Night Legends by Bahumat

Night Legends

Bahumat, Human, M/F, Nudity, Romance, Supernatural, Vixen

One of my better pieces from a few years ago. Sorry to dissapoint, but not a lot of sex in this one, and what little there is, is fairly glossed over to fit the context of the story. Features transformation, romance, supernatural, human male and fox-morphic female, consentual heterosexual sex.

Night Legends

Written By Bahumat

Let me take you back a few years, to a memory I have, a place I knew, and a legend, that for once, came true.

Kale was an Injun, lived on the land about a half-hectare back, down in the woods over the hills there, past those poplars. A damn good man, he was, and a smart one. He could look at you and in one go, size you up, and tell what kind of man you were. That's why I'm kinda surprised I got along so well with that Injun. He said I had a strong heart. I always thought I was just a man.

Kale was an old feller though. Died of a stroke just a few months ago now. He was a smart man, as I told ya. He knew enough legends about them woods to make your hair stand on end with wonder. And he knew 'em all, I tell ya. Sometimes I would invite him over just to hear his stories like 'How Coyote Married Man' and 'How Crow found a Wife'. Never heard of 'em, you say? Too bad... I'll tell 'em to ya some other time.

Now where was I? Oh yes, I remember now.

This was nearly thirty years ago, back when this whole area was woods and wilderness, and not a road or piece of man to say different. I had just started homesteading here, having cleared myself a patch of land, after working hard on the rail-line for years. When I first came here, it was the hard life, I tell you. But there was hope in my heart, and I was young and strong.

I tilled the land for three years, and got to meet Kale and the rest of the woods-folk. What other people, you ask? Oh, no 'people', as in you and me. No, Kale said it right, when he told me there are more people than just people. There's also animals. You say you don't understand? Too bad... Maybe one day son, you will.

Well anyway, I got to know the animals around here pretty darn well. Some of 'em were friendly, some of 'em curious, and most of them were like us: Afraid of different things, but curious too. Like them damn crows. They're a smart bird, look you right in the eye and know what you was plannin'.

But my story is about the Fox, the craftiest little buggers you ever seen. They were always raidin' my hen house, stealing my chickens. Made me right sore, they did. I used to wait up for them at night, with the lights out and my gun loaded. But every night I was out there, they didn't come. Now it was about this time that Kale popped in for a visit. Back then, he was still kinda old, but he could get around pretty good. Kinda wiry and strong, like most them Injuns I met in my day.

Anyways, I told him about my problem with the foxes over a bottle of rye. And don't let your parents tell you all them Injuns are boozehounds or liquor crazed either. Most of 'em are better behaved then a white man, let me tell you. But after I told him about staying up with the gun, waiting for the foxes, Kale got mad at me. And I mean mad. This scared the bejeezus outta me, 'cause except for the logger that was trying to drive him outta his home, I ain't never seen him sore at no one before.

Well, he scowled real fierce at me, and asked why I thought the foxes were takin' my chickens. I told him I don't know, cause they're foxes? He shook his head, and told me that they were taking their rightful share of the land, since I'd taken some of theirs and plowed it. Now I laughed pretty hard at this, and made some fun of him, calling him a crazy old coot. He told me that laughing about it wasn't gonna solve my problem, and that shut me up right quick. He told me to share what I had with the foxes, since I was using their hunting grounds after all.

I shrugged and forgot about his advice pretty quick, but after losing another eight hens and my rooster to them foxes, I decided anything was better than watching my chickens get stolen. So I walked over to Kale's hut, and asked him for his advice. He told me that I would have to find out where their den was, and share the wealth I had with them.

I muttered that I would just as soon find their den, and pour boiling oil down the hole, but the look on his face made me drop that right quick. He told me that if I couldn't share with the foxes, and leave them in peace, that I'd never be successful on the land. I nodded and wrote down his advice, and went home, praying like hell that Kale wasn't playing some trick on me.

The next day I went searching for the den. And the next, and the next. It took me nearly five days to find that damned foxhole. I could tell the vixen was inside, the air around the den nearly crackling with her nervousness. I gave a loud whoop of joy and ran back home, to prepare for the next night.

The next night, I slaughtered another chicken. I cleaned it of feathers, but kept the offal, 'cause Kale said to. I put it all in a bowl, filled nearly to the brim with the chicken blood, and walked, naked and barefoot, into the moonlight. I found the den after a bit of stumbling and cursing, spread out my blanket, and sat down on it, placing the bowl about ten feet in front of me. Then I waited silently, breathing slowly and calmly, letting the vixen know I was there.

