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Minseok continues walking even after the noises of pursuit behind him fade and stop. Even going easy on him, they did a number. He leans against a tree to catch his breath and look around.

Forests generally look the same until one pays close attention and has knowledge of plants. A glance at the sky tells him he’s not been circling, but he’s still not certain where he is or how far he’s come from where he started.

If he wasn’t so tired, he could use a finding spell, but therein lies the question: Where is he trying to find? After continuous days and nights of walking eastward, he figures he should be far enough to relax.

Once his knees bend, gravity does the rest of the work and pulls him down to the earth. Soft moss cushions his sore body, and he gingerly touches the new wound on his chest. It stings and will definitely scar. The brand used was an artifact he once studied. Its sole purpose is maximum pain and permanent injury. How ironic the very people accusing him of dark magic marked him with the very thing they supposedly fear and righteously reject.

Unfortunately, they knew how to use it; someone must have read his book. The pain reaches deeper than a superficial burn, clinging to his ribs and organs. Drawing internal energy to use magic will trigger a painful response. Just by breathing, the scar will tug at Minseok's tissue, and he will carry it even after death. If his bones are ever found, the mark will remain on his ribcage.

Minseok’s skills encompass more than magic, however, and he knows methods and herbs that can ease the pain and keep infection from setting in. The scar is a non-issue. He can't imagine intimately exposing himself to anyone anytime soon.

It doesn’t take long to find what he wants, analyzing conditions of sunlight and moisture to discover a pocket of plants with sap that not only aids in relieving pain but offers a soothing numbness. He carefully dabs the sticky sap on his wound. It smells as bitter as he knows it tastes, making his mouth water.

Closing his eyes, he breathes deeply and exhales very slowly, willing his body slowly to relax. He imagines melting into the moss, letting it grow over and enveloping him. The spongy greenery leeches dark energy from his body and cleanses it through layers of roots, dirt, and rock to give to the surrounding trees and plants.

Eventually, his breathing slows to normal, without sounds of pain, and exhaustion settles like a warm blanket. To deter any curious animals, Minseok lights a simple illumination spell that takes very little energy and acts as a barrier wherever its light falls, and he closes his eyes.

Dreams rarely visit him anymore. After a couple hundred years, he’s stopped trying to remember things and taken to enjoying being in the moment. Even if it’s a bad experience, it only lasts as long as the next thing takes to arrive. Sleep has become purely recuperative, an act of rejuvenation rather than remembrance.

When he wakes, he’s covered in cool dew and leaves a dry outline where he laid. Judging from how clearly he can make out the shape–and how stiff his back feels when he manages to sit up–he must not have moved all night and slept like a fallen log.

The illumination spell hovers nearby, eager to work even as the sun is already over the horizon. This forest is thick and dark, with a canopy that grows together like entwined fingers. Minseok is surprised to see any sun at all but has a lifetime of being up with the sun; his body simply knows when it’s daytime based on instinct.

He takes some jerky from his bag for a quick breakfast and notices he has company.

Lounging a short distance away is a fox. Its fur is damp and sticks together in dark clumps, as though it traveled through tall, wet grass. Noticing the attention, it lifts its head with a throaty sort of trill. Bright amber eyes meet Minseok’s, pupils wide in the dim light.

“Hello.” The fox’s tail wags, and it sits up. Minseok lifts his hand, noticing the fox following the jerky. “Want one? I don’t mind sharing.” He gently tosses it, aiming for a short distance from the fox that shouldn’t spook it, but it darts forward and catches it mid-air.

Foxes are regularly seen as dangerous to livestock at first and a nuisance at best, yet with humans spreading out in more distant villages, they can’t help but meet and clash.

“Poor thing. You’ve gotten used to humans, haven’t you? So why are you out here?” Minseok muses.

The fox shakes its tail, stepping in place with guttural whines. “One more. I may not mind sharing, but I need some rations for my journey.” He holds the meat out, barely holding it between his fingers, and the fox takes it, chewing it three times before throwing it back in its mouth and swallowing it. “You could savor it a little; I’m not giving you any more.”

Possibly not believing his words, the fox leans forward, whiskers twitching as it sniffs Minseok’s hand. Walking quietly, it investigates Minseok’s sleeve and face. Trusting its curiosity is purely that, Minseok sits still and lets the fox make a full circle around him. It pauses, ears forward, and stretches its neck out to smell his chest. Its lip raises, exposing teeth.

“Bitter? Or, you smell the blood, I suppose.” He covers the center of his chest with his hand, ignoring how his shirt irritates the tortured flesh beneath. “It’s nothing to worry about; it will heal.” Looking at the black paw on his lap, Minseok smiles wryly at the bare patches around its foreleg. At some point, it must have been trapped in the jaws of something. “Looks like you too know something about healing, little one.”

As though commiserating, the fox chitters. Minseok offers a genuine smile and gets to his feet, expecting the fox to dart away, but it stays.

“I can’t say where I’m going, because I don’t even know where I am, but I’d be grateful for the company, as long as you’re willing.”

The fox pops to its feet, tail quaking nervously, bounding a couple steps away before looking over its shoulder with a bark. It’s waiting for him.

“Should I follow you?” It barks again and trots into the trees. With no better option, Minseok summons the illumination spell again and follows it.

He nearly loses it a couple times. The fox obviously knows whatever path it’s following and forges ahead with confidence.

Through trees, bramble, and lifted roots, Minseok wonders where could be so important to a fox and can only assume its den, but he then wonders why a fox would want to take him to its den.

As far as he can tell, this is a regular fox and not a spirit, so it's unlikely to see him as prey. Foxes are usually solitary, too, outside of early spring, so it can't think of him as a potential mate, either.

Perhaps it really is too used to people. A former pet, maybe.

They enter a little clearing. The fox barks once more and sits, as though presenting a gift and wanting to watch Minseok's reaction. They’ve not left the woods but rather met a pause in the dense growth. A nearly perfect circle stands unhindered by any but one large, old cedar tree. Someone built a house with the cedar as part of the foundation–or it’s old enough that the tree grew into the house. They appear so integrated that Minseok cannot guess which came first.

A stream follows around a third of the perimeter with a bridge connecting the woods with the meadow.

The perfect place to hide from society.

Minseok mismisses his illumination spell and turns to thank the fox, feeling a little silly, and is stunned to find a human. He hadn’t heard or sensed anyone. The fox is nowhere to be seen, perhaps spooked by the smiling stranger.

Truthfully, Minseok feels similarly. Where exactly did this man come from? How long has he stood there?

“Hello. Welcome.” He appears relaxed, a benign smile on angular face, and stands with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Thank you.” Minseok bows and gestures to the house. “Is this…your house?”

The man shakes his head. “You could say I manage it. It’s been vacant for a long time. You're welcome to stay for as long as you like. I promise no one will bother you.”

“I see. It is quite secluded; I was surprised to find it.”

“Whoever makes it this deep must have a reason to be here.” His smile softens; Minseok feels it’s genuine. “I won’t ask any questions. You’re safe here.”

“Why do you say that? Do I seem like I need to hide or protection?” He must look somewhat suspicious–most travellers have bags or bundles of supplies; he carries nothing but the dried foods in his pockets.

“Not at all. Just think of it as repaying a debt.” It’s an odd comment.

“My name is Minseok. You are…?”

He walks even with Minseok, bending slightly; he’s a little taller than Minseok. “Kim Jongdae. I believe you’re older than me, Minseok hyung. Feel free to think of this place as your home, for as long as you’d like. Come look.”

