RAIJIN.
The beast looked up at the sky, wings twitching across its back. She could feel the anger, the distrust clouding its mind. Instinctual aggression, the aftermath of the battle with the oni still singing in its veins. But behind that, she sensed a tiny sliver of something more primal, blooming in its gut and crawling across the inside of its ribs.
You’re hungry.
The beast glared.
STAY OUT OF MY MIND, INSECT.
You can’t fly, can’t swoop on prey.
The arashitora growled, pawing the earth with its hind legs. Its anger flared bright and hot at the reminder of its mutilation, the faces of her father and Akihito flashing in its mind’s eye, dipped in the color of murder.
I can help you. I am a hunter.
DO NOT NEED YOUR HELP.
You can’t hunt here. Game will hear you coming. You’re too slow on your feet to catch them. You’ll starve.
SWIFT ENOUGH TO CATCH YOU, MONKEY-CHILD.
Its eyes glittered in the dark like the long-lost stars.
We can help each other. I’ll hunt for us. You protect me. Together we can get out of this. Up to higher ground.
DO NOT NEED YOU.
But I need you. I’ll pay for your protection with tribute. Flesh. Hot and bloody.
The beast purred, the vibration thrumming in her chest, mulling the word “tribute” over in its mind. It was unsure of the exact meaning, but liked the sound, the mien of subservience Yukiko had adopted. She kept her eyes downturned, shoulders slumped, hands before her like a penitent at temple. She could feel its stare, the knowledge that it could smear her across the forest with a casual wave of its talons banishing the realization that she was right; that it would starve to death without her help.
She would be a pet, it decided. She could atone for the insults of her pack with servitude. And if not, she could serve at the last by lining its belly.
VERY WELL. COME.
It stalked into the undergrowth, long tail whipping from left to right. Yukiko fell into step alongside, stumbling over roots and scrub in the dark. Off in the black she heard an owl call, the soft patter of the rain on broad leaves. Small sparks of life fled before them, unsure who these interlopers were, but certain they had little wish to know more. The arashitora’s head was level with her own, and it eyed her with disdain as she blundered about, tripping and cursing in the gloom.
HUNTER OF BEASTS WITH NO EARS, PERHAPS.
I’m sorry. It’s so dark. I can’t see.
WRETCHED MONKEY-THING. WEAK. BLIND.
May I use yours?
MY WHAT?
Your eyes. I can see through your eyes.
A long pause, heavy with the sound of its breathing, the girl stumbling in the dark, the whisper of small, fleeing feet. Its stomach growled.
YES.
Yukiko slipped inside its mind, felt its muscles flexing, the damp warmth of its fur. The ground was uneven beneath them, and she realized how difficult it was for the beast to walk with forelegs simply not designed for land travel. But it held itself proudly, unwilling to stumble, a stubbornness that immediately put her in mind of her father. Arrogant. Arrogant and proud.
We need to find somewhere to rest. Away from that temple. Then I can craft some snares. What do you eat?
WE FISH. FROM THE MOUNTAIN STREAMS. NOTHING ELSE IN THIS PLACE. LAND CHOKED WITH YOUR WEED.
There are others like you? More arashitora? We thought you had died out.
NOT YOUR BUSINESS, INSECT.
Yukiko fell silent, walking as if in sleep, eyes half-closed as she stared through the arashitora’s. She put a hand out to steady herself, laying her palm flat on the thunder tiger’s side. Broad quills flowed down its flanks and belly, growing thinner and finer until it was almost impossible to tell where they ended and the lustrous tiger fur began. She marveled at its softness beneath her fingertips, thick and wonderfully warm despite the rain, sticky with oni blood. The beast smelled strange, a heady mix of pungent feline musk, gore and ozone. Its mind was alien: the sharp, predatory instincts of a bird intertwined with the sensual, vibrant impulses of a cat.
Its curiosity finally got the better of it.
HOW CAN YOU HEAR MY MIND?
A gift from my mother’s people. I am a fox child.
KITSUNE.
She felt a vague approval radiating from a distant corner of its psyche.
WE REMEMBER KITSUNE.
My name is Yukiko. Do you have a name?
A long pause, filled with the voice of the storm.
. . . NO.
Then what should I call you?
MATTERS NOT TO ME.
She ran her fingers along its flanks, touched the tips of its feathers. She remembered the wolf coming down from the mountain with a belly full of hunger, so many winters ago. She remembered the friend who rose to defend her, to save her life without having ever been asked. The sense of safety she felt when he was nearby. Her protector. Her brother.
Her friend.
Then I will call you Buruu.
16 Skin