And I waited. The moon rose, and the stars came out. The clouds moved in and covered the moon, then left as silently as they had come. An owl called into the lonely night, and still I waited, sitting in the naked moonlight, waiting for her and her mate. And the moon set, and only the stars remained in the sky.

My first sign was a faint scratching, and a muffled squeak. I knew they could smell the chicken blood in the bowl, and could also sense my presence outside. So very slowly, slower than the hour hand on a watch, a small, pointy head poked out of the den, watching me intently. I froze, then concentrated only on relaxing my body, and breathing calmly and regularly.

The fox's ear twitched, and it's eyes never left mine, and we waited. I knew the fox and her pups must have been getting hungry, because I could hear their little tummies growl, and their hungry squeaks to their parents. But still I sat, relaxed, trying not to blink. The fox turned its head for an instant, and then growled at me, baring its teeth slightly. But I didn't react, and when the fox decided I wasn't challenging it, it relented. Soon its mate joined the one fox's head, and they watched me together.

Now let me tell you a little something about a fox's eyes, child. They aren't like other eyes, oh no. Them little critters' got eyes that sparkle like diamonds, like crystal gems with the sun's fire in 'em. They are beautiful. You could fall in for hours, into those sparkles and thoughts, and every one of 'em seems to hold a thousand secrets, and they're smiling because they know what you don't. At least, that's what I think of them.

We must have waited an hour or two, just looking at each other, trying to fathom the other's thoughts. The moment of contemplation seemed to stretch out forever. Dawn started to light up the eastern sky, glowing orange and blue, announcing a new day. I was getting thirsty, but I knew that to move now would ruin this moment. And still I waited.

Finally, the hungry foxes grew bold, and each taking a few tentative steps, finally they reached the bowl. They eyed me carefully, watching for any movement. But still I remained, watching them. The male finally opened his jaws, and delicately took the carcass from the bowl, carrying it down to his children. The female waited a few minutes, watching me, and sipping from the blood in the bowl. Then in a flash, she bolted down the hole, to see to her litter.

I finally stretched and yawned, and murmured happy wishes to the foxes. The happy sounds of the gorging kits were all the thanks I needed.

Well, let me tell you, old Kale was right. After that day, there was never a stolen chicken again. In fact, about a week later I saw a ferret about to sneak into my pen, but before I could grab my gun, one of them foxes jumped out and fought it! After a brief tussle, that fox chased the little varmint' off. After that the foxes got an egg every week, and a chicken every season.

They got used to me too, working the soil with my hoe and man-plow. I had no horse, and no money to afford one, so I had to do it all myself. Oftentimes I'd see them playing in the east meadow, over where I got my well now, after the last one dried up. Other times I'd see them down by the creek, taking a drink of water, and the young uns' swimming occasionally.

They got some fearless around me too. Sometimes I'd sit out here reading or carving, and one of them would come visit me, laying down right on my porch. Other times, I'd offer 'em a tidbit or two, when I was eating supper or lunch out in the fields. Sometimes one of the younger ones would eat right from my hand, ready to sprint at the slightest move. Usually their dainty snacking was interrupted by a sharp bark from their mom. Then they'd scurry right back to her, and hide.

The vixen struck me as funny too. Besides her funny leaf-shaped markings on her ears, she had these pretty whitish silver streaks on her flanks. And she hated to be touched, and would never take any food from me, no matter I coaxed her. She spurned any attempts I made to go near her, yet she was always the first one I saw, and the last one to leave. Often, she would go off for her morning hunt, then fall asleep on my porch afterwards, curling her head under her tail. If I approached her while she slept, she would snap awake, and bound into the bushes with a scolding bark. I wouldn't see her for a few days, and then afterwards she would be back on the porch, like nothing had happened.

Kale was right delighted to see 'em too. Whenever he'd stop by, he'd smile to see the foxes and call them 'little brother' or 'little sister'. They'd keep their distance from him, but I could tell they liked him too, because they'd always call a greeting bark to him after. He was happy to see that I was getting along so well with them, and I always took the time to thank him for his advice that night.

When he first saw one of the kits eat from my hand, he frowned though, and asked if I was trying to tame them. I shook my head no, and told him I was just following his advice, and sharing with my neighbours. He beamed a smile at me, and nodded, telling me that that was the way it should be.

That night was a hell of a lot of fun. Kale and I stayed up 'till dawn, trading stories and yarns, and drinking from a canteen of potato liquor I'd made myself. Since I was so interested in the foxes, he took the time to tell me all the old legends about them he knew, like 'How fox got his tail' and 'How fox tricked Raven'. You might have heard the second one from your parents, except instead of Caribou they fight over cheese or some other such.