The house surprises Minseok with its spaciousness. The sliding doors need chalk in their tracks and new paper but are solidly built otherwise. Inside is dusty, with a bare floor and wooden walls. Shelves climb up the walls. An alcove in one wall seems to serve as a bed, with a woven mattress piled with cushions and blankets.

“Does someone live here?” Minseok feels a little silly asking, considering the lack of life anywhere, but he can’t think whose else it would be and why a stranger would offer it to him.

“I used to live here a long time ago.”

“You’ve moved, then.”

“It’s been vacant, but it is a solid build and will serve you well, and you may ask me for anything you may need; I’ll go to the village for you.”

“Is there a village nearby? I can go for myself.”

Jongdae looks to the forest, eyes slightly narrowed, as he speaks. “It’s about two days’ walk to the village. These woods are dangerous and home to spirits and demons that keep humans from wandering too far.”

Minseok doesn’t argue with the stranger. He knows he can handle himself and made it this far without incident. “Well, thank—” He turns to find himself alone once again. “...you… Alright, then.”

He didn’t imagine the man; his footprints are still in the dust on the floor, mingling with petite paw prints. Rumbles shake the air; Minsoek thinks they sound closer to an explosion than thunder. The sky is clear, and the air only smells like the meadow flowers.

Two barks draw his attention outside. The fox wags its tail in greeting and steps over the threshold before being caught. “Hold on a minute! You’re filthy from the forest, and it’s dusty in here. Stay outside while I clean, and then I’ll give you a bath.”

The fox’s ears fall back, and it grunts unhappily. With the door closed in its face, all it can do is wait.

Minseok makes a number of trips between the house and stream, carrying fresh water with a wooden bucket left behind. A convenient discovery of a soapberry bush aids Minseok’s mission to clean. With moss as a washcloth, he cleans all of the shelves, walls, and floor. His knees are sore when he’s done, but he’s pleased with the result and dumps the final bucket of grimy water outside.

In the shade of a nearby juniper bush, the fox dozes. It doesn’t try to escape but hunkers as low as it can to let Minseok know just how against a bath it is. Foxes are capable swimmers but don’t necessarily enjoy it, so Minseok keeps a hand in its scruff to keep it from wandering off and scoops water up its legs and belly with his free hand.

He takes silent delight in how thick the fox’s tail is, squeezing water from it like a sponge. When everything runs clear and there are no more twigs or leaves, he uses his own overcoat to rub the fur as dry as he can. The fox grunts and whines the whole time, although it licks Minseok’s fingers when done.

“See? It’s much better to be clean.” The fox runs around the house and rolls in the grass with noisy grumbles. “I figured as much…” He shakes out his robe and lays it in the sun to dry.

With the house and fox clean, Minseok determines the next thing to do is to gather firewood and catch something for dinner. Jongdae evidently left a few things behind when he moved including a couple plates and cups, a pot with a chipped lid, and wooden spoons. Minseok carries his own knife. That man–Jongdae–offered his help without providing a way to contact him.

A bird langs at the window. The sun is setting. Minseok collects enough wood for the night and catches fish in the dying light. The fox follows him back to the house, licking its muzzle.

“As thanks for leading me here, I’ll give you a fish, but let’s not make this a habit, alright?” With a grunt, the fox takes the offered fish and runs back to the juniper bush to eat.

Minseok cooks his own dinner over the fire and eats with the door open to listen to the nighttime serenade of crickets and owls. Distantly, he thinks he hears a howl of something. With a full belly, he expects to have more energy after days of light rations, but he just feels heavy and sleepy.

A whine makes him look to the door, and the fox shakes his tail. “You want to sleep inside tonight?” The tail wags faster, and Minseok steps aside to let it in, closing the door behind it.

There’s not enough energy to spare to be upset or even surprised when he feels the fox leap onto the mattress. Minseok pulls the blanket over himself, closes his eyes, and is asleep.

Rather than waking with the sun, Minseok feels the repeated ounces of the fox beside him. He almost ignores it until he hears a series of squeaks. Throwing the blanket off of him, he scrambles to his knees but stops short, holding a hand to his chest as new scar tissue pulls.

When the pain passes, he cautiously pats the bed and looks around the room. The fox hunkers on the floor, licking its muzzle.

It earns its keep, prowling the house and taking care of any rodents or pest spirits, but Minseok wishes it would do it more efficiently. He feels bad the longer the fox plays with the poor things.

Fully awake, he gathers his clothes and goes outside to bathe in the stream.

He leaves his clothes on the grass and wades to a larger rock that barely stands out of the water. The chill draws out immediate goosebumps, but he doesn’t mind.

A grunty whine draws his attention. The fox sits across from him, tail thwacking his folded clothes. It stands when it catches Minseok’s eye, eager and welcoming.

“Just stay there,” Minseok says. “I’m almost done.”

The fox lies down. Whenever Minseok looks towards it, its tail wags like a dog’s. Strays were common where Minseok used to live, and he tried to look after them by giving them scraps of food and a kind hand rather than a kick. They understood and remembered his kindness, which Minseok could never get the locals to believe; they figured he bewitched them all and was amassing an army of slobbering vagrants.

If his magic earned him a poor reputation, caring for the strays only worsened it. Returning from a trip, he had wondered about the strong smell of grilled meat when it wasn’t a holiday. The population of strays dropped considerably.

Feeling cleaner and lighter than he has in a long while, Minseok returns to shore and sits on the grass, letting his feet remain in the water. The fox stands eagerly but stills unexpectedly. Minseok assumes it’s caught sight of some prey and pulls his hair over his shoulder to comb through.

He’s surprised to feel a tentative paw on his thigh. As though unwilling to fully climb onto his lap, the fox leans as far as it can reach to sniff Minseok’s chest just like when they first met. Its lip remains over its teeth, but it looks at him with what he interprets as a sympathetic expression–head slightly bowed, ears back, and tail lowered. It surprises Minseok more when it leans forward again and cautiously licks his seared skin, like a parent kissing a tearful child’s freshly bandaged wound.

The herbs he foraged helped ease the pain from the brand, although his flesh is still very raw. A vague pattern stands out against his skin, red with lighter edges. It must smell strange to an animal, he supposes, maybe carrying an appealing scent of cooked meat.

“Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt much anymore,” he assures gently while offering a hand. When it doesn’t shy away, Minseok carefully runs his hands over the fox’s back. “You’re very kind, little fox.” It seems to chuckle nervously, slinking a few steps away before waving its tail goodbye and loping into the forest.

Minseok shakes his clothes, releasing reddish fur into the wind. “I wonder if it’ll let me brush it,” he says to himself.

Once dressed, he takes the time to more thoroughly look over the house, taking notes on its condition in a notebook. For standing vacant, it really is in remarkable shape. Roof tiles needs patching in a couple places, and some floorboards creak suspiciously that require more nails or replacement.

Luckily, Minseok has a lot of experience in construction. Living alone made him very self-sufficient, although he never lived somewhere quite so isolated and with so few supplies.

For the time being, Minseok makes do. He cuts tall grass to dry for the roof and a broom. Each swipe of his blade releases the sweet smell of grass, and just stepping through the meadow shakes free the scent of flowers. Sunlight glistens briefly off of fluttering insects’ wings.

The sun’s high when he takes a break, leaning back until his spine cracks. Turning to the house, he spots Jongdae crossing the bridge with a sack over his shoulder and basket on his back. He waves and calls out a greeting.

Minsoek greets him at the house. “I realized yesterday that there wasn’t much left here–if I’d known you were coming, I could prepare.” He drops the sack on the table. “Rice. And this,” he shrugs out of the shoulder straps of the basket, “has some supplies, but tell me what you need, and I’ll get it.”

“Thank you.”

