Winter, Day 35 - Foxpoint Farms

It was a rare moment when Shiori was alone at Foxpoint to tend to the kitsune. She knew that Coyote would return home as soon as he was able, but she also knew that he had things of his own to tend to. Not to mention a fledgling demigoddess to try and look out for.

 

So it was that she was presently settled on the floor of the hall, a blanket draped over her lap and her sides warmed by the presence of Shiro and Kuro. The doors to the kitsunes' rooms were open, and she could hear their breathing from where she sat, vulpine ears flicking with concern at the slightest change of sound.

 

Her head tilted back, bumping against the wall with a soft thump as her eyes drifted closed. She was, as Coyote had suspected, exhausted. Moreso because of the pieces of her very being which were tied to the twins, the pieces that had granted them life, that had ascended them.

 

She would not change it for anything, no matter how wearing it currently was. How exhausted she felt.

 And Coyote... Coyote's presence had been a balm, to be sure, but it was... more than that. Her lips curved unbidden into a soft smile, thinking about him. She hoped he was being safe - was sure he was doing his best to be, at the very least. And a part of her hadn't wanted him to leave, but she refused to bind anyone like that, much less him.

 

Binding... she sighed, rubbing at her hand thoughtfully. It had been many, many long years - centuries... more, really - since Ukemochi's death. A permanent death, not the sort where she could have been reborn, recreated. Her story ended. It had been.. subsumed. In part by Inari herself, to her dismay.

 

She had lost her wife, and been granted oversight of what Ukemochi had created. Some of it, at least.

The kami did not feel as though she were betraying her wife's memory by falling for another. Far from it, in fact, she rather imagined that the kami of food and game would be glad that she had finally found someone of whom she was so fond.

 

... who she might well have more than just fondness for, and that thought brought a different sort of expression to her face. Beside her, Shiro stirred and nudged the kami's arm with a gentle butt of her head.

 

Ori-sama thought of him coming home, the white fox told her simply, before laying her head back down, nuzzling her way into Shiori's lap, as if that was that.

 

Shiori thought for a long moment, and realized... she had. She had wondered when he would return home. In her mind, he belonged here, with her, and the foxes, and the kitsune. No, not just that. Not here, not Foxpoint specifically. Together. Home had now grown to include him, and home was where they all were.

 

Coyote was part of home. He was safety, warmth. He had brought joy, even now, even in one of the darker moments of her long life. He had, in fact, helped to shoulder her burden with barely a thought, willing to help her through no matter what it took. When he had learned of her connection to the kitsune, he had in fact taken more of it, knowing now how it really affected her.

She wondered, absently, when the shift had occurred. When had he gone from being a friend, near-kin... to... to what he was now? Koibito, she had been calling him, without thinking, unrealizing until this moment.

 

Wagakokoro, also, Ori-sama. That was Kuro, barely lifting his head and giving a soft little sigh. Shiro heard it.

 

That particular statement earned a lengthy silence from Shiori as she tried to think back, to remember when she had done so, until she was ultimately helped by Shiro, who quite happily provided the memory unasked.

 

Well, then. So she had.

 

Where koibito could be misconstrued in many ways, wagakokoro could not.

 

Shiori shoved herself to her feet, suddenly full of nervous energy, agitated but not upset. She needed to think. Needed fresh air, and to move. But she could not stray far. The kitsune were sleeping, and she would know if they needed her, but she had to be close.

An idea took her, and she padded to her own room, finding some simple training clothes, pulling her hair up into a loose topknot to keep it from her eyes. Downstairs she went, hesitating in the tea room, her gaze wavering between katana... and spear.

 

She chose the spear, certain that Set would not mind. A weapon needed use, needed to be cared for, and a tiny piece of it still called to her, where the wishing jewel she had given him rested, set into an eye. She hefted the spear carefully, checking its weight and balance, and went outside, beginning the first in a series of long, complicated pattern dances normally reserved for a naginata.

 

It was there that Coyote would find her some time later, her clothes soaked through with sweat and her arms screaming from a long and rigorous practice.