You lived in peace among the trees, in that Inari shrine hidden in the forest. As a kitsuné, it was easy to move around without being noticed; the pilgrims only saw a little fox in you, and far from suspecting your true nature, they considered you a good omen. Many would bow respectfully when they saw you, others left a bit of food at your paws as an offering, convinced it would bring luck to their lives. You lived off that devotion, feeding on what people left with such fervor.

Everything was calm until that afternoon when a group of young people burst into the shrine. Their laughter clashed with the quiet of the forest; with bats and stones, they started destroying your home, the shrine. You barely managed to escape, but one of them hit your paw. With effort, you walked for two whole days, dragging the pain, until you reached another temple. There, exhausted, you collapsed right at the entrance.

When you opened your eyes, you felt a warm hand stroking your head. A red-haired man was leaning over you. He had a tattoo that, although he tried to hide it, showed he had stolen before.

“Are you alive?” he murmured, with a hint of relief in his voice.

He smiled softly when he saw you looking at him, and rubbed your head again.

“Did some animal bite you?” he asked, as if he really expected an answer.

For days you stayed under his care. That temple was busier than yours; people came to pray and leave offerings, and the young man—you discovered his name was Kaboro—took care of keeping everything in order. He swept, cleaned, organized… and also looked after the foxes living around the area. Unlike you, they were just regular animals, though they ran and played with the same grace you used to show.

“Time to eat!” Kaboro called one day.

The foxes happily ran to the bowls of food, wagging their tails with excitement. You, however, stayed still, sitting in front of him.

“Not gonna eat?” he asked, leaning toward you. Carefully, he stroked your head again, as if that gesture could convince you that you were safe.