The Harrowing Hunt

Aaren made his way out to the barn bearing a plate of breakfast and a wide grin. The meal was a great deal heavier than even he liked. He enjoyed breaking his fast with farm fresh eggs, toast, grits, and a side of bacon. But Ulla liked her meals composed of meat—and only meat.

She wasn’t picky; she liked most any cut and kind. But she’d taken to his small game; meat rabbits, chickens and ducks. She had, however, developed an odd respect for the larger livestock. And she liked to sleep in the barn with the cows and horses. As Aaren grew fond of her, he learned that it was just one of her charming—if peculiar—idiosyncrasies.

As he glanced down at the plate, Aaren realized this was the very first time he'd ever thought of settling down. He was a man in his prime; but managing his farm didn't allow much time for dating. At least, that's what he always told himself. The women in town were blond and broad, not that he held anything against them, they were a hard-working lot... but they reminded him too much of his mother. But Ulla, she was something very special. The thought alone made his heart giddy as he slid open the barn door.

Nestled in the straw was Ulla, her lithe form curled and peaceful in slumber. The young woman drew a breath and lifted her nose to the air, the savory scent of fatback bacon and homemade blood sausage beckoned her awake.

“Good morrow,” Aaren said, nodding.

He knelt and offered the plate, already feeling warm in the face. Ulla blinked and sat up, her inquisitive eyes upon his cheeks and nose, where redness had spread across his fair complexion. “Is it cold outside?”

Aaren cleared his throat. “A little, yes. Eat up—before your breakfast is, too.”

Once Ulla's belly was full, the two made their way outside, where the sun peeked out from behind the clouds. Aaren looked towards his small house—with any luck, he'd be able to coax her into taking her meals at the kitchen table. And maybe after that, she would be open to staying in his spare bedroom. He only needed to convince her that a blankets and sheets were more comfortable than bedding down in the straw. One step at a time, he reminded himself.

Meanwhile, the cows had come up to the fence for their morning feed. Ulla was quick to greet them with affection, and Aaren went to fetch their grain and sweet grass. He filled up their feeder and smiled.

He turned to Ulla; she wasn’t smiling. In fact, she looked frightened. “What is it?”

Her lithe form tensed, like a jack-rabbit ready to dive for cover. Sniffing the air, she seemed to catch the scent of... something. Aaren, too, looked around—feeling only an odd sensation of being watched. But he always had the eyes of cows, chickens, and ducks on him when he was outside. Ulla dropped to a couch, making herself smaller—and an arrow cut through the still air and lodged its point into the side of the fence post. “Aaren!” Ulla cried.

There wasn't time to process the fact that there was now an arrow so close to where Ulla had just been; panic rose in his chest and propelled him. They could use the woods as cover—if they got there in time. Rushing to shield Ulla, he urged her on towards the dense line of trees. Was the air was ringing or was it his ears? Somewhere, unseen, there was a bowman with his weapon firing down upon them. Another arrow soared towards its mark, and the honed point opened a bright red wound on Aaren's arm. But the pain didn't slow him; he had to protect Ulla.

They fled into the dense forest, throwing the foliage and brush from their path. Every root and branch seemed to hinder their escape, and Aaren's heavy boots stumbled. He kept a sharp eye on Ulla, watching her delicate form navigate the woods with ease. Though she was delicate, she possessed a graceful, sculpted strength.

Aaren, strong as he was, couldn't keep up; he grew winded and his pace slowed to a halt. Ulla gave his hand a desperate tug. “We must keep going!” she said and lowered her voice. “I fear we are not the only ones that entered the woods...”

He cast a wary glance over his shoulder, and the stinging arrow-wound took him by surprise. The pain was catching up now, and he clapped a hand over the bleeding cut. And his stomach sank, he had a feeling that Ulla was right. The barrage of arrows had stopped, but Aaren knew that they were far from safe. The forest had grown quiet around them, an eerie silence that meant danger was near. “Stay close,” he whispered to Ulla, and the two pressed on with quick, careful steps.

“There's a scent here—” Ulla said. “It doesn't belong.”

Aaren raised a brow, looking from Ulla to their surroundings. Continuing, he listened to every leaf crunch beneath his feet. His heart pounded, and he glanced up in time to see the ground give way beneath Ulla. For a moment, he feared the worst—that something had swallowed her whole. But then, rational thought reminded him that there were no such beasts here.

“Ulla!” Aaren shouted and barreled towards the gaping hole in the ground.

There, he spied her slender hand—grasping the edge. Hooking a strong palm around her wrist, Aaren heaved her back to solid ground. “Are you hurt?” He asked, his hands upon her slender shoulders. A wave of relief washed over him as she shook her head.

“A trap,” she said, still breathless.

How very odd it was, Aaren thought as he led Ulla on, still holding her by the hand. Their enigmatic attacker knew this area—he or she had planned for this. They meant to flush them into the woods and right into the trap. But why?

“This way,” he said, offering Ulla a reassuring nod.

They followed the river and crossed where the water was shallow, in hopes the attacker would lose their trail. On this side of the snaking flow of water, there were rocky outcroppings and places to hide at the base of the mountain. They found a suitable place to bunker down: an empty cave. Remnants of an animal's last meal left behind on the damp ground, Aaren hoped, with a shiver, they wouldn’t be next on the menu.

