The forest breathed in the golden haze of late afternoon, sunlight dappling the mossy earth where Kadokura lay sprawled across a sun-warmed boulder. His scruffy faux hawk was mussed from rolling onto a hidden beehive earlier (empty, thankfully—this time), and his tail flicked irritably at a persistent fly.

“Shouldʼve napped in the ferns,” he grumbled, squinting against the light. “Less bees. Less flies. Less... sunburn.” He rubbed his nose, already pink from exposure.

A sudden crack of splintering wood echoed from the eastern thicket. Human axes. Too close again. Kadokura sighed, plucked a dry leaf from his tangled hair, and slapped it onto his head. The air shimmered—where the tanuki had been, only the boulder remained, slightly too lumpy in the middle.

Subtle, he lied to himself.

His ears twitched beneath the illusion, tracking the intrudersʼ clumsy progress. Couldʼve been worse, he mused. At least itʼs not raining. Yet.