And then he told me another story, about how the Animal Spirits, for one night, can come alive and visit man, if they truly wish to, and the person is deserving. In hushed, intense whispers he told me about how Bear had once visited his great-grandfather, after he killed it by himself, with a spear. His grandfather, who had been a great hunter, had encountered the sow bear in the woods, and had startled it. The bear had whirled upon him, and blindly he had stabbed at it, trying only to defend himself. Instead, he killed it with a lucky shot.

Well, his grandfather was flabbergasted, and amazed to be alive, so after the cleaning was done, he prayed and meditated to the Bear Spirit, offering his thanks for its life and mercy. And it was during this that his grandfather (whose name was Smoky Rock), was joined by the mother bear's cubs. They were very young, and sought only the smell of their mother. Smoky Rock was at a dilemma: He had more than enough meat, thanks to the gift of the bear, but the cubs would likely die on their own. So he did the only thing that seemed right to him: He brought the cubs home.

His wife was very surprised to see her husband come home, trailing the carcass of the bear on his travois, with two cubs in tow! She exclaimed loudly and brought the entire village in to see. Never before had the elders seen anything like it, but they agreed that Smoky Rock had done well. That night, everyone in the village gathered around a fire, and sang praises about Smoky Rock, and to the Bear Spirit. The shaman declared that Smokey Rock must care for the cubs himself, and that when they were old enough, must be led away from the camp and the people.

Smokey Rock was proud to do so, and he raised the cubs well. Within a few months they were large and fat, and ready to hunt for themselves. Smokey Rock gathered with his wife, and together they prayed for well being for the bears and themselves. Soon after, as Smokey Rock and his wife rested, there came a scuffling at the flap of the tent. Smokey bade the visitor to enter, and was shocked when a large, furred man-thing ducked into his tent. It looked like a bear on its hind legs, but also like one of the people. It's fine tunic and leggings were embroidered with the finest beads and with the most powerful spirit items, ones that only the All Shaman carried.

Smokey Rock did not know what to do! He nudged his sleepy wife awake, and bade her to make tea quickly, for the Bear Spirit had come. He murmured a nervous greeting to Bear, for he was nervous in the face of such an honoured guest, and was not sure if Bear had come to punish him.

Bear smiled warmly and accepted the tea, and bade Smokey Rock to calm down. He told Smokey Rock that he had done well, and had pleased Bear greatly. He offered Smokey Rock a reward, any he chose, for saving the young cubs lives.

Smokey Rock thought hard for a moment, then finally replied that all he ever wished was that the cubs he had raised would grow up strong and healthy, and perhaps forgive him for killing their mother. And Bear was pleased. He leant forward and embraced Smokey Rock, and kissed him on both cheeks. Bear told him that not only was their survival guaranteed, but that from then on all the children of Smokey Rock would be the friends of Bear, and would never fear from him.

Then Bear and Smokey drank their tea. Bear said a farewell to Smokey and his squaw, and then stepped out into the night, disappearing into the air. Smokey Rock and his wife sat in their tent for hours, trembling in awe, then Smokey rushed out to tell the others, while his wife prepared more tea for them.

At this point Kale trailed off, and I realized that dawn was nearly upon us. I offered him a bed for the night, which he graciously accepted, and we went to bed.

Summer trailed into fall, and kits and foxes prospered. Eventually the pups wandered away on their own, to hunt and grow strong on their own. Together with Kale, we drank a toast and said farewell to the kits of the year, and wished well upon the kits of the next.

Now, sometime around mid-winter the next year, I started seeing boot prints in the snow about a mile or so west of my fields. Whoever it was apparently didn't know that my farm was nearby. Following the tracks for a while, I came across a few trap lines set. Well, I didn't like the idea of traps so close to the foxes, but I had no say in where he set his traps, as long as it wasn't on my property.

I shrugged and returned home, and a few days later, when I brought another slaughtered chicken to the den (which was by now being eaten with little concern from the foxes), I murmured a warning to them about the traps. I knew that they couldn't understand me, but I felt better about it anyway. They chewed happily on the chicken, and even nuzzled me once or twice.

I was awakened that night by howling. As I sleepily climbed from my bed, I was jolted completely awake by the booming report of a gunshot. I grabbed my gun and rushed outside barefoot. About a hundred yards from my cabin, a man in a fur jacket and snowshoes lowered his still-smoking gun. About 50 yards away, a dark shape quivered and steamed in the frigid air, letting out a faint whimper. It was the male fox, lying not even a foot from where I knew the entrance to his den was. So close to safety, I thought.

