Shadow of The Fox (Shadow of the Fox #1) - Julie Kagawa Page 0,43
to engage her in conversation. It was early summer, the days hot and humid, the skies threatening rain at a moment’s notice. We passed villages with thatched huts and terraced fields, where farmers shoved green rice seedlings into calf-deep water. When darkness fell we slept beneath the trees or in abandoned shrines, the nights warm enough for us to be comfortable without blankets, which was fortunate as all my possessions had been lost when my horse fled. Including my travel documents, most of my shinobi gear and my rations for the journey. Thankfully, late summer in Iwagoto meant there were plenty of places to get food in the wild, if you knew where to look. Mushrooms, berries and all manner of sansai—wild plants—were everywhere, and the rivers and streams yielded fish if one knew how to catch them without a line. I’d been trained to live off the land and survive in the wilderness, so we were in no danger of starving, though I was surprised to find the girl knew a fair bit about wild plants, as well. One evening, as I was cleaning the fish I’d caught from the nearby stream, she appeared and dumped an armful of wild persimmons on the ground near the fire. I didn’t care much for sweet things, but the ripe orange fruit contrasted with the blandness of the fish and filled our stomachs well that night.
Throughout our travels, I hadn’t felt the presence of demons, though Hakaimono had been unusually restless, either sensing invisible eyes on us or reacting to our unexpected companion. I had been alone for so long that having another human constantly present was distracting, for both myself and the sword. I ignored the girl as much as possible, trying not to see the tears that sometimes leaked from her eyes, or hear the faint gasps and sniffles when she was curled up, asleep.
This morning, however, she had greeted me with a smile and a cheerful Ohayou gozaimasu, Tatsumi-san, seeming to abandon her dark mood. We’d continued down the road, but this afternoon, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. It had continued to plague me, irritating Hakaimono to no end, until I’d finally halted and searched the trees for our unknown stalker. I was giving away the knowledge that I knew something was out there, but at this moment, I would rather face something that I could fight and kill, instead of worrying about a nameless threat I couldn’t see.
My gaze stopped as I finally pinpointed the source of my unease. In the limbs of a pine tree that stretched over the road, a small, hunched figure gazed down at us, unblinking.
Crows again. I narrowed my eyes, glaring at the bird, which ruffled its feathers but didn’t move from the branch. Crows were everywhere in Iwagoto, from one end of the country to the other. Murders of them clustered on rooftops or in tree branches, fighting for space, their guttural caws scolding as you passed beneath. Sometimes they were seen as ill omens, bringers of misfortune, but for the most part, they were a common, everyday sight, and no one gave the squabbling creatures a second glance.
But every once in a while, especially when I was traveling, a single crow would appear, dogging me. Watching me. Killing the bird did nothing; another would appear soon after, as if to taunt my efforts. Or worse, it would stay just out of sight, irritating Hakaimono until it was ready to lash out at anything that moved. At least now I knew the cause of the uneasiness, and would be ready if my unknown stalker decided to attack.
“Tatsumi-san?”
I turned back to find the girl watching me, her head cocked slightly. She hadn’t noticed the bird in the tree, and I didn’t feel like explaining. Especially since neither of us could do anything about it.
“It’s nothing,” I told her, continuing down the trail again. “Let’s keep moving.”
She nodded, falling into step beside me. I could see her in the corner of my vision, dark hair rippling in the breeze, her gaze on the forest around us. Unlike the past two days, when she’d followed silently at my back, staring dully at the ground. The furoshiki cloth was wrapped around her shoulders; she hadn’t taken it off once, and every night, made sure it was secured tightly to her person. I imagined it contained the last of her meager belongings, and that perhaps she was afraid I would steal them, though I