The Wizard and the Fox Chapter 3
A wizard fights fate for his foxy wife.
The Wizard and the Fox
A /hmofa/ Special
By Magnus
Chapter 3 - Spice and Fox
Morning.
Rowan's eyes were the first to flutter open as a harsh ray from the rising sun shone directly into his face. He blinked out the blurry haze of sleep and rubbed his eyes. He was still so warm, it had been ages since he awoke in the wild without a thorough chill in his bones. He looked down to see Oleander curled up close to him, stirring slightly as she too roused from sleep. She certainly wasn't a shy girl, that was for certain. Though it was unlikely he would have accepted her father's request if she was. The fire he labored to start the night before had burned down to a small pile of charred wood with the thinnest wisps of grey smoke still rising from the remains.
Rowan slipped out of the cotton cocoon they had shared for the night and made sure she was tightly wrapped before he got up. The gentle breeze of early Spring still carried a bracing nip with it as the wizard stretched out his arms and legs and twisted his back, rubbing down sore muscles. Sleeping leaned up against a log was nowhere near as nice as the bed of an inn, but he had become so accustomed to sleeping in discomfort that it no longer grieved him. He walked a few paces from the area to empty himself of that wineskin he had finished the previous night onto a convenient tree. Still a bit sluggish, he started to pack up for the day's long haul, shaking Jet from his own slumber and combing the campsite for wherever he had left his damned hat. Apparently he slept with it on and at one point fell off in the middle of the night. Brushing the dirt and dry leaves out of it, he finally turned to collect Oleander.
“Morning," he murmured, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
Oleander yawned and slowly came to her senses. She scratched her neck and fruitlessly tried to smooth out the fur that had gotten ruffled as she slept. “Good morning," she said through a girlish sigh “are we going already?"
“Nay," Rowan said as he dug through Jet's saddlebags to get to his rations “we take care of breakfast first, then we'll be off." He produced a cloth bundle and undid the knot tying the four corners together. Inside was a generous ration of dried sausages, hardtack, and nut cakes. Oleander's ears perked with interest. He offered her the bundle and she daintily picked out one of the sausages.
“I don't often get to eat outsider food," she said, biting a small piece off the tip. She covered her mouth as she chewed, surprised at the flavor. “Gods, it's so strong!"
Rowan gave a small smile and hummed “Aye, you've got to load it with spices else all it will taste like is a dry boot. The cakes are a bit more gentle in flavor, though be careful not to chip a tooth."
Oleander pondered the taste a moment, then said “Sometimes the men of our village come back with spices and cheese when they go to the town to trade furs, but they say the humans have meats that aren't so easily brought along. Can we have some when we get to Quaints- uh, what was it?"
“Quinnsburg," Rowan answered “and yes, there are plenty of taverns that will serve up a good cut of beef. It's a bit pricey, but a nice treat nonetheless."
Oleander rocked side-to-side with excitement as she ate her travelling fare, giddy at the prospect of trying new foods. Rowan could only shake his head and grin while the two of them finished up breakfast. It was not long after that they left the camp and continued their journey westward.
They went on for another day, the two of them getting on and off of Jet in regular intervals to stretch their legs and relieve the horse's burden. They spent another night huddled together before a campfire and the next day finally cleared Gallwood just before the sun was at its highest point. Rowan had no choice but to make an impromptu stop the moment they entered the open plains as Oleander demanded it. She eagerly dismounted the horse and ran up one of the gently rolling hills that stretched on to the north and south as far as the eye could see, pulling up her dress slightly so as not to dirty it too badly. She twirled around, taking it in all at once, marveling at the vast sky before her and the thin, wispy clouds that dragged themselves lazily across the blue expanse. She lost her balance and ended up almost completely on her back where she elected to stay for a spell, unfazed by her own moment of gracelessness.
Rowan hopped off as well and joined Oleander on the ground, sitting cross-legged right next to her. They shared a quiet, serene moment as the foxgirl drank in the scenery. “Much less cramped compared to the forest, isn't it?" he said.