“There used to be a garden, but it’s overgrown. I think I remember where it was, if you want to reestablish it.”

“I’d be grateful.” He misses his little gardens back home. The most unique was a collection of carnivorous plants. He lost many insect specimens to sneaky vines and trapping sap.

Minseok sets a pot over the fire to boil for tea. He could make it instantaneously on his own but doesn’t want to frighten Jongdae with magic.

“Do you live in the village?”

“No. I grew up here and prefer it to the noise of towns. What about you, hyung? Do you like it here?”

“There is something to be said about the convenience of living in a village or town. It’s very pretty here, though. I’m also used to solitude. Helps me think.”

Jongdae looks him over. “You’re a…philosopher? Poet?”

“A scholar.”

The fox becomes a near constant companion, keeping pests from the house and bringing Minseok gifts. He usually wakes up to the fox sprawled alongside him or wedged between his calves or even pressed against his side, under his arm. He welcomes the company.

It turns out the fox loves to be brushed, displaying all the vanity of a housecat. Although skeptical at first, once the comb runs down its back, any apprehension locking its heart is undone, and Minseok sits with a lapful of softly grunting fox.

By the time he thinks he’s done–at least the time his arm gets tired–Minseok has a pile of orange, black, and white fur that could fill a small cushion.

“Alright,” Minseok sighs, picking more fur from the teeth of the comb, “I think that’s enough.” He waits, then pats the fox’s hip. “You can hop down.” It yawns and licks a paw to wash its muzzle, not in any hurry to leave.

“If you don’t let me up, I’ll never finish this fence.” After adjusting to his new life and realizing he needs to be more self-sufficient than before, Minseok decides to make some updates around the house.

First, he plans a chicken coop. He understands its construction, in theory, but has never personally made one.

The fox is more of a hindrance of a help, yet it becomes shy and disappears whenever Jongdae visits. Minseok wonders whose instinct about the man is more accurate.

“What are you making, hyung?”

Minseok still isn’t used to Jongdae’s sudden appearances but hides his reaction with a sharp tug of the willow he’s weaving. “I’m making a fence to keep chickens.”

“Oh?” Jongdae picks up a willow and whips it back and forth. “Can I help?”

“I’d appreciate it.” Jongdae takes a seat across from him and begins weaving without instruction. Minseok glances at him every so often and marvels at how fast he works. He has dextrous hands and may be a craftsman. “You must have done this before.”

“I just watched what you do. You make it look very easy.”

They chat about Minseok’s plans, determining a spot to build the actual enclosure and coop within sight of the house and close enough to share some shelter of the large tree. Jongdae volunteers to cut wood to start the coop while Minseok pounds posts into the ground for the fencing.

It’s a fair division of labor until Jongdae removes his outer coat and undershirt. He’s thin and wiry.

A sharp pain stings Minseok’s thumb and radiates up his arm. He drops the hammer and curses himself in his head. Clarity can hurt. Since when has he ever been so distracted by someone?

“Hyung– Are you alright?” Jongdae’s gentle, carefully examining Minseok’s hand. Loose hairs fall over his face and neck, highlighting reddish in the sun.

“It was my own fault. I’m actually not very good at this sort of thing.”

“I can finish it. Let me get you some water for your hand.”

“Don’t bother. I can manage in a minute.” The throbbing has subsided, but he’s certain to bruise.

Jongdae stubbornly bullies him to sit at the table in the shade of the house. He pulls his shirt up his arms and takes a basin to the stream.

He returns with cool water, and Minseok submerges his hand while dipping a handkerchief with his other hand to wipe sweat and dirt from Jongdae’s face. “Let’s both take a break.” He presses the handkerchief to Jongdae’s cheek, and he takes it. “We’ll finish it together.”

Between the two of them, the project progresses quickly, and by the end of the day, a modest building for birds stands within a slightly crooked but strong fence. “Not bad,” Minseok determines. “Not bad at all, for never having made one before.”

“If the chickens complain, you can just eat them.”

“True. I’ll become a chicken tyrant. Critique me at your own risk.” He brushes his palms against his pants only because all of him, clothes included, need a bath. “I must rely on your kindness to find someone who supplies chickens, now.”

Jongdae grins. “I know someone.”

He is remarkably efficient, Minseok thinks. Within a couple days, Jongdae returns with a bag of seed and a crate of clucking, squawking birds. “The forest scared them,” Jongdae remarks. They don’t quiet until released into their pen and huddle inside the coop. He circles the coop, smiling at the birds’ wary watching.

“Let them be; they’ll calm down on their own.” Taking Jongdae’s elbow, Minseok guides the man to a table and pours them both tea. “Thank you again for your help, Jongdae. It seems like every time you visit, you’re doing something for me.”

“I don’t mind.” Jongdae his tea, eyesmile gleaming over the rim of the cup. Being in the sun left its mark on his cheeks. Minseok goes inside to prepare a salve. It’s a simple recipe that requires no magic and instantly cools sores and burns.

“Here,” he says. “You have a bit of sunburn. “He lightly applies it without thinking and apologises.

“It’s alright, hyung. You can see where it’s needed.” Jongdae closes his eyes and tilts his head back. Minseok finishes his task after catching himself counting the moles across Jongdae’s face and neck.

“How are your shoulders? I can make more, if you need it.”

Untying his shirt, Jongdae turns in his seat. “See for yourself. It doesn’t hurt, but I’ve never burned before.”

Again faced with Jongdae’s bare arms and shoulders, Minseok’s thumb throbs and reminds him to focus. He dutifully covers the reddened flesh with salve.

“Are you nervous?”

Minseok worries Jongdae can read his mind but manages to keep his voice nonchalant. “About what?”

“That little fox of yours. Foxes have a reputation among chickens.” Again, it’s missing. He feels silly worrying about it–it is a wild animal and has managed to survive on its own before meeting Minseok.

Shaking his head, Minseok replies, “I don’t think so. It’s too well fed here.” He cleans his hand and sits. The tea’s cold.

“How far is it to the nearest village from here?” he asks. “Would you take me with you? I’d like to see it for myself.”

Jongdae looks to the window for a moment, evidently calculating. “It’s a little more than two and a half days. Traveling through the woods takes some time, and it’s not advisable to travel by yourself at night.”

“I didn’t realize I was that close.”

“‘Close’ is relative, hyung. If you didn’t stop at all, you could make it within a day.”

“I’m not in so much of a hurry. We can plan a later date. Stay the night; you worked hard today and must be exhausted.”

“I appreciate the consideration, but I’m alright.”

“You just said yourself that the forest is dangerous at night.”

“I’m used to it. Nothing here would dare do anything to me,” he declares.

“At least take this with you.” Minseok conjures an illumination spell and gently pushes it towards Jongdae. “It will repel most things as well as light your way. It will return on its own once you tell it ‘Return.’.”

“Do you worry about me, hyung?”

“Of course I do.”

“Oh…” Jongdae raises a hand; the orb sits on his palm without warmth or coldness. “It’s pretty.”

Minseok doesn’t go to bed until the spell comes back.

The following day, he only knows the fox has returned from wherever it is foxes disappear to when the new chickens shriek and flap loudly. He looks out of a window and sees a flash of orangeish-red among flying white feathers.

Minseok throws open the door and marches to the new coop. “You had better be acting like a guarding rooster, or I will make mittens out of you!” The fox drops its head, tail wagging low, and chuckles nervously. It slips beneath the fence, and Minseok stomps the dug hole full of dirt again. “These are not your personal stockpile,” Minseok scolds. He catches the fox and carries it back to the house in his arms. “I am more than willing to share, but if you start stealing, we’re going to have to have a conversation.”