I kept my rage in check, as I advanced with my gun, loading it stealthily. The man was a trapper, obviously. He turned to face me, and obviously did not see my face, because he smiled happily and walked over to talk to me. He announced that he'd 'gotten rid of a varmint' for me, and would get the other too. As if I thought it was a favour. His celebratory chatter came to an abrupt end, when I raised my gun at him.

I glared him right in the eye, and barely whispered a warning for him to get off my property, before I shot him dead. He asked me what was my problem, it was just a varmint fox. My finger trembled on the trigger, as I bit off my explanation of how these foxes meant something to me. I knew he would not understand.

Finally, I had to satisfy myself with telling him to take the damned carcass and pelt, and telling him that if he ever set foot on any part of my property, or ever came near the foxes here, that I would shoot him. And I warned him that I was a good enough shot that I could keep him from a mercifully quick death, and leave him in agony for hours before he died.

He looked taken aback, and he angrily replied that they were just foxes, not livestock. He left rather angrily, but I didn't care. As soon as I was satisfied that he was gone, I went back to my cabin, and let the tears burst through. In the middle of my crying, I heard the mournful wailing howl of the vixen, and I cried all the harder. I spent most of the night bawling, until I finally cried myself to sleep. And even sleep was no refuge, with nightmares plaguing me.

Kale came by to check on me the next day, having heard the gunshot the night before. After I told him what had happened, he joined me in my mourning for the fox. He seemed taken aback that I felt so strongly for the foxes, but he was glad that I felt so. He certainly did. We spent the next two days in each other's presence, subdued and sombre.

Winter passed, with my visits to den becoming more and more frequent, as I checked in on the vixen. I ended up naming her Leafear, for her markings. It helped me feel better, I reckon. The loss of her mate was hard for her, I could tell. Winter had also been hard, and cold. I had been sure to bring her whatever food I could spare, and I was rewarded in that she survived. The first day of real spring, I killed another chicken, and headed out once more, naked in the moonlight. I spread the blanket in front of her den, and once more set the bowl in front of me, offering it as always.

The night breeze was warm, and the stars shone down brightly. The moonlight caught off the chicken blood, reflecting a ruby crimson moon. I called softly to her, wishing her luck and wellbeing. And then her head popped out of the den. She yawned before padding out, then sat down in front of the bowl, looking at me. Once more I found myself embracing her gaze, watching the stars catching those night orbs, and again those secrets. Then she lowered her head, and began to eat daintily, biting off small portions and chewing them, satisfied.

She finished her meal slowly, then picked up the carcass and laid it inside her den, before returning, this time to my side. She cocked her head and ears, looking into my face, as I crooned softly to her, murmuring well wishes to her. I waited wondering what her reason for sticking around was. She stretched, and then scratched her ear, before rising again. Then Leafear surprised me, by settling down again, against my thigh. I was breathless for a while, not wanting to disturb the moment. This was the first time Leafear had ever come this close to me, or trusted me this absolutely.

I tentatively moved my hand, and lightly brushed her head with my thumb, unsure of how much she would tolerate. Her eyes tracked my hand deliberately, but she did not protest or move. I sat in awe, lightly brushing her head, before scratching her ears slowly. She sighed appreciatively, and closed her eyes, a smile spreading on her muzzle. I could scarcely breathe, I was in such awe of the moment. I grew bolder, and stroked her body and flank, petting her a little harder. She raised her head nervously, but after a few moments, closed her eyes and settled in again.

That night seemed to stretch on forever. After about ten minutes, her soft snoring broke our breathless silence, and I had to choke off a hysterical, relieved laughter. It was all so much, all at once. I spent the entire night, until dawn, petting and scratching Leafear, afraid that if I stopped, this wonderful dream would end, and I would forget. But it was no dream. Near dawn, she finally woke up and stretched. She gave me a gentle lick on my knee, then padded off into the woods, off on her morning rounds. I yawned sleepily, picked up my blanket, and returned home for the most satisfying sleep of my entire life.

I slept all through the day, dreaming pleasantly. That evening, I awoke and made myself some supper, opened a book (It was called Denworld, children. Maybe when you're older, I'll show it to you.) and a bottle of apple brandy I had stilled for myself, and proceeded to settle in. Well, what comes next, I ain't sure if it was the book or the brandy talking that night, or if it all happened the way I remember it, but I don't care.