Settling against the wall of the cave, Aaren sank down to sit. Ulla was at his side, already eyeing the red stain that marked his sleeve. There was worry reflected in her stare, and Aaren felt guilty for causing it. He smiled and lifted her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

“I've seen worse,” he said, hoping to put her at ease. “I'll be fine.”

Ulla's gaze grew distant. “I hope so,” she whispered. Aaren, inexperienced with consoling women, was at something of a loss. Ulla seemed unconvinced. What more reassurance could he provide? He lowered his eyes, realizing that it would take more than a simple consolation to make it through the night. As Ulla shivered at his side, Aaren wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He was fond of her, but unsure how to put it to words. But deep down, he knew this feeling was something to fight for.

“I do not know what this is all about,” he started softly. “Perhaps it is someone's idea of a cruel game. But I'll protect you. I promise.”

Ulla relaxed in his embrace, and she nodded. And, though her thoughts remained unknown to Aaren, she made a silent promise to protect him, too.

Aaren awoke to cold gray stone and water dripping on his forehead. He'd fallen asleep in the cave's mouth, where he could keep watch. His hand went to his arm, there was no pain. Peeling his sleeve away from the wound, he found only a scar in its place. How? Lifting his head, he looked to where Ulla had been curled up. And a wave of panic hit him when he saw that her spot was now empty.

“Ulla?” he called, sitting up so fast that his head spun.

Crawling out of the cave, he stood up to see the sun shining through the canopy. It wasn't the whisper-light sunbeams of morning, but the golden tones of afternoon. He'd slept far too long. Aaren's bleary eyes darted, there were no broken branches, nor any sign of struggle—there weren't even footsteps leading away from the cave. Just how had Ulla slipped past him and why?

As he stood there alone in the forest, he wondered if she had vanished from his life as quickly, and mysteriously, as she had entered it. Aaren's head turned towards home. But, he'd made a promise to Ulla, and he intended to keep it.

And so, he set off into the woods again, with only his heart to guide him.

Night was falling, leaving him with only the narrowest sliver of light along the horizon. Squinting at the ground, he knelt to touch the red and brown leaves pressed deep into the mud. This imprint in dirt still bore a resemblance to a large boot, but not his own. Aaren's eyes narrowed, he'd found someone's trail. These tracks led to trouble, but hopefully, these footprints would take him to Ulla, too.

As if on cue, a high-pitched scream echoed through the woods. Aaren's head snapped in that direction, and he took off running. Pausing only to scoop up a branch, he barreled through trees and brush towards the sound.

Aaren's broad form burst into a clearing, where Ulla was on the ground—and the hunter had her in his sight, his bow pulled tight. Even as Ulla screamed to stay back, and even as the hunter released his arrow, Aaren dashed towards her. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the snap of the string and felt the bite if the arrow. But pain was secondary to doing his duty.

“You would protect this beast?” The hunter asked, looking—without feeling—at Aaren, wounded and bleeding. “Why?”

“I love her.”

The air filled with callous laughter. Several vibrant fox tails hung from the hunter’s belt and sharp teeth dangled from a leather cord around his neck, mementos of past kills.

“How could you love… a monster?”

Still holding his found-weapon—the tree branch—Aaren used it to keep the other man at a distance.

“She’s not a monster,” Aaren said, glaring.

“You don’t know what she is,” the hunter said with a cruel smile. “She deceived you, hiding her true form—a fox. Her kind have a taste for men, especially their livers.”

Aaren turned a brief glance over his shoulder at Ulla, whose eyes were wide. But she did not deny this accusation.

“I was once a fox. But I would never harm you. Through my feelings for you—I am becoming human,” she pleaded. “Like you.”

Her strange behavior began to make sense. Aaren narrowed his eyes, taking in her fragile features, her pale skin, her deep blue eyes and light hair. She was every bit the girl he loved. And he wouldn’t let this hunter claim Ulla as another trophy for his belt.

“Don’t be a fool, boy,” the hunter said, knocking another arrow into place and drawing his bow. “Step aside and let me finish this foul seductress.” His eyes narrowed when Aaren refused to move. “You would still defend this creature?”

“With my life.”

“So be it,” the hunter drew back his bow again, and took aim at Aaren.

He swallowed, his grip upon the tree branch weakening. Aaren had wanted to share his home—his life—with Ulla. Now, that dream was unraveling, and he was helpless to stop it. But before he could even brace for the end, a fox sprang out from behind him.

And with a flash of white, pointed teeth sank into the hunter’s neck.

Aaren stood rooted to the spot, watching in astonishment as the bow dropped to the ground, and its wielder soon followed. Then, the fox fixed its small, mournful eyes upon him. The creature's snowy fur began to glow and revealed the moonlit silhouette of a human woman. Ulla stepped forward, nine fox tails, each glowing with ethereal power, sweeping along behind her.

He stayed silent as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace of arms and tails. When she pulled back, Aaren's wounds healed—just like before.

Standing outside the barn, Ulla and Aaren stood in the benevolent rays of the morning sun. The harrowing hunt had ended, and the prey had survived. But, Aaren could not help but wonder... what could the future hold for a simple farmer and a nine-tailed fox?

As Ulla turned to him, he could see the same question dancing in her gaze. Aaren opened his mouth to speak, but Ulla held up a quiet hand to stop him.

“I cannot ask you to accept me,” Ulla said.

A moment passed between them like a whisper, like an eternity unspoken. And Aaren took her hands in his.

“You don't have to ask.”