Oleander nodded and giggled. “I haven't been this far since I was a girl. It's just as great as I remember it."
“I've passed through here before a few times," Rowan said, idly stretching his arms and cracking his knuckles “take it in while you can, once we've made our stop at Quinnsburg we'll be going back in the woods."
Oleander turned and propped herself upright with an elbow to give the wizard an incredulous look. “Back?! Why in the blackest pits of the underworld would we go back?"
“Now now," Rowan said defensively, “it's because we're headed for Unicorn Range, the mountains to the east that begin where your home forest ends. I was about to procure supplies for the journey there before a certain fox decided to bend my ear about his sick relative."
The foxgirl rolled her eyes. “And what would bring you to cross such treacherous terrain? I've heard no small number of tales of the terrible things that come down from the mountains in the winter."
Rowan shrugged. “I want to meet the other beast tribes, not just your kin. The wolfmen ruled the mountaintops and the minotaurs share the Old Roads with the dwarves. Gods, I haven't had dwarven mead for what, eleven years now? But beyond the mountains lie the centaur nomads, the elven enclaves, and more still after that."
Oleander looked out to the horizon where the yellowed grass meets the sky in thought. “You want to meet them just for the sake of- “ she paused, sitting straight up and whipping her head around to give Rowan a flabbergasted look “-eleven years you said? How old are you?"
Rowan awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and cursed his own candor. It was not a conversation he wanted to have so suddenly. He wanted to ease into the subject carefully, but alas, fate was cruel. “Sixty-four winters, but I can explain-"
“Oh my word, I was offered to an old man!" The look of existential dread was plain as day on her face as she stared blankly at the grass. “You're nearly as old as my grandpa."
“Yes, yes, I was going to tell you, but, ah…" Any attempt at eloquence failed the wizard, he had not a clue what to say that would smooth things over. He sighed in exasperation. “Magic can do many things, extending one's years is one of them. It's a bit of a must as a wizard, especially when you have to spend months at a time parsing through dusty tomes to piece together the more elaborate rituals."
“I… I don't know how to feel about this." Oleander pulled her knees to her chest and hugged her legs, refusing him eye contact. “Sixty four. More than thrice my age, you still look like you've only seen thirty winters at the most."
“I- I- If it's any consolation," Rowan stammered “I still age normally, I just have to cast a, uh, how do I put this? I rejuvenate myself from time to time. If you are worried about that I can simply refrain from using the ritual so long as we are together."
“That would be nice I guess," she gave a nervous laugh “but what is it you need to trade to your goddess to stay young forever? Don't tell me it's anything terrible, please, for my sake."
“It's actually just a large sum of gold, oddly enough." Rowan answered honestly. “Ironically, It's one of the only spells where one must use conventional material wealth as a reagent. Gold is the immortal metal after all. With a pile of gold and enough favor with Morgaine one can buy eternal youth."
“You must've done so much in your life," Oleander said, finally getting to her feet and dusting off her dress “and here I am being cross about going back into the woods."
“Don't you worry about that, not for a moment," Rowan looked up to Oleander before offering a hand for her to pull him up “I have been many places, seen many things, but I must confess; seeing you take joy in a simple blue sky reminds me that such things are still worth cherishing. Just trust in me and I'll take you places just as beautiful as here."
Oleander smiled, taking the hand and helping the wizard to his feet. “You know you're sweet for a grumpy old man."
“Oh dear," Rowan laughed, “I suppose I am an old man aren't I?"
With the uncomfortable matter of Rowan's age behind them, the pair finally came upon the town of Quinnsburg, a quietly active little place built at the banks of a river where the peddlers, boatmen, and trade caravans rest their heads as they moved along the coast in the endless back-and-forth dance of commerce. Oleander marveled at the simple architecture, wondering aloud how they could possibly make walls that high from stone and roofs from clay. It was so much larger than the village she had spent her life in, she could hardly fathom the amount of people that lived there. Rowan hadn't the heart to tell her about what the kingdom's capital was like.