It started with a small scratching, and a polite cough from the door. I raised my head from the book, and as I was about to get up to inquire who it was, the door opened of it's own accord. (Strange, because I'm sure I locked it.) And in stepped the fox. Well, not really the fox, I guess. Picture this, child: Take a young woman's body, and cover it in fox fur. Like it was growing out of her. And give her the head and face of the fox too, only bigger, so that it fits her body right. Don't cower children. She wasn't the least bit scary. She had a gentle, friendly smile on her face, and had those eyes that foxes have, and they promised me no harm. She was dressed in beaded buckskin, like the Indian squaws used to wear.

I was stunned at the sight of her. Any thoughts I might have had were being blown away by the sheer power of her presence. She looked at me and smiled, and then asked me, in a soft tone if I would like any company. Without answering, I got up trembling from my bed, and barely managed to seat myself across the table from her. My hands and knees were shaking so, children, you'd have thought there was an earthquake. I tried a few times to speak, before stammering out a y-y-yes.

She smiled kindly, looking at my trembling hands, and asked me if she had frightened me. I shook my head no, she hadn't. I finally managed to ask her what she was. She laughed happily, and asked me if I really didn't know. I was about to tell her I didn't, when I noticed the leaf markings on her left ear. I gasped in recognition, and that was all the answer she needed. But how, I asked?

She shook her head, dismissing the question, and told me it wasn't important how, but only why. Because, she told me, I had never tried to tame her, had never tried to capture or restrain her, and had looked after her welfare, and those of the cubs. Because I had protected her from the trapper. Because I had cared. She leaned forward, and took my hands in hers. I noted that she had nearly human hands, also lightly covered in fur, with soft pads along the underside of her fingers and palm. She dipped her head next to my ear, and whispered a soft thanks to me.

Her breath was warm against my neck, as she whispered to me, telling me that there was another reason she had come. It was spring, and it was her time, and she had no mate. I was puzzled for a few moments, before my mouth gaped with shock. I stammered and shook my head, disbelieving what she was saying, and offering. I asked her if she was joking, and she shook her head solemnly. I got up from the table and began pacing, in utter shock. I tried to talk to her, to take my eyes off her, but I couldn't do either. She was beautiful, and her presence was a palpable force. I could smell here too; a pleasant musk, that seemed familiar yet distant at the same time.

As I paced, she got up from the table, and stepped in front of my pacing path. Her slender arms and hands reached out, and she took my head softly, and stared me in the eyes. And that was it. Before I knew it, my arms were around her, and hers around mine. The rest of the night is darkness, warmth, and love.

She woke me up before dawn, and in the twilit darkness, we made love once again. After, she whispered in my ear that I would forever be a friend of the foxes, as would my children, that they would never have to fear the fox, and that they in turn, would look after my children like they were their kits. I held her close, and promised her the same.

When morning came, she was gone.

Spring passed into summer, but I never saw Leafear again. I wasn't worried; her tracks showed she had moved her den a distance from the cabin, to better hunting grounds. And her tracks were soon joined by those of kits. And soon, so were mine. I don't remember exactly what night it was that I found the cub curled on the doormat, but I remembered the words of Leafear that night, and the look of his eyes as he padded fearlessly into my cabin, and curled up next to the stove. I named him Ivy, because his nose had the same markings as Leafear. He lived and grew with me, sometimes striking out into the wilds for a month at a time, always in the end returning.

Three years later I met the love of my life, and we married. She's buried under the apple tree there, next to Ivy. Her heart, you know. There's three other foxes buried there too; Leafear, Snowtail, and Redpaw. Snowtail and Redpaw arrived on our doorstep too, every time my wife and I had a child. Each of our kids have grown up with a fox sibling. Not a pet; but a brother and sister.

And you, my grandchildren, please remember this. I know that your parents don't really believe anymore, and that one day, you won't either. But the next time you see a fox, in a zoo or in the forest, you sit down very quietly, and sing praises to it, like I do every spring. Because they're your family too. Never forget that.

Ai-ya-ya-yai Brother Fox

Guide me with your tail and eyes.

And your good fortune, quickness, wit.

I see all through your eyes.

Ai-ya-ya-yai Sister Fox

Mother to her kind.

Grant my patience of your heart,

And from you spirit bless me.

Ai-ya-ya-yai Spirit Fox

I pray to you, and sing your praise.

The forest sings your praise.

Around the fire, the beating drum.

Beats in time with your heart.

Ai-ya-ya-yai Fox Spirit