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Your indifference for the kitsune has never been a secret. As the stygian beast barrels onto the stone floor of your cavern, littered with scattered piles of things, you pause in your tidying for just a moment, the only acknowledgement that you had even noticed him a quick flick of your ear, the slight tug of a smile on your lips in anticipation for the jest, the stupid remark (because they almost always are, though you never tire of them, of the boy and his silly, mercurial ways). You wait, your tongue coiled in the same spirit of witticism, but it does not come. Impatience is first to settle into your bones as you turn on thin heels, eyes narrowing as emptiness fills the space where his smile should be. You look beyond the reach of the cavern, to the stony path lined with pines, the mildness of the summer still restless within the valley, before you look to the little fox, the permanent annoyance stapled to his face slightly askew, different, rushed, sparking a sense of urgency that you fight against as you clamor from your hall.
'If you're trying to frighten me it's not going to work.' You tease, calling out to the daylight, waiting for laughter, for anything that would dispel the unease growing within you, following the fox through the shadow of the forest. it is at first only tricks and mischief that you find swirling in your head, pursuits of laughter, gone about in childish ways. At first it is only indulgence, a dumb grin pinned to your lips as you trail behind his companion, expecting at any moment to understand what this was all about. At first it is only a game, but as the fox's steps quicken, as he leads you through the valley without so much as a pause, your optimism begins to wither, your heart sinking further and further into your chest.
You think better than to ask him where he is going despite your unearthed worry, the thoughts that have bled into darkness, knowing that he cannot answer, now fearing what he would say if he could. It is only as the atmosphere thickens that you begin to understand, as the scent of blood hits you impossibly heavily that you recall what it had been for him to find you, broken and bloody, and you quietly give in to the mounting panic, finally breaking from your languid pace. You find their beaten (all of them alive, save for the crumpled mass of fur and flesh) bodies on the verge of tears, the lump in your throat tempering your voice to only a whisper of his name when you want to yell, glancing from the carcass to the rest of his band of fools, your stare caught somewhere between anger and utter disbelief of his stupidity.
Just seconds pass before you swallow, force yourself from your stupor and reach for him, closing your eyes as you do so, not wanting to see the wounds of a battle he had no business fighting, not wanting to know how close he had(nt) come to being too far gone for you, for anyone, to fix. It takes all of you not to flay him as you have a hundred times for what feels like the same thing, not to indulge the anger (stemmed from his hurt, your fear, of your worry that one day he will push too far), that clouds your heart, your jaw clenching as you summon the spark inside of you without waiting for so much as an utterance of approval.
It is only as you pull from him, your eyes flickering upwards to find his, that you turn to the rest of them in turn, thankful that only the bear (as unfortunate for him as it had been) had perished for their misadventure.
*
Your labor is completed with a heavy sigh, beads of sweat lacing against your skin and exhaustion sinking into your soul. There is only a moment of peace, time for a glance in Erebos' direction, when an other-worldly scream drowned only by the sound of something altogether grotesque rises on the wind. You are hesitant as you turn towards the sound, a shiver rumbling along your spine, feeling his glare before you see it, your breath catching in your throat as you turn. 'What the fuck is that.'
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[O] clear your throat and face the world [patrol]