Oleander's normally assertive self was cowed as she recoiled slightly from the sensory overload. What truly caught her attention was the fact that she was getting quite a lot of it herself as she caught the curious gazes of any men and women they would pass on Quinnsburg's cobblestone streets. Humans, so many of them, and nearly all were staring at her with queer faces.
She leaned in closer to Rowan to tell him in a low voice “Do they not approve of me? I was told a human man walking around with a foxwoman would be a bit of a taboo."
“You're right," Rowan said “most people do not take kindly to the mixing of men with beast tribes, that I certianly can't deny. But if anyone takes umbrage with us, I'll simply turn them into a mouse and feed them to a cat."
Oleander laughed merrily, partially because the prospect itself was funny and partly because she knew he was perfectly capable of such a thing. The two made their way through the town to a merchant's inn where Rowan could stable Jet then he took her on a sightseeing walk. Many of the peddlers set up temporary stalls in the open spaces of Quinnsburg, calling out to them as they passed telling of the many curious goods from lands far away on sale. Rowan had to reign in her enthusiasm as an overeager customer was a fool waiting to be parted with their coin. Rowan, who dressed in garb that quite plainly advertised his vocation, was approached several times by seemingly random townsfolk pleading with him to lend his magic. A young apprentice asked for a curse to be laid upon his overly demanding master, a merchant asked to have his pewter jewelry turned to silver, a middle-aged cobbler begged him for a cure to his romantic impotence. He seemed to almost casually turn them all aside without a second thought, like shooing away gulls begging for stale bread.
When Oleander asked why he would deny them all so quickly he merely responded “If I granted every little wish that was presented to me, we'd be in this square until tomorrow's sunrise, maybe longer."
“Well it's good fortune you didn't say no to my cousin." She mused.
“I almost did," he admitted “but the offer to see one of the hidden fox villages with my own eyes was all too tempting. You don't know how hard to find you are."
Oleander stopped to gaze at a stall filled with brightly colored fresh fruit “So have you spent your life like this? Always hunting for experiences?"
“Among other things." Rowan gave a nod to the merchant and slipped him a pair of copper coins in exchange for a small wooden bowl filled with bright red berries. The stallkeeper thanked the wizard and he offered one to Oleander. “Try one, but don't eat too close to the leafy end, it doesn't taste as good."
“What are they?" She took one and bit halfway into it with no hesitation.
“Strawberries, you've probably seen the wild ones but they're nowhere near as big as the ones farmers grow.
“It's so sweet." She used her wrist to wipe a small splotch of juice from her mouth.
“They make wonderful tarts."
The two snacked on their berries and chatted about whatever came to mind as they toured the town, Rowan answering all of Oleander's questions about the world beyond the woods and idly musing about magic, wine, and the far away people he wanted to see. Eventually they sorted through all of the merchants that dealt in provisions and managed to get a generous stock of food and lamp oil at a price less than robbery. Rowan lamented that his presence as a wizard gave almost no leverage when dealing with the shrewd merchants, as only a rookie would have been intimidated. Traveling types like them always did have a measure of experience with his kind and a severe deficit of respect. It didn't help that he had no patience for the fine art of haggling either. Once that was taken care of, all that was left was the matter of upgrading their transportation. Rowan opted for another horse. While it would have been another mouth to feed and water on the mountain road, dragging a whole damned cart across Unicorn Range would certainly have been the far greater headache as the road itself was not a smooth route.
What Rowan dreaded the most was having to deal with a horse trader. While he had barely enough tolerance for the rhetoric and theater of business, horse merchants were a special type of aggravating men. They always rambled on about breed and pedigree and had a bad habit of exaggerating the strength and stamina of any given horse. Oleander lamented that she couldn't just pick one based upon how pretty it looked as Rowan carefully inspected each individual suggested to him and found more than one wanting. Eventually, they settled on a stocky brown mare speckled with little spots of white that Rowan couldn't help but feel he may have overpaid for.
“So, what do you want to name her?" Rowan asked, affectionately stroking the horse's head and snout. “She's yours after all."