The fox grunts, not sounding particularly apologetic. Once released, it scurries to the safety of the juniper bush.

When Jongdae showed up and declared it was a good time to travel, Minseok hastily packed and dropped extra seed for the chickens before following his friend over the little bridge and into the woods. He hadn’t been in the calmest frame of mind to pay attention to the forest before. Now, with morning light filtering through the canopy and comfortable company, he takes the time to observe surroundings and memorize the route but also to appreciate the natural beauty.

He points out plants and recites their uses. It turns into a pop quiz when Jongdae points to various leafy things and asks what it its, obviously impressed when Minseok names every one.

They camp for the night under the security of Minseok’s illumination spell but meet neither beasts nor demons. Noises only claim brief attention. Minseok learns Jongdae enjoys singing and encourages him after hearing his friend singing to himself.

“We’re almost there,” Jongdae says with a look at the sky. Thin smoke rises to the clouds–a telltale sign of civilization.

Just like at the meadow where he lives, the trees abruptly give way to open space. Bordered by trees and liekly the same river that feeds the meadow stream, generations of villagers reworked the land to build homes and plant farms.

The village is busy, more than Minseok expected. Not knowing where he is, he assumed any villages so remote would be small and secluded.

A wide street runs the length of the village, with shops, restaurants, and inns flanking either side. Personal residences are behind the businesses or on the outskirts of the village. Like on any main avenue, there is a daily market.

It’s the sort of market where one never knows what they may find. Along with the expected produce, meat, fabrics, food and drink stalls, Minseok notices tables and blankets spread with specialized products including magical items and books. He’s drawn to a merchant that appears to be trying to not attract any particular attention, keeping a constant look up and down the street. Their table stands over crates hidden by a cloth. Loose fur and feathers float around, kicked up by passing feet.

Minseok steps up to the table, offers a cordial grin, and casts a cool eye over the materials laid out.

“Does the gentleman practice magic? My products are all genuine–powerful and rare. They can increase your power tenfold!”

Jongdae stands at Minseok’s shoulder, expression unusually cool. He doesn’t comment, which Minseok would think is strange if he wasn’t picking up a dark, furred object.

“You have a good eye. That is a genuine fox paw; they’re incredibly lucky.”

“Not to the fox it came from,” Jongdae mumbles.

“Is this the only one you have?”

“Uh–Yes.” The merchant lowers his voice. “They are difficult to come by and sell quickly. If you require more, I could get them for you. Even fox tails, if you’re interested–”

“Thank you, no. If this is all, I’ll take it.”

They leave the merchant. After a few paces of silence, Jongdae remarks, “I didn’t know you were interested in fox magic, hyung.”

“I’m not.” The paw is now wrapped in cloth tucked with herbs and tied with cord, lightweight but heavy in his pocket. “It is genuine; I don’t know if that man genuinely knew or not. Plenty of his things were ordinary. For a fox paw or tail to retain any power, it’s removed when the poor creature is still alive. I want to release it. Humans shouldn’t rely on stolen power.”

Jongdae nods, merely replying, “I see.”

They continue their perusal. Minseok chooses blankets for the coming frigid winter and orders some new clothes from a pair of starry-eyed seamstresses to be altered.

An elderly woman calls out to Jongdae with a friendly greeting. Her smile dims slightly, noticing Minseok, but it isn’t unfriendly. Minseok still stays a step behind Jongdae when they approach.

“Hello, Auntie. It’s good to see you well again.”

She waves a hand. “It was just a little cold, nothing to fuss over. I told my daughter, and I told you, too! I’m old enough to know how to care for myself. You all needn’t bother so much…” She nods to Minseok. “Is this the young scholar you told us about?”

“Yes. My friend, Minseok hyung.”

“What keeps a scholar way out here? You’re not one of those cultivating in seclusion, are you?” She clicks her tongue. “That’s no way for a young person to live, especially someone so young and handsome.”

“I appreciate your concern, ma’am. Although I do live alone, I have good company. I’m conducting research.”

“What kind of research?”

“Magic.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Dark magic?”

“Auntie–”

“When necessary, yes.” Minseok is used to critique–acutely aware of the paw in his pocket–and doesn’t want to get Jongdae in trouble for defending him. “It’s difficult to remedy something you know nothing about. Only by understanding can someone proactively counteract any sort of magic.”

She props her elbow on her knee and points an arthritic finger at him. For a moment, he worries that she will scold him. Jongdae angles himself between them. “You should go talk to my grandson.” Both men blink dumbly. The woman continues, “He’s been having issues with crops dying. Just his field–others’ are perfectly normal. He’s not changed fertilizer or anything but blames it on luck, of all things. I say it’s the work of the same demon stealing chickens around here. It’s getting bolder.”

“Chickens…” Jongdae avoids his eyes. “That does sound strange, although it may not be anything demonic. Now I’m curious, though, and would be happy to look into it for you.” She thanks him. After pointing them in the direction of the afflicted farm, she pushes a basket of produce into his arms, ignoring his protests.

“Let me carry it, hyung.” Jongdae starts lifting the basket from Misneok’s arm, but he holds onto it.

“Chickens, Jongdae.”

“Chickens, hyung?”

“Chickens. Where exactly did my birds come from?”

“Minseok hyung…you don’t really suspect that I had anything to do with these missing chickens? I’m hurt.”

Minseok hums, unconvinced, and passes the basket.

He spots a sign for a bookstore and considers looking for instructions on keeping chickens but resists the temptation to look. Anything he buys needs to be carried back to the house, and he’s already expecting to carry bulky fabrics. It’s easier to travel lighter and return prepared another day.

“Do you know that woman’s son?” he asks. Jongdae nods, gesturing ahead of them.

“We can’t miss it following the main road, as she said. From what I’ve heard, he’s only been married for just over a year. The young lady is the daughter of a wealthy farmer.”

“I imagine he wants his son-in-law to succeed. If he can’t manage his own land, he can’t inherit the in-law’s responsibilities.”

Jongdae shrugs. “Maybe he doesn’t want to.”

“You think he’s sabotaging himself?”

“Why not? His wife has money. I heard they’re not unwilling to help him with his farm, and the wife is an only child. Not spoiled, necessarily, but doted upon.”

Minseok hums. “It is a possibility. We’ll know more after speaking with them both.” He observes the land as they pass, noting the lively colors and gently waving plants. Some lots host cows, horses, or sheep, all looking well-fed and healthy.

Without being told, he knows he’s looking at the unlucky farm. Even brown, scraggly weeds struggle. The few animals appear healthy but bored and listless, staying near their shelters with nothing to appeal to them further out.

They turn onto the cracked dirt path leading to the farmhouse. A dog barks and trots a few steps, ears alert. It ducks its head as they near, curling around itself and looking at them over its shoulder, as though unwilling to offer even sincere greetings. Minseok presents his hand, and the dog licks his fingers after a courteous sniff. It slinks back to its mistress with the countenance of a groveling servant.

Minseok glances at Jongdae, who smiles.

A young woman looks up as the twosome approaches, standing from where she was peeling vegetables. If not for the tightness around her eyes and mouth and the dark circles proclaiming a lack of sleep, she would be a stunning woman.

Minseok introduces himself and Jongdae, who nods politely but looks around them with interest. “We met your husband’s grandmother in the village. I’m a researcher and wanted to offer my help.”

The woman pushes loose hair off her face. “I honestly don’t know what you could possibly do. Everything that could possibly be done has been done; I’m ready to give up and return home, but my husband is stubborn.” With a hand on her belly, she softly adds, “I can’t just wait for a miracle.”

