Trotting, trot trot. Cold feet. Snow makes cold feet. In this odd snow the chill beneath is like moonlight to dance on and it's time to kick up claws, watch as stars fly through the air and land softly where they fall.

Bamboo leaves rustle.

Here is a scent: how warm! How delicious! Scent of rabbit. Slow down, follow the scent.

It is good to be fox. Fully fox is free and here in this forest one can hide.

Prey cannot hide.

Shivering rabbit. So easy to catch.

Shredded under claws and teeth. Screaming feast. So good.

Snowflakes fall, shining stars in moonlight. Chase the stars.

And then: the red stream. Cuts through shining stars, she does not want to follow but it pulls her, it draws her into its current and she follows and sniffs copper and shiso and saltwater and there there is a hair of gold beware.

There is the horn.

*

She stumbled, pulled back to herself by the shocking sight of the Kirin's severed horn lying in her path.

Who would do such a thing?

That the person who wrought this evil was human, she had no doubt. No Yokai would ever wreak such violence on another Yokai - not willingly, anyway.

She wondered about the Kirin's presence in the bamboo forest. What had it been doing there? Kirin were shy. They kept to themselves, usually only appearing during the reigns of wise, benevolent, peaceful rulers, acting as heralds of divine favor.

Since the current shogun was Minamoto no Yoritomo, she doubted he was the reason the Kirin had made an appearance.

Most likely the Kirin had felt the pull to go East and had been waylaid by the very humans it had been traveling East to escape. Without one of its horns, a Kirin was less powerful, more easily kept captive by a family that wanted its blessing. Even without the powers of its horn, a Kirin could grant longevity, wealth, harmony, and good fortune to the people it blessed. It was probably blessing someone now.

She hoped it was not in too much pain.

She wondered what the Eastern Land was like. She had felt the pull for a very long time, although of course, captive that she was, she couldn't follow its summons.

She imagined the Eastern Land to be a great floating island with rolling hills covered with grasses of many colors, a place where prey was never scarce, where rats and mice and rabbits were always there to be hunted. Fruit trees and berry bushes abounded. Bamboo and maples grew high. There was always a place where one could hide if one wanted. The sun never rose or set - it was always near dawn or dusk.

All Yokai on the Eastern Land got along peacefully with each other, and there were no humans anywhere to be seen.

If only she could go there.

She remembered the day the young Hojo had found her soul pearl. Two hundred years ago, it had been, but it still felt like yesterday.

She'd buried it carefully when it had appeared, just like her mother had taught her, but once the humans had learned about the existence of soul pearls there had been a mad hunt. Entire families would venture into the forest together to look for Kitsune souls - together, because there was safety in numbers, and the forest was still not a safe place for humans - and they would spend days searching. They dug into the earth. They invaded the caves, despite knowing full well that any cave they entered might very well be the home of a powerful being who didn't want unannounced visitors. They climbed the cliffs looking for nooks and crannies. They dove into pools and rushing streams without caring whether they survived or drowned.

Many of these pearl hunters wound up having fatal accidents, led astray by foxfire, or simply victims of bad luck and their own lack of wilderness knowledge. Inevitably, however, some survived and managed to find what they sought.

Her soul pearl had been carefully buried at the bottom of a deep pond. At the time she had chosen that pond, there had been a Bear living in a nearby cave - a Bear who was on the verge of becoming Onikuma. He had been a good guardian. However, he had followed the pull when it came, and eventually, some members of the Hojo family found the pond. They drew straws, a young boy picked the short one, and so he braved the leeches, stinking water, and sucking mud to dive to the bottom with his scoop, over and over again, until many hours later, wrinkled and putrid and half-dead, he surfaced, pearl clutched to his chest.

Her first act as the Hojo Kitsune had been to bring him back to life and make sure he stayed that way.

They hadn't given her a choice in that matter.