Oleander crossed her arms and gave the mare a good, hard look in contemplation. “You said Jet was named after a type of stone? Hmm, no, naming a horse after a rock is silly..."
“Hey now." Rowan said with a sliver of irritation in his voice.
“I'd pick something more feminine." She walked up to the mare and gently scratched it on the back of the neck. She brightened up when an idea struck her “Oh, cinnamon! Just look at her coat. I always loved it when the traders brought back cinnamon and sugar and put it on toasted bread. Your name can be Cinnamon."
The horse seemed to give a shake of its mane in recognition.
“It's settled then." Rowan nodded. “All we need now is a saddle."
When nightfall came the two stabled Cinnamon with Jet and settled into an inn that offered the night's room and board for a modest price. Much to the protest of Rowan and his copper-pinching ways, Oleander proudly ordered a flagon of mead and- by her own words -“the biggest cut of beef in the house" for dinner. The wizard silently argued with himself over whether or not he should have been surprised that the fox could easily pack away the generously sized steak she was served in a matter of minutes, though he certainly was amazed. What did not surprise him, however, was her apparent sensitivity to drink. The woman was wobbly and giggling after what most men would consider a perfectly moderate amount of weak liquor. Perhaps they did not partake in any brewing in her home village?
He advised Oleander not to order another and gently led her to the second floor of the inn, listening to the fox marvel that she had never seen such a high staircase in her life. It was still fairly early in the night and neither of them were ready to rest quite yet, so Rowan decided that he wanted to sit and read by the lamplight while Oleander continued to ask her questions about the small this-and-thats of the world outside the forest. It was then that the fox noticed their sleeping arrangements; one room with two nightstands and two single-person beds. She sat on the edge of her own bed as Rowan was just removing his boots and heavy outerwear on the other.
“Don't they ask for more money for more beds?" She asked out of the blue. “You know just one would have been fine."
Rowan looked up and pondered her question. In truth, he chose the room without thinking. Sharing a blanket out in the cold and wind of the wilderness was one thing, but sharing a bed is another thing entirely, one with a far deeper significance. Finally, he set one of his boots down and slowly said “I simply picked one, do you not like it?"
She crossed her arms and huffed, looking out of an open window with curtains gently drifting in the breeze. “Do you even consider me your wife? Sometimes you act like you're still practically a stranger when you've already skipped far past that point."
The wizard rubbed the stubble of his chin and looked off into the distance, wondering why she would ask such a thing, but the answer quickly hit him upside the head like a stay branch. Considering his next words carefully. “I… I'm sorry, this is something I've never done before. Honestly, your skills at chasing women deteriorate when you spend your life squinting at books in the candlelight. I really can't guess what you would want most of the time."
She rolled her eyes. “Ye gods, you know nothing of women. So many years of life, have you never married? Never so much as roll in the hay with some other village girl?" Oleander stopped herself when a sudden epiphany hit. “Just a moment, are you a sixty-year-old virgin?"
“No, I am not." He protested immediately. Rowan pointed a very firm finger at her “I'll have you know I am no stranger to the touch of a woman. Do you think I've not the selfsame desires of every other man to ever walk the earth? As if I were a eunuch?"
“It would start making a lot of sense!" She quipped back. “Pray tell, what were their names? The women, I mean. Either that or the name of the bull that kicked you in the balls when you were a child."
“Names? Ah, one name was, er…" Rowan searched his memory for the last time he had known a woman. It had been a very, very long while since he last laid a girl. The names all blurred together, he couldn't remember. “Well it matters little, they never really give you their real names anyway. Tis better that way."
She pursed her lips. “Prostitutes, you mean?"
With a dismissive hand wave, he answered “Aye, women of the night. Oldest profession and all that."
Oleander shook her head. “So you mean to say you are a virgin?"
Rowan was actually starting to become irritated at that point. “Know ye not what the term means?"
“I know full well what a whore does, but a man who has never truly wooed a woman into his bed and merely trades gold for flesh can still be called a virgin by my measure. Father always warned me of unscrupulous, sad men like you."