“Is your husband home? May I speak with him?”

“He’s visiting my father but should be home soon. You’re welcome to wait. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you. I’d like to take a look around, with your permission.” Minseok bows and touches Jongdae’s elbow. After a few paces, he asks, “Did you notice something?” He waves a hand at the shy dog; it lays on the dusty ground with a couple listless tail wags.

“Nothing demonic. I actually notice a distinct lack of any energy.”

“I did, too. Rather than placing a curse, it feels as though the very life has been removed from the land.” Minseok crouches and digs his fingers into the dry dirt. Jongdae produces a knife and takes over digging a shallow hole.

Placing his hand into the dirt, Minseok closes his physical awareness and reaches out with his energy. He feels the animals and woman behind them, but even ground-dwelling creatures make an arc around this farm. Nutrients are completely absent. There is nothing to support the natural cycle of life anywhere within a wide radius

He returns to himself and brushes off his hands, remaining in a thoughtful crouch. “This entire property is dead earth. There’s barely any residual spiritual energy. I can hardly feel it.”

“Have you ever seen anything like this?”

“Not personally, no, but I’ve read about similar things. For example, on old battlegrounds, where the dead were just buried in pits, their resentment, guilt, and shame would poison the surrounding ground, killing anything that tried to grow or that ate what little did grow there.

He shakes a finger at the ground. “This is different, though. It’s as though something is blocking any attempts to nurture the farm. From what that old woman said, this is a rather recent change. Something happened within the last year or so, or something completely unheard of woke from a long hibernation.”

“The grandson married,” Jongdae states.

Nodding, Minseok muses, “Married a beautiful, wealthy woman. I wonder if her husband was her only suitor.”

“What a devious mind, hyung.”

“Jealousy and greed are the most dangerous emotions a person can have. They can drive the kindest people to the cruelest ends.”

“Some would say the same about love.”

“When love and devotion are honorable, they’re stronger than the wickedest hearts” Minseok accepts the offered hand and is pulled to his feet. “Once they become obsessive, it opens the heart to the same debilitating jealousy and greed. Unfortunately, humans are incredibly susceptible to negative energy. A small slight can fester into a sore on their very soul.” A lone man shuffles down the road. Minseok assumes he is the returning farmer and sets off to meet him.

Although young, the man’s shoulders droop like those of an elderly laborer. They exchange greetings. The man is friendly, although distracted. “I greatly appreciate your concern. If there is any guidance you could offer, I don’t know how I could repay you.”

“How long have you owned this land? Was it part of your wife’s dowry?”

“No, sir. I had this farm before marrying my wife. I inherited it from a relative, and it used to be a good farm. I wasn’t rich but made a comfortable living.” He looks at the sky. “It was the season after we married–we married in the fall–that things changed.” His gaze and shoulders drop. “Nothing would grow. Even the well, which is one of the oldest in the village and has been reliable since before my grandparents’ time, has dried.”

They walk towards the house together. The dog again displays an eager attempt at greeting them just to hunker down and show its belly.

“Strange. He’s usually so bold, even with strangers,” the farmer marvels, pausing to rub the dog’s chest. “Please come in. My wife will prepare tea.”

Inside the house is cool and tidy. A lack of furnishings suggest the hard harvests have required sacrifices.

Jongdae takes a seat beside Minseok. Cups of tea are set before each of them, and the farmer gently guides his wife to sit before sitting himself at the head of the table.

“Tell me what you have tried to remedy your farm’s lack of growth.”

“My father-in-law has had priests and mudangs and monks bless the land. We’ve been given talismans and totems.” He gestures to papers pasted to the walls and beads over a window. “Blessed water. An exorcism was even performed. Our neighbors have given us fertilizer and seeds from their own fields.”

Minseok nods thoughtfully. Nothing the man describes sounds harmful–assuming rites were all performed properly–but nothing would help the problem as Minseok understands it, either.

“From my own observations, something is blocking the natural ability of this farm. The energy has been removed or sealed somehow.”

Stunned, the couple looks at one another. The farmer reaches for his wife’s hand on instinct. “Is that possible?”

“In theory. The account I read described it in a similar situation, although it was applied to a nation’s own fields to discourage displaced refugees from settling.”

Teary-eyed, the wife covers her mouth. “How cruel.” She dabs around her eyes and composes herself with a sigh. “If that is the case, who would do such a thing to us? I can’t imagine anyone here being so hateful. My husband is a respected man in the village, always willing to help anyone who asks.”

“And my wife is from a family known for their benevolence. They have no enemies.”

“Can you think of no reason someone would want vengeance on your wife? Or yourself?”

Both shake their heads after a thoughtful silence. “If we’ve offended anyone, they’ve kept it to themselves.”

“Madam, forgive me for getting personal, but did you have other suitors, aside from your husband?”

Flushed cheeks give her a livelier appearance. “There were, but my husband and I are childhood sweethearts. I told my father I didn’t want to marry anyone else.”

“And the others accepted without complaint?”

“Well, I-I don’t know about that. Meeting them until now, we’ve remained cordial, at least. Some I even consider my friends, and I know their wives since they married, as well.” She touches her husband’s arm. “But I always had a feeling about him.”

“‘Him’?”

“He’s a charcoal burner,” the husband supplies. “I don’t think he would ever hurt her, but she has mentioned feeling something strange from him. Even after we were officially engaged, he would approach her. It stopped after our wedding, and he even gifted us a charm for good harvests.”

Minseok leans forward. “He gifted a charm? What was it?”

The woman holds her hands apart as though holding a kettle. “It was a large piece of hardwood charcoal that had a distinct peony shape on one side. I remember thinking it smelled strange, or rather–it was strange how I didn’t smell anything.”

“Where is it now? Did you burn it?”

“No, he suggested burying it in our field…” Realization unfurrows his brow, but before the farmer can ask anything, Minseok leaves the house with Jongdae close behind.

Minseok pauses and looks around, gauging the size of the farm. The most reasonable place for the charcoal to be buried is at the center.

“Hyung.” Jongdae stands with his foot on the spade of a shovel already embedded in the ground. He digs up shovelfuls of dry dirt that crumbles when overturned. Leftover roots, thin as hair, fall free as though finally giving up.

When he stops digging, Minseok feels around the depression until he touches something solid. It starts to break when he rubs his thumb over its edge, smearing black over his skin. He recognizes malice in the wood.

Taking the shovel from Jongdae, he plunges it deep into the hole and levers the contents up and out. More pieces of charcoal sit among the dirt.

“This is it,” he announces firmly. He carefully picks pieces out and sets them on his palm. The scar on his chest smolders, resonating with cursed energy.

Jongdae leans over his shoulder. “The farmer said there was a peony pattern; peonies symbolize wealth, a blessing for a farmer with a growing family to support. It is not hardwood, however,” Minseok reports. “See how easily it breaks apart, now, even when so dry? This was meant to fall apart, breaking that peony. If this was made of something like elder wood, then its strong effects make sense.”

Jongdae prods a piece, smearing black between his thumb and forefinger. “Does removing it from the ground fix the problem?”

“I don’t know for sure. I’ll remove what I can. Even if some is left behind, I think the land will heal itself, given time and care. It won’t be ready this season, though.”

Returning to the house, Minseok shows them the broken charcoal. The wife sways on her feet and excuses herself to life down. Her husband walks with an arm around her, and Minseok motions for Jongdae to follow him outside.

They don’t wait long before the farmer joins them. “Thank you for waiting. My wife–She shouldn’t get too excited. What does this,” he points to the charcoal, “mean? What is it?”

