she was traveling, tracking an ambulant ash, when her trail was derailed by a swift silver flash.
she sank her staff into the snow, seeking with her seven sights. the white-barked birches began to glow; the forest filled with lunar light. she waited, watchful, breathing slow.
then sudden as a zephyr’sprint goes spearing through a fog, the vibrant vixen leapt out, light as laughter, from behind a log. in the path she presented herself, proud and unafraid. Salvonne smiled. her three remaining teeth gleamed bright as bird’s-eyes in the glade. “you recognize me, even now that i am worn and weary.” her voice cracked in the middle, but the tone was charmed and cheery.
“let me sing you down a snack.” straightening her half-hunched back, she raised a tremulantrill. a starling swooped down from a tree and, quick as calm, the fox had made her kill.
“when we last met, my hair didn’t match your coat. what was it i said to you, years ago, when our circle made its vulpine vote? ah, but you were a maiden then, and now i see you’ve earned your earth.” three fire-red cubs had clambered out from underb[r]ush, sniffing at the bird. the crone’s cool mind was warmed with mother’s mirth. “let me renew for you my boon.”
when next she spoke, her voice was wi[l]de enough to match her words: “for vixen, kits, and reynard (may he make his way home soon), you who’ve fed my faith in feral family, whose heart[h]-fire heat i’ve felt: with all my presence, this i pray: may no one ever shear you of your sheening, silky pelts.”