there."
Despite his exhaustion,
Timothy lost himself in the motion of the shovel. He doubted the hunters would
look for them on the farm. Only a fool would help someone with a fox demon in
tow. He still kept his eyes on the tree line and the road beyond Abel's
extensive fields.
Two days and his entire
life had been upended. Where did his caution go? He preferred to think things
through, but those green eyes called to him like sirens in that Greek story he
read as a child.
Was Kyle safe?
Something in Timothy knew his friend was well. Kyle could get out of any sort
of trouble. Besides, Henrietta would tear down the gates of heaven to make sure
Kyle married her.
The ditch slowly
lengthened along the twine lead Abel had set earlier, and the sun pulled its
earthen blanket over its head. Timothy's stomach gnawed his spine, exhaustion
worming its way into his bones. He replaced the shovel in the tool shed and
found Abel waiting on the porch of his small farmhouse with a bundle of clothes
and a covered tray. Timothy drank in the tray's wonderful scents.
"You worked harder
than I expected, lad. You've earned this and a place in the barn. Your wife
already waits with that strange lamb of yours. Were you a shepherd? Never mind.
You look ready to fall over. Go on now. I have baskets to mend for harvest
yet."
Timothy trudged across
the field to the barn. The double doors allowed a thin finger of light to slice
the deepening night. Stars glittered overhead. He slipped through the gap in
the doors and squinted against the light.
Kit fiddled with her
torn blouse. A finger wagged through one of the blouse's many holes, and her
ears flicked toward him. A thin blanket that did little to hide her slight
curves draped over her. Cat lay sleeping in a pile of straw.
Timothy stumbled, and
the tray slipped out of his grip. He closed his eyes and braced for the
inevitable crash.
"Seriously, shepherd.
Food is far too important to just drop on the floor."
Timothy opened his eyes
to see Kit kneeling with the tray in her hands and sniffing at it with a smile.
The blanket slipped a little.
"How did
you—" Timothy cleared his throat and looked away. "Just what are you
doing?"
"Saving
dinner." She peered under the brown cloth over the tray.
"I mean…"
Timothy glanced at her through the corner of his eye.
"Meat! And is
that…raspberries!"
He cleared his throat
again. "Why are you not wearing clothes?"
She turned and sat the
tray and clothing on a nearby barrel. The draped blanket revealed milky skin.
Her tail blended with the base of her spine. Timothy averted his eyes.
"Fleas." She
gestured with a biscuit. "This barn is full of fleas! Do you know how much
I hate fleas? Of course you don't. Besides, I am wearing something. I am not
immodest." She hesitated. "And because I trust you. You see me as me rather than as a fox. I…I like how you look at me as a person. Even now you
look away out of respect for me." She grinned. "You passed the test.
I am still not used to you seeing me as me, and I want to enjoy it as often as
possible." She threw a biscuit at him. It bounced off his head.
"Wasting food now?" She shook her head. "You smell, shepherd. Go
wash before you eat." She shifted the blanket. "Best hurry before I
eat it all! Oh, and thanks for being you."
Timothy kept his eyes
on the straw-strewn floor. She thrust another biscuit under his nose. "Eat
this one. I can't have my hero passing out in his bath." She smiled.
"Good job keeping your eyes where they should be, Timmy."
"Just put
something on, please?"
She giggled. "You
didn't see anything I didn't want you to see." She patted his head.
"I had to say thanks somehow. You are the first—never mind. Go! You stink."
Timothy devoured the
biscuit before he made it to the water trough behind the small barn. The cold
water felt good on his hot, sunburnt skin.
He stripped down to his
drawers and scrubbed, washing the mud and dirt off his clothes. He wrung them
out and put the clothes
Despite his exhaustion,
Timothy lost himself in the motion of the shovel. He doubted the hunters would
look for them on the farm. Only a fool would help someone with a fox demon in
tow. He still kept his eyes on the tree line and the road beyond Abel's
extensive fields.
Two days and his entire
life had been upended. Where did his caution go? He preferred to think things
through, but those green eyes called to him like sirens in that Greek story he
read as a child.
Was Kyle safe?
Something in Timothy knew his friend was well. Kyle could get out of any sort
of trouble. Besides, Henrietta would tear down the gates of heaven to make sure
Kyle married her.
The ditch slowly
lengthened along the twine lead Abel had set earlier, and the sun pulled its
earthen blanket over its head. Timothy's stomach gnawed his spine, exhaustion
worming its way into his bones. He replaced the shovel in the tool shed and
found Abel waiting on the porch of his small farmhouse with a bundle of clothes
and a covered tray. Timothy drank in the tray's wonderful scents.
"You worked harder
than I expected, lad. You've earned this and a place in the barn. Your wife
already waits with that strange lamb of yours. Were you a shepherd? Never mind.
You look ready to fall over. Go on now. I have baskets to mend for harvest
yet."
Timothy trudged across
the field to the barn. The double doors allowed a thin finger of light to slice
the deepening night. Stars glittered overhead. He slipped through the gap in
the doors and squinted against the light.
Kit fiddled with her
torn blouse. A finger wagged through one of the blouse's many holes, and her
ears flicked toward him. A thin blanket that did little to hide her slight
curves draped over her. Cat lay sleeping in a pile of straw.
Timothy stumbled, and
the tray slipped out of his grip. He closed his eyes and braced for the
inevitable crash.
"Seriously, shepherd.
Food is far too important to just drop on the floor."
Timothy opened his eyes
to see Kit kneeling with the tray in her hands and sniffing at it with a smile.
The blanket slipped a little.
"How did
you—" Timothy cleared his throat and looked away. "Just what are you
doing?"
"Saving
dinner." She peered under the brown cloth over the tray.
"I mean…"
Timothy glanced at her through the corner of his eye.
"Meat! And is
that…raspberries!"
He cleared his throat
again. "Why are you not wearing clothes?"
She turned and sat the
tray and clothing on a nearby barrel. The draped blanket revealed milky skin.
Her tail blended with the base of her spine. Timothy averted his eyes.
"Fleas." She
gestured with a biscuit. "This barn is full of fleas! Do you know how much
I hate fleas? Of course you don't. Besides, I am wearing something. I am not
immodest." She hesitated. "And because I trust you. You see me as me rather than as a fox. I…I like how you look at me as a person. Even now you
look away out of respect for me." She grinned. "You passed the test.
I am still not used to you seeing me as me, and I want to enjoy it as often as
possible." She threw a biscuit at him. It bounced off his head.
"Wasting food now?" She shook her head. "You smell, shepherd. Go
wash before you eat." She shifted the blanket. "Best hurry before I
eat it all! Oh, and thanks for being you."
Timothy kept his eyes
on the straw-strewn floor. She thrust another biscuit under his nose. "Eat
this one. I can't have my hero passing out in his bath." She smiled.
"Good job keeping your eyes where they should be, Timmy."
"Just put
something on, please?"
She giggled. "You
didn't see anything I didn't want you to see." She patted his head.
"I had to say thanks somehow. You are the first—never mind. Go! You stink."
Timothy devoured the
biscuit before he made it to the water trough behind the small barn. The cold
water felt good on his hot, sunburnt skin.
He stripped down to his
drawers and scrubbed, washing the mud and dirt off his clothes. He wrung them
out and put the clothes
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