“Its intention is exactly what it did, making your land unviable. Removing it is not an instant solution, but I believe your land will be viable again next year.” A year is a long time for a farmer to wait, but the man’s eyes redden gratefully. He takes Minseok’s hands and bows until Jongdae stops him.

“I can’t thank you enough, sir. We were at our wits’ end.” Anger flushes his cheeks, but his voice is steady. “But wait… This was gifted to us–That bastard meant to ruin us?! Why?”

“I don’t know.” Minseok doesn’t share his personal theory. Without meeting the other man, there’s no way to know the full story. “But with this, you have evidence to take to the authorities. Do not,” he stresses, “try to take the law into your own hands. Think of your family.”

The man nods and bows, although he bites his lip and sets his jaw. “You're right. I'll report this right away. Thank you, for helping us. I don't know how to repay you.”

“Wait until we're sure the land can heal. I'm willing to be a witness at the trial; you can reach me through Jongdae.” He wraps the charcoal in paper the farmer provides, then ties it in a box padded with straw. Once no longer needed as proof, Minseok tells the farmer to burn it in an iron pot with cedar and lavender.

They return to the village with the farmer to make their statements and part ways at his grandmother’s stall. She tries to give them even more food, but Minseok manages to decline.

Gossip spreads fast in any community, and by the time Minseok and Jongdae are seated in a tavern, a couple of men chatting with a waiter are already condemning the accused neighbor. “Even if he had his eye on the woman, she made her choice.”

“And it was a smart choice. Smarter than she realized. Can you imagine what living with such a man would be like?”

“Insufferable. I sympathize with his wife. If she didn’t know before, she now certainly knows she’s only a replacement.”

“Weren’t they expecting a child?”

“I think it died prematurely, although I did hear it was under suspicious circumstances.”

His companion nods. “Unsurprising.”

Minseok doesn’t enjoy gossip, but there’s usually a grain of truth in the whole bag. Jongdae notices his deliberate attempts to ignore the conversation and pours another cup of tea. “What do you think, hyung?”

“I’m more interested in knowing how he came across this method. Usually, wood or the flowers from the tree are placed inside a house. Burying it affected the land rather than the people directly.”

“Why not ask?”

“,I can’t interfere with an investigation, and I doubt he would admit it, anyway. Not to a stranger.” He flinches as the setting sun strikes his eyes. Jongdae pulls the curtains shut. “Let’s stay overnight and leave in the morning.”

The innkeeper only pauses a moment when marking a single room request, looking somewhat put out at not making more money and casting a curious eye at the two men as he steps aside to show them their room.

But it’s none of his business, and he wishes them a good night with the promise of a very worthwhile breakfast service.

“That man suspects something,” Jongdae laughs.

Minseok frowns. “Like what? Does he think we’re going to steal the furniture?”

“I wouldn't bother.” All the furnishings are sturdy and utilitarian but not particularly attractive. Jongdae presses a hand into one mattress and then the other, returning to collapse on the first one.

“What was wrong with the other one?”

“Nothing; it’s more comfortable. You take it.”

It’s been a long while since Minseok slept on an actual mattress; he can’t get used to how comfortable it feels but eventually falls dreamlessly asleep to soft, even breathing across the room.

Jongdae wakes Minseok in the morning already dressed and laying out breakfast from a tray. The innkeeper should be proud; the food really is delicious.

The market stalls aren’t all set up yet when they set off, but the seamstresses follow through with their promise and present Minseok with new clothes with tired but pleased smiles.

The forest swallows them, and Minseok feels tension melt from his shoulders.

Going home feels faster than going out.

About halfway, they take a break, and Minseok removes the fox paw from his pocket. He reties the cloth before taking some fruit from the old woman’s basket and building up a pile of dry grass with the fruit and some nuts. Finally, he places the paw in the middle. Jongdae watches over his shoulder, curious but quiet.

Patting his pockets for flint, Minseok notices a sudden green glow and finds the grass already alight. He casts a small shield over the miniature pyre to contain the heat.

“What was the food for?”

“An offering to the fox. Hopefully, it can find peace.” He releases the shield only when everything is ash.

“What if it doesn’t?” Fox spirits are notoriously dangerous for their transformation magic and equal love of pranks and human livers.

“What ifs are for the future. I can only do what I can right now.” Minseok stands and brushes off his knees. “You don't need to walk me all the way back. Thank you for showing me the way.”

Disappointment flashes in Jongdae’s eyes–there and gone in an instant. He nods and smiles, passing the basket and bundles to Minseok. “You're welcome, hyung.” He tosses an apple in the air and catches it. “Be seeing you.” He leaves with a wave, immediately swallowed by the forest.

Minseok treks the rest of the way to the meadow in thoughtful silence. He thinks about the village with the one-sided feud between neighboring farmers and the merchant selling rare magic items. Communities are lively places; so much happens just within a day. News–good or bad–flows like water and is impossible to dam back.

He’s not sure if he misses the energy of a town or not.

Since moving into the woods and taking up residence in the house, Minseok has become accustomed to a slower pace of life. It’s so lackadaisical that he would even consider it lazy, but after decades of constant research and being dispatched to locations ranging from haunted to hostile, he welcomes the change of pace. As a child, he would sneak away and risk punishment for a chance to nap or to read a book for entertainment.

The fox greets him at the edge of the meadow with whining grunts, tail thumping on the ground as it rolls to present its belly.

“Hello, I’m back! I'm sorry that I didn't tell you I'd be away. If you could read, I'd have left you a note.” A piece of fruit is accepted with his apology, and the fox takes off to its spot beneath the juniper.

Minseok counts the chickens–they’re all there–and sets his clothes and blankets in a battered blanket chest.

It feels like more time has passed, and he takes a moment to stand in the house and recenter himself before going to fetch water.

Boredom and laziness accompany his days in the house in the meadow. Some mornings find him lounging in the morning sunlight with no books, scrolls, or spells. Just a comb in one hand and a soft animal beneath the other.

The stillness is too much; decades of work instilled an inability to slack off for long. He can’t sit with the pins and needles feeling creeping up his legs. Minseok gently lifts the fox and sets it on the grass, apologizing to its affronted yawn. He returns to the house and clears the shelves to dust.

When he goes to the stream to fill buckets with water to wash dishes with, he hears rustling and looks toward the woods. The rustling is too much for a little fox and too quick for a larger animal like a cautious, sure-footed deer.

He has been surprised at the lack of spirits and demons. Such a remote area should have some sort of presence, but he’s barely sensed anything. They may have moved closer to human settlements or been chased to another area. Only the little ones remain, too small to be any threat and grateful enough to be left alone that they help Minseok keep house and even collect herbs and other ingredients from the surrounding woods.

But if not an animal and not a spirit, then what is creeping through the trees? Minseok turns his head to angle an ear better and picks up the definite sound of footsteps. They’re light, unburdoned and confident, avoiding any raised roots and hidden holes that could trip someone.

A pale hand reaches around a tree trunk, followed by a familiar face ducking beneath low leaves. Minseok sighs and smiles; his heartrate returns to normal.

Jongdae smiles upon seeing Minseok and hops across the stream to join him. “Hello, hyung.”

His heart skips a little, catching Jongdae by his arms. “What brings you out here? It’s late.”

“I had time and wanted to see you. May I help?” He takes a filled bucket from Minseok, then the other even as Minseok protests that he can handle it himself.

They chat while Minseok washes dishes. Jongdae perches on the table and picks up a clean rag to dry what he’s handed. While passing a plate, Minseok happens to glance at Jongdae’s bare arm and double-takes. The flesh shows a pale scar encircling the forearm, jagged and vicious-looking. It reminds him of an old wound, a throb of phantom pain in his own forearm.