The wizard scoffed. “Fie! Whatever you and your father's philosophy on the matter is, the point I am making is that I am… I'm not good at this, all right? I know not what to do. Aye, I have told your father that I'll take you as a wife, but I remember partaking in no wedding ceremony and… and I've known you less than a fortnight. It does not feel chivalrous to just throw you in my bed like the spoils of war before I've truly courted you."
Oleander laughed. He couldn't tell if she found something funny or was merely laughing out of pity. Her face was difficult to see in the dim light. “Court me? Is that what you're worried about? Is that why you treat me more like a childhood friend than a wife?"
Rowan didn't answer immediately, the question itself pierced through him like an arrow. After a pregnant moment, he simply answered “Yes, yes it is."
“How can an old man like you really be so naive?" She teased. “And here I am thinking you've seen it all."
The wizard wanted to be angry, but could only laugh at how right she was. “Damn your eyes, woman, this is why I've lived alone so long."
“Chivalrous to a fault," she said as she stood up and stretched, her tail gently brushing the floor. “I suppose I'll just have to count myself lucky to marry a man who listens to the head twixt his ears before the one between his legs. Mayhap one day you will consider that both can raise a fine point at times."
Rowan weakly threw a dirty sock in her direction. “Gods be good, and I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I took a shamelessly vulgar village girl for a wife rather than a modest noble's daughter with a heavy dowry."
“Perhaps!" She gave Rowan a wicked grin, the flickering light of the lamp dancing across her face. “But what fun is there to be had with a noblewoman that might be deathly afraid of the mud and sunlight?"
“Very little," the wizard chuckled “but that one might not give me as many headaches!"
“Well, you've already made your decision, no going back now." Oleander leaned over across the short gap between their beds and without warning gave him a soft kiss on the forehead and ran her fingers through his slightly greasy red hair. The little whiskers on her face tickled ever so slightly and her lips were soft and smooth, if just a little moist. He never realized foxes like her had those claw-like nails at the ends of their hands but it scratched him slightly when she touched his head. “When the time comes to choose rooms again, at least try to be less of a coward."
“Duly noted." Rowan said, trying not to act stunned. It was an unfamiliar feeling that he was experiencing, very difficult to process in that moment. He had scarcely ever felt a gesture with that much genuine warmth in his life. It was odd, but he couldn't deny how happy it made him.
Sensing that the conversation was winding down, Rowan finished dressing down to his trousers and undershirt and tossed the rest of his ensemble into a corner to be picked up in the morning. Finally, he settled into the bed with the book he had been looking forward to. A treatise on far-eastern philosophy by a fellow career traveler from his order. Their thought process was very unorthodox, but still wildly interesting and made a startling amount of sense from the right perspective. He was only a few pages deep before glancing over at Oleander as she stirred on her own side. His eyes went wide when he saw nothing more than a tail and swathe of lustrous reddish-orange fur as she had cast aside her dress just like he did his own hat and coat. He immediately took notice of her shapely body. Even somewhat obscured by the wide tail that lazily waved side to side he could tell that the perfect curve from the waist to her hips was like a marble statue and her bottom was almost heart-shaped. Her shoulders were very tight and thrown back and her legs and thighs were well-toned, likely due to the active lifestyle of a humble country woman. From that angle he could just barely see a glimpse of her breasts hanging freely. Rowan couldn't have imagined a more ideal body.
As if sensing his gaze, she turned back to show that smug, knowing smile she liked to wear. He caught a full side view of her and noticed the barest sliver of a darkish pink nipple among the fur. Rowan had realized his mouth was slightly agape and promptly closed it with no small amount of embarrassment. She hummed and said “Ah, judging by your reaction it looks like you really aren't a eunuch then?"
“Just thinking that I'll need to buy you a few sets of new traveling clothes in the morning is all." Rowan calmly went back to his reading. He could practically feel her eyes rolling at him. It was his turn to give a smug smile, not looking up from his book. Try as she might to get a reaction, at the end of the day Rowan was playing the long game.
The image didn't leave the wizard's mind until sleep eventually took him, and even then she chased him into his dreams.