The night passed quietly, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the shallow breaths of the small fox sleeping beside Tianlan. Her fur, now bandaged and brushed clean, shimmered faintly in the moonlight — a pale red hue, as though fire itself had been trapped in her coat.
Tianlan sat beside her, gazing into the faint glow of the dying campfire. The forest felt gentler tonight. Perhaps it was the stillness, or perhaps it was her — the way her presence filled the emptiness that had followed him since that day.
He smiled faintly to himself.
"You're a strange little one," he whispered. "You don't run away, but you don't trust me either. Kind of like me, I guess — not sure where to go anymore."
The fox stirred, her tail twitching slightly, but she didn't open her eyes.
For a moment, Tianlan thought he saw a flicker of light drift across the forest — like an ember floating in the mist — but when he blinked, it was gone.
By morning, the fog had thinned, and the scent of dew and earth hung heavy in the air. Tianlan packed his things carefully, tearing a strip of his remaining cloth to tighten the bandage on the fox's leg.
"There," he said softly. "That should hold for now. Don't look at me like that — I'm not a healer. I'm just doing what I can."
The fox tilted her head, amber eyes studying him with uncanny stillness. Something in that gaze made his chest tighten — a quiet, unspoken understanding.
He sighed, slinging his pack over his shoulder. "I guess we're both lost, huh? You can come with me if you want. Or… go back to wherever foxes go."
The fox blinked once. Then, to his mild surprise, she stood up and limped after him.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Well then… I suppose I'm not traveling alone anymore."
Hours passed as they walked beneath towering pines. The forest stretched endlessly, the sunlight breaking through the canopy in threads of gold. Occasionally, Tianlan spoke aloud, not really expecting an answer.
"You know," he said at one point, glancing back, "you should have a name. I can't just call you 'fox' forever."
The fox tilted her head, ears twitching.
"Hmm… how about… Flufftail?"
A sharp blink. Her expression was impossible to read, but somehow Tianlan felt judged.
"Okay, okay, not Flufftail." He grinned sheepishly. "Then maybe… Rusty? Because your fur looks like… rust? No? You're glaring now. That's new."
The fox gave a quiet huff — almost a sigh — and turned away.
Tianlan laughed. It was a sound he hadn't made in weeks. "You're right, that's a terrible name. Alright… what about Ember?"
That made her pause. The light of the forest seemed to flicker as he said it — a brief shimmer of warmth against the cool air. Her tail moved slowly, as though in approval.
"Ember it is," he said softly. "You look like fire, but you're quiet like the ash that follows it. Ember suits you."
The fox — Ember now — lowered her head, the faintest glint of something deep and ancient flickering in her eyes. Tianlan didn't notice. He only smiled, continuing down the path with a lighter heart.
That night, they camped beside a small stream. The forest was alive with faint whispers — insects, the wind, the occasional hoot of an unseen owl. Yet Tianlan felt strangely safe, as though some hidden presence watched over him.
He sat by the stream, washing the dirt from his hands. "You know," he said softly, glancing at Ember who lay nearby, "I used to think the world was small. Just my village, the fields, the laughter of people I loved. I thought it would always be like that."
The fox lifted her head, her gaze reflecting the moon.
"I don't understand why things changed," Tianlan continued, voice trembling slightly. "Why everything had to burn. I keep thinking… maybe if I was stronger, if I hadn't gone hunting that day—" He stopped, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter anymore. I just have to find out why."
For a long while, there was silence. Only the soft murmur of the stream.
Then, quietly, the fox rose and walked closer, sitting beside him. She didn't touch him, didn't make a sound — just looked at him. It was enough.
He smiled weakly. "Thanks, Ember. You're a good listener."
She blinked once, slowly, and for the briefest moment, her fur seemed to shimmer with faint golden light.
Later that night, Tianlan awoke suddenly. The fire had died, and the forest was silent — too silent.
He sat up, every instinct alert. Ember was gone.
"Ember?" he whispered.
A faint glow pulsed between the trees — soft, ethereal, like mist laced with starlight. He stood and followed it quietly, his steps careful on the cold earth.
When he reached a clearing, his breath caught.
There she was — standing at the center of a ring of ancient stones, her fur rippling with faint crimson light. The air shimmered around her, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
He took a hesitant step forward. "Ember…?"
The light vanished in an instant. The fox turned, limping slightly as she approached him, her eyes calm, almost… sorrowful.
Tianlan rubbed his eyes, forcing a shaky laugh. "I really need more sleep. Seeing things now."
The fox brushed past his leg gently, nudging him toward the camp. He smiled faintly. "Alright, alright. I'm coming."
As they returned to the fire, the faint wind carried a sound — distant and almost melodic — like a whisper that wasn't meant for mortal