“Hyung?” Jongdae looks down and pulls his arm back into his sleeve.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.” Minseok shakes his hands over the basin, sending droplets flying. Jongdae drapes the damp cloth over Misneok’s hands and rubs them dry before folding the cloth over the open window.

Flexing his wrist a little, Jongdae appears thoughtful. “It’s just an old wound and no longer hurts, but my arm is not as strong as it used to be.”

“What happened..?” He knows it’s none of his business. “I’ve never seen a wound like that.”

“I got caught in a hunter’s trap. I’m lucky I kept my whole limb. Without someone’s help,” he adds, meeting Minseok’s concerned eyes, “I likely would have died.”

“Are hunters common here? I haven’t seen or heard anyone this whole time.”

“They avoid this area of the forest now, due to fear of bad luck and evil spirits.”

“Well, then it’s the perfect place for me.”

“Do you enjoy the company of spirits, or do you welcome bad luck?”

“Sometimes, it feels like if I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all… But, no, I don’t particularly care for spirits or humans.” Minseok sighs, feeling the twisting in his chest. “It’s more that I’ve lost faith in people. They don’t like what they don’t understand and don’t like knowing that they don’t understand.

“If they would just take the time to learn…” He sighs again, then smiles. “It doesn’t matter. I’m happy here, and you’re good company.” Looking around, he misses the pink flush that rises on Jongdae’s cheeks. Minseok hasn’t heard any barking or laughing, and he frowns a little.

“Is something the matter?”

“No…I guess not. I just wonder where the fox goes off to all the time. It really is quite friendly but disappears the moment you arrive.”

“It must prefer your company over anyone else’s. He has good taste. You like him?”

“Of course.” Minseok smiles at Jongdae. “We’re friends,” he comments warmly.

“I’m sure he will return soon.”

They sit outside to enjoy the sunset and light breeze. Minseok brings out his diary to write in. It’s more of a log book. He tracks the chicken’s number and eggs as well as plans for maintaining the house and garden. Sometimes, he’ll write about the day’s weather, fox’s antics, or Jongdae’s visits.

He loses track of time, coming back to awareness when a greenish-yellow light hovers over his paper.

Jongdae holds a paper lantern. Inside are silhouettes of fireflies, and Minseok chuckles after losing count. “Just how many did you catch?”

“Are you impressed? I’m a decent hunter.” He hangs the lantern from the edge of the roof. “Don’t worry, I’ll let them go.”

“Did you catch fireflies as a child, too?”

“Probably. I don’t remember.” Jongdae sits on the grass beside Minseok. “Did you?”

“I was always studying.”

“Always?”

“I was only interested in magic; I was not a very interesting child.”

Jongdae props his elbow on his knee and plants his chin on his palm. “I think you would have been fascinating. I also think you would have caught fireflies if someone had taught you.”

“I imagine you imparted your wisdom on many other children.”

“For better or worse, I’m sure I left an impression on a lot of others.”

Minseok hums. “One of the naughtier children, then?” Jongdae shrugs, admitting nothing. Minseok imagines a young Jongdae as a grinning menace, running through reeds and grass to capture bugs and lizards and chasing the other children.

The moon brings a chill. Minseok decides to head inside. Jongdae stands, brushes off his seat, and says goodnight. He walks two steps towards the woods when Minseok catches his elbow.

“It’s late,” he states. “Stay the night. There’s plenty of room, as long as you don’t mind sharing.”

“I don’t mind, hyung, but are you sure?”

Rather than reply, Minseok pushes him inside. He takes the lantern down and opens it, releasing the flickering fireflies, then brings the empty lantern inside. Jongdae has pushed the embers of the fire around to illuminate the house. His posture is almost bashful as he stands beside Minseok’s straw mattress.

After spreading the blanket over the mattress, Minseok climbs to lie beside the wall, figuring it would give his guest greater comfort and freedom. He drapes his overcoat over himself and gestures when Jongdae still hesitates.

“Come on, then. It’s more comfortable than it looks, I promise.”

Another moment passes, but Jongdae sits on the mattress. The straw creaks, as usual, and squeaks, which is not usual. Quick as a fox, Jongdae catches a field mouse. “I thought I heard something,” he mutters. Minseok thinks his hand tenses, as though squeezing, and quickly points to the window.

“Just let it outside. It’s harmless.”

“You’re very kind, Minseok hyung. Vermin like mice can be plenty harmful, if left unchecked.” He gets to his feet and lowers his arm through the window to release the mouse. Minseok can’t see that it doesn’t run away.

“The little fox usually keeps mice out. I’ve never seen anyone catch one by hand, though.”

“I was just lucky and sat on the poor thing.” Returning to the bed, he lies down more readily, crossing his ankles and folding his hands behind his head. “Mentioning the fox, is he the only fox you’ve ever met? It sounds like you get along really well.”

“We do.” Minseok lies down, staring at the ceiling. “I have met other foxes before, a long time ago, when I studied in the woods.”

“What were they like?”

Fragments of memories fade into Minseok’s mind’s eye, developing into vivid color. It was a long time ago, but he remembers. A fox spirit nearly lost itself in negative energies, bringing calamities and misfortune. Villagers were understandably unhappy and unbearably angry.

His reputation did not improve among the villagers. Their target switched to Minseok after he told them he had released the spirit rather than destroy it.

“Hyung?” Jongdae sits upright. The fading embers cast dark shadows across his face, yet his eyes still seem bright. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I don’t remember. It was quite a while ago.” He pats the blanket again, and Jongdae lies down. “Thinking about it now, I wish I could see them again and know they were okay. It’s been so long, though, they’re very likely gone.” Most creatures live long lives following their own time. Comparing a fox to a tree is worthless. Even comparing Minseok’s lifetime to a tree’s is an unfair comparison; he’s already older than many mature trees.

“I’m sure they would want to express their gratitude, if they could.”

“Maybe… That would be nice.” Minseok rolls onto his side. “Good night, Jongdae.”

“Good night, hyung.”

Jongdae leaves sometime during the night or early morning, and Minseok happily greets the returned fox. “Back now that the threat is gone? What kind of guard are you?” he asks, rubbing the thickly furred cheeks. The fox makes a grunty sort of purr, tail thumping, and wriggles onto its back. “Oh, of course. Make me worry, but everything is okay with belly rubs.”

When his arms get sore from scratching the fox, Minseok rests his hands in the soft fur and looks at the window. It faces away from the morning sun, so the house is somewhat dim and allows Minseok time to wake up and adjust.

“I hope Jongdae made it home alright,” he comments softly. “You know he caught a mouse last night.” The fox snorts and throws its head back with grunting protests. “What do you expect, when the one whose job it is disappears?”

When the little fox wriggles too much to hold, Minseok releases it and drops a knee so it can twist and roll away. Tail wagging, it leaps to the floor and prowls the outer walls without flushing anything.

A basin of fresh water waits on the table, with a clean cloth draped over its side. Jongdae must have brought it in. Minseok washes his face and wipes down his arms and legs before dressing for the day.

Breakfast is simple, as usual. The fox scurries to its spot beneath the bush to devour the scraps from Minseok’s meal. It barks a goodbye before going into the woods, and Minseok again wonders just what it gets up to during the day. Maybe it has a den with kits. As far as he knows, foxes are solitary until mating season.

After a morning reading and organizing spells, Minseok feels the heat of the sun on his arm and side of his face. The sun’s crossed the sky and leans inside, highlighting the texture of the table and darkening old scratches in shadow.

He needs a break. His spine cracks when he leans back. “Ack–!” A bird on the windowsill flies away at the noise.

