Kit Love:
Chapter 1- Lightning and Eagles
The path beneath his feet was dusty and dry, proof enough of the lack of rains in this part of the Makai. The sun shone down brightly overhead, as it had for almost every day this spring, clouds almost never shaded it's glaring light anymore. Butterflies danced in the sizzling air, no matter that it was only mid-spring, the temperatures had already been driven to heights usually only reached in mid-summer; the lack of rain was slowly sucking all traces of water and coolness from both earth and sky.
Colors painted the ground and the trees, but their dyes were faded and bleached, as if they were being viewed through a dirty window. Flowers drooped and the leaves on the trees were arid and crumbled at the slightest touch. All this did nothing to improve the mood of the young kitsune walking along the path, staring at his feet and watching as puffs of dust coated his lower legs with each step.
The customary scowl plastered on his face could have withered stone and the sharp sword hanging from his side could have cut through a tree had he wanted it to. Shuurai absently brushed the hilt of said sword with one clawed hand and stared even harder at the dust swirling around his legs. The drought was even worse then everyone had predicted, there had been no precipitation since the last snows of winter. Everything was dying and the summer hadn't even begun yet.
Sighing and reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a crinkled piece of paper. The edges were torn and stained by time, the picture itself faded much like the surrounded landscape. All that could be seen in the picture was a small baby kitsune, obviously Shuurai, and another hand holding his. A few strands of golden and silver hair could be seen around the torn edges, but that was all. Not much to go on, by the young fox's standards, even if he was a demon with demonic instincts.
A gust of wind blew up from behind the boy, ripping his hair out of its short ponytail and whipping the strands into his face. With an angry growl, he caught the silver-tipped gold strands and searched the ground for the string that had been previously holding them back. Scooping it up out of the dirt, he retied it at the nape of his neck and brushed the dust off his hands. Miniature dust cyclones spun down the path in front of him, scattering even more of the dry powder into the air.
Stuffing the picture back into his pocket before it too could be torn away from him, his fingers brushed the other object hidden there, and closed around its smooth surface. Pulling it out, he held it in the palm of his hand and stared at it for a long moment, as he had done countless times before.
The blood red stone glittered in the blinding sunlight, leaving imprints on the insides of his eyelids whenever he blinked. If he looked close enough, Shuurai almost thought he could see a tiny flame flickering inside the crystal depths. And for the thousandth time, he wondered what it could possibly be; where could it have come from? He brought the stone up even closer to his striking face and squinted at it through sparkling gold eyes that matched his hair perfectly.
Another sudden gust of wind blew a cloud of dust right into his eyes and they immediately watered and grew red. Blinking furiously, he stuffed the grape-sized stone back into his pocket with the picture and made sure that his sword was still strapped to his slender hips. Rubbing his eyes, he cleared the last of the dust and made a mental note not to travel on dirt roads anymore.
And by travel, he really meant wander. For Shuurai, the open road and the distant horizon had been the only home he had ever really known. Or actually, ever really remembered. Stretching back as far as he could, and straining his brain as hard as he would go, all he could find were images of open fields and dense forests, of glassy lakes and skies sprinkled with stars. And never, not even once, were those images accompanied by other demons. Never. Always he was alone.
But every so often, while he slept, fragments of memories would swirl though his head; a slight brush of tender hands against his skin, a swirling of silver hair or the sound of tinkling laughter. Once, upon waking, he thought he had even caught a glimpse of a smiling face, with golden eyes that were uncannily much like his own. Surprisingly, these bits and pieces did not fade with the morning as most dreams did, they stuck with him and imprinted themselves in his mind; it was almost as if they were purposely engraved in his head to aid him with his search.
For although Shuurai was a wanderer, lately he had become a wanderer with a purpose. He was determined to find his parents, find out who they were and why they had left him The young kitsune believed that he hadn't been left on purpose, there had to be some reason, some rationalization for what his mother and father had done. And while most other people would have given up by now, abandoned their search in favor of more rewarding activities, the little demon stuck with it, swearing to himself every night before he went to bed that he would find them. And find them alive.
So far, he had little to go on. Seeing as he was a full kitsune, both of his parents obviously had to be kitsune also. What little fragments he could grasp from memories and dreams plus his shred of picture were the only visuals he possessed, and he couldn't even decipher much more from them then silver and golden hair. Much like his own…
But besides that, all he had that could be positively tied to his parents was the sword swinging from his waist. A long, slender-bladed sword was housed inside, an engraved foxtail wrapping around the sharp blade. The hilt and sheath were both the same; black with inlaid gold images of eagles and foxes in various stages of living. It was no secret that the kitsune and the Washi-Tenma had long been allies. Their roots went back further then any living demon could remember, and that was saying a lot! For demons often lived to be a thousand years old, and sometimes more. All in all, the two demonic species had ties stronger then those of family; old alliances did not go unheeded in the Makai, to break an alliance, especially one so old, was one of the worst crimes one could commit. Demons may not have been very civil or prone to affection, but they knew where their loyalties and strengths lie.
Hours later, as the sun was just beginning to fall below the distant horizon, Shuurai yawned slightly and started looking for a place to spend the night. On every side, he saw nothing but little copses of trees, nothing major and nothing with enough cover. Not that he was afraid of being attacked, the gold and silver haired fox could protect himself very well if the need arose; the sword he possessed was not just for decoration. But he just preferred not be let himself be caught unawares if he could help it.
Sighing, he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, preparing for another sleepless night spent walking under a canopy of diamonds. In truth, he did not mind at all. Kitsune, by character, were very appreciative of nature; they loved watching the sky and stars and walking among the forests and meadows. Sunset just happened to be one of Shuurai's favorite times, he loved watching the colors spread across the sky and eventually burn away into the deep black of night. He loved to watch the sun sink down slowly behind the distant mountains, painting the undersides of the clouds scarlet and gold. An overwhelming sense or peace and acceptance always overtook him whenever he watching this natural spectacle; it was the closest thing to belonging that he had ever experienced.
And so it was, as the last rays of day slowly died away, the young kitsune strode down the road, looking for all the world like a little lost puppy.
Chapter 2- Hope and High Spirits
