the space between. But even as the dread set in, he started to see something. Black pillars rising out of the void, slowly ascending around him, five in total, until he came to rest on a black pedestal from which they originated. The pillars were not evenly spaced, four in a row with an odd fifth off at an angle.

“Hello??” He called again, looking around. In the open space between the pillars, a tiny speck of orange light formed, growing in size until it was an orange line. This orange line then slowly widened into an orange circle with its own black void in the center, and it closed in on him. Clint looked around in panic. With a fresh surge of terror, he slowly realized that the pillars were fingers, and he was in the palm of a giant hand, with an equally giant orange eye bearing down on him, the only physical reality in this endless nothingness.

“So…” a voice resonated, deep inside him, through him, permeating his very being. It didn’t so much ‘speak’ as it merely willed the meaning into existence. “This is the child…”

“Who are you?” he demanded, staring cautiously up at the eye, scooting away from it, gasping as his back touched one of the pillars.

“The one who sent you here… my daughter, as it were.”

“Daughter?” he questioned. This thing was her… parent?

“Yessss,” it answered, long and drawn out. “I forbade my children from having children of their own… a protective measure, for the good of all beings. But this…” the eye drifted ever closer, inches from his face, consuming his entire vision. He yelped in surprise. “This is clever. I must admit, of all of my children, I am quite proud of her especially.” So, fox woman was using him to have a child all along. And… he couldn’t say he disagreed. It’s what they both wanted.

“Ah yes, the ‘choice’…” it mused, and Clint screamed as he suddenly noticed the situation from his nightmares was now a reality. Two filaments ran from his chest in opposite directions, into opposite doorways, one yellow, one red.

“What is this?!” He demanded.

“Your soul,” it told him, “is still bound to the realm you originated from, even as you struggle and try to make a new life in a completely different one. You must choose which thread of fate to follow… and which to sever.”

“And if I don’t choose?” he demanded. In response, a facsimile of himself appeared in front of his body, like a doll, with strings of its own pulling at its soul, just as he had.

“As you strive to make a life that is not your own, the threads of fate will slowly pull you tighter and tighter, until…” Clint watched in horror as the strings pulled at the copy of himself, who looked like he was in immense pain. His copy was ripped apart and exploded in bright light, dust scattered about the void. Clint screamed and fell backward, as new shapes emerged from the darkness, triangular and lined end to end. A horrifying realization hit, they were teeth. And they were grinning.

“And so…” the voice concluded, “you must choose.”

“The red one is… Helena?” He reasoned after finding his bearings again. “And the yellow one is my old life?”

“Yes,” the voice confirmed as the white teeth shapes shifted and moved.

“What happens to my old life if I choose red? Will my mother miss me?”

“Whichever thread you choose… the other one will sever. Your existence there will be erased. It will be as if you never existed in the first place.” The realization hit him that, ironically, his mother might get exactly what she wanted.

On one hand, as he’d so fondly remembered many times, his mother wished he’d never been born. She blamed him for her problems. This could fix that, in a roundabout way.

“An amusing proposition,” the voice agreed again, and Clint realized it must be able to read his thoughts. “There are no thoughts here,” it answered, “only existence. And I know everything that exists.”

On the other hand, fox woman had done nothing short of show him complete love and devotion, treating him as her own, loving him, caring for him, naming him-

“Ash’ton da Maevali,” the voice mused, “'Blessing from the rift', she called you.” Okay, this was getting creepy. Stop that.

“She told me it meant one who comes from the rift,” he told the voice.

“She did not want to overly influence your decision. She prayed daily that you would decide to stay. Even now, she anxiously awaits your choice.”

She wants me… Clint realized. A warm, fuzzy feeling settling over him. She honestly, truly wanted him. She wished he would say. She named him. Her blessing… if he could cry, he’d probably be bawling his eyes out just hearing that.

“Yes…” the voice droned on. “She is more attached than she lets on. She is a fox goddess of many secrets.” With all of the mounting evidence, all of the factors, the emotions… there really was only one choice, wasn’t there? It would be cruel to return to his old life, to everyone involved, including him. He took a deep breath… or at least, the illusion of a breath in a place like this.

“I choose… Madam Helena. Your daughter.”

“A wise decision for all involved,” it confirmed. One of the massive pillars protruding from the palm that was currently holding him snaked down like a tendril, and Clint could see the end was razor sharp, like a claw, or a knife. Slowly it curled around the yellow thread mooring him to his past.. Clint could feel it pulling him as the filament reacted, nudging him slightly in that direction. Was it really going to… now? Just like that?

“The thoughts and decisions of mortals are so amusing,” it taunted, even as it yanked him around, putting its giant glowing eye right up to him. “You will retain the thoughts and… consciousness of your old stature,” it informed him. “Even if your old existence is shattered, your soul has still experienced much. Use it to your benefit. Enjoy the blessing. And one more thing…” the toothy grin grew more sinister, malevolent.

“You would do well to learn some respect. Those who comprehend the lord of all creation go mad,” it cackled. “Those who gaze upon it are lost forever, torn apart by the very fabric of reality. The only thing saving you… is her.”

“Wait-” he tried to say, but it was too late. The claw severed the yellow thread in one swift motion, as the doorway to the human realm slammed shut. The severed thread burned from the end like a fuse, tracing a path back to his chest. But the little fox kit wouldn’t see those finer details. He screamed. Pain exploded in his chest, the same type of pain he’d felt the day he’d crossed the threshold the first time. Only this time, he wasn’t shredded and pulled apart. Instead, with no tension to counteract the red thread, it swept him off his feet and sucked him in, pulling him with increasing speed toward the portal it was pulling from. He thrashed and flailed, but he couldn’t fight it. With one last surge, the little fox was dragged through the red portal, and everything returned to blackness.

In the soft, streaming sunlight of the quiet morning, the small little fox kit slowly opened his eyes to the sight of his crib bars, a sight he’d gotten used to over the past week. It felt familiar to him. He looked at his fuzzy paws, flexing his fingers in front of his face. He started the day as he always had, recalling the facts, his mantra.

His name… was Ash’ton.

He was... a fox kit.

He lived with mama Helena in a cabin in the woods. As far as he could recall, that's how it'd always been.

He felt the back of his mind wrinkle, like there was something there he should remember, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. Some part of himself was upset for not remembering, but he couldn’t remember what he wasn’t supposed to forget. He was aware that he knew more than he should for someone his age, but he wasn’t sure why. It was too hard to think about. It was like… nothing was there. Like a… like… a… like a… he couldn’t even think of anything to compare it to, because the comparisons in his mind didn’t exist. The information was in his head, but none of the memories or reasons why to explain it. He felt unreasonably frustrated, whimpering as he tried to work his brain.

But then, someone special entered the room. Someone who lit up his life, who made the bad feelings go away, who fed him when he was hungry, soothed him when he was crying, and washed away the anxiety and uncertainty in the world. Someone whose face immediately made him feel safe and okay and loved.

“Mama!” he called, holding out his paws to her. She had tears streaming down her face, paw covering her mouth in emotion. She was crying. But she looked… happy? He desperately wanted to ask what was wrong. He knew he could, but his mouth wouldn’t let him form the words.

“It’s going to be okay,” she assured him, lifting him up and touching his head with her damp face. “It’ll all be okay now.”