Life had been too peaceful; Minseok’s subconscious nearly forgot danger even existed. The worst thing he experienced since moving to this secluded house was an unhappy swarm of hornets after upsetting their nest.

That quickly changes. Minseok would welcome hornets rather than the creature that stumbles from the trees and glares at the afternoon sun.

A wild goblin, horns curved and fangs long, thunders across the clearing. Minseok swats his pockets and sleeves, hoping for something–anything–to stop or even scare the spirit, but there’s nothing.

Vicious barking sounds from behind him. The hairs on Minseok’s arms stand on end. He turns to start running and feels the thunder of footfalls behind him, shaking the ground with such force that he falls. Claws rip through his clothes and into his back.

The gap in ability between a fox and a goblin is too vast, but it agilely dodges Minseok’s reach and leaps over him, solely focused on the goblin. It plants its feet, fur bristling and tails lashing, and opens its mouth in a wide snarl.

Green flames erupt from its throat. The goblin stops short, throwing its arms over his face and shrieking as it burns and blackens. It can’t throw the fox off when it leaps and sinks its teeth into raw flesh, dodging and climbing like a cat.

While the flames smolder and go out, the goblin shrivels to ash. Minseok drops his head to the grass and finally feels the streaks of pain across his back as the energetic high diminishes. He regrets carrying nothing with him; after a lifetime of preparation, he’s become complacent in a place of comfort.

The fox scurries to his side, sniffing him all over and sitting back on the grass with bright, keen eyes. Fresh blood seems to have done something to it, making it wilder. It shivers with agitation, apparently uncertain what more to do.

“I’m alright,” Minseok assures through his teeth. “I just need to go inside…” It’s a solid plan, except he can’t move. Underneath the sting of lacerations, he feels poisonous magic seeping into his body like earth absorbing rainwater. Energy attracts energy; fingers of it laces around his ribs, pulling at his scars. Even without using magic, he’s punished by it. He tries to move his arms to push him up, but they don’t feel like his arms anymore; they move without any sort of rigidity, as though made of jelly.

With a whine, the fox disappears in a puff of swirling smoke. In its place kneels Jongdae, who carefully gathers Minseok in his arms and carries him to the house as though he weighs nothing at all.

The transformation is even more surprising than the appearance of the wild goblin, but Minseok can’t focus on it. His back burns, and he can’t help the pained gasp when Jongdae removes his shirt–apologies falling like tears–and lays him on the bed.

It’s too much effort to turn his head, so Minseok lies on his front and attempts to gather his energy and circulate it throughout his body. Moments–maybe minutes or hours; he’s too breathless to focus on time–later, he feels cool hands on his shoulder and waist. The pressure is feather-light at first, then fully rested, and it doesn’t hurt. He feels the magic, but isn’t familiar enough with a fox’s powers to understand exactly what Jongdae is doing.

Whatever it is, it extinguishes the burn to a smoldering sore, like he had merely been outside in the sun for a little too long.

Jongdae must sense the difference and removes one of his hands, but the other shifts to the small of Minseok’s back, providing soothing coolness that allows Minseok to fall asleep.

When Minseok wakes, he sees a thick, white-tipped tail. It wags and disappears with the sound of crunching straw, then he hears his friend’s voice, unusually soft. “Minsoek hyung.”

He intends to greet Jongdae, but he immediately flinches at the stiffness in his spine, as though he hasn’t moved in a long while. Consciously relaxing his body, he breathes deeply and releases it slowly. “How long was I asleep?”

“A couple of days. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do. I gathered water from a sacred spring to clean your wounds. They will probably scar.”

“I don’t care about that.” Minseok shakes his head and carefully pushes his upper body up and manages to sit back on his heels. Jongdae’s arms extend towards him, as though to help, but he doesn’t touch him. “Are you okay?”

He’s not sure how he could have not made the connection. Both Jongdae and the fox have the same rather mischievous personality and bright, intelligent eyes. The difference now is the visible dark circles beneath Jongdae’s eyes.

“I’m perfectly alright…” He lowers his gaze to Minseok’s hands and almost reaches for them but pulls back. “I’m sorry, hyung. I’ve been clearing the woods of evil spirits. That wild goblin has been elusive. I arrived too late, and you suffered from my negligence.”

That explains the fox’s–Jongdae’s–frequent disappearances, but it brings forth another question. “Why go through the trouble?” Demons and spirits have been around since time immemorial, before humans were around to preserve them in legend. They’re not inherently bad, and Minseok has never experienced trouble serious enough to even remotely consider exterminating an entire population. Even if Jongdae is stronger than he appears, it's risky. Even foolish. “You could have been seriously hurt.”

Jongdae shrugs and shakes his head. “I couldn’t leave them alone, when they may try to attack you at any time. I go to that sacred spring regularly,” he assures quickly. Dark energy collects like light energy but is heavier and can have a greater impact on its host. Most can’t handle the darkness and are broken, becoming evil themselves if they don’t immediately die. “I won’t let what happened to my wife happen again.”

Minseok’s heart drops to his stomach. “Your wife?” Jongdae’s never mentioned any family or even friends, although it’s hard to believe such an amicable person would be alone.

“You told me you’d saved a fox, a long time ago. My wife was once a forest guardian. She held too much resentment towards humans and became an evil spirit. I couldn’t protect her, then, but a magician released her from that karma.” He raises his eyes to meet Minseok’s. “You didn’t kill her; you saved her. I know it hurt your reputation among humans, and at the time I was too angry and hurt to fully appreciate your kindness, with my own soul corrupting.

“But you know–life is strange. When I was caught in a human’s claw trap, it was the same human who rescued me.” He lifts his sleeve, briefly examining the white scar around his forearm, and Minseok touches his own arm as he recalls an old memory: A viciously snapping reddish fox lunging and leaping even with its leg caught fast in metal jaws. Teeth dripping with saliva embedded firmly in his own arm, which did hurt and left a mark Minseok still carries, but he released and dismantled the trap even while held, and the fox released him and licked the bleeding wound while cowering guiltily. “I have been grateful ever since and tried to find some way to repay you, the only human who showed any kindness to us spirits and demons.

“When I learned you were running from humans, I thought it was a chance to finally repay you.” Jongdae kneels on the floor and bows, and Minseok tries to pull his shoulders upright again, but the fox spirit is stubborn and penitent. “But I brought you someplace dangerous; I’m sorry.”

Ignoring the twinges in his sore back, Minseok joins him on the floor and claps a hand on Jongdae's shoulder. “You brought me someplace I could relax and feel at home,” Minseok says softly, although it’s just the two of them. “I got to meet you formally, and get to know you. That’s worth a little scratch or two.“

Jongdae refuses to look at him. In a puff of rolling smoke, he disappears, and Minseok feels the familiar weight of little paws on his lap. The fox curls against his belly, ears flat and muzzle tucked beneath its tail.

Minseok runs his hand down Jongdae’s back. “You’ve more than repaid whatever debt you feel you had to repay–you even saved my life.

“I don’t regret anything, Jongdae. I wish you wouldn’t, either. We’re alive today but might not be tomorrow–that’s something to face then. Right now, we’re here. We’re safe.”

Jongdae finally uncurls, although a little unwillingly. He grunts softly when lifted from Minseok’s lap but takes the hint and returns to a human form. “Hyung, I’m really s–”

“If you’re sorry, stop pretending to be an unrelated fox and man and just stay with me. You’re useful to have around; you catch mice and fight goblins.”

“Okay.” Jongdae smiles again.

Minseok doesn’t miss villages or towns. He prefers the company of a close friend. Whether a little fox or grinning man, Jongdae makes the meadow feel like home.