Morning dew coated the grass and foliage, dampening the cuffs of Masanori’s hide leggings and the bottom of his cloak as he crept through the underbrush. He followed the line of fresh tracks past the crumbling stone frame and spires of the ancient mountaintop palace. Masanori kept one hand on the quiver at his hip, silencing the rattling arrows as he stalked closer to his prey.
A branch cracked ahead, and he raised his bow, nocking an arrow and aiming at the shadow. He held the string, waiting for the moment he had a clear shot.
The figure came into view: a tiny red fox with gleaming green eyes and a shadow far too big for her size.
Masanori relaxed his bow, pointing the lax arrow at the ground as he slowly relieved the tension from the bow’s limbs. “Ichika! How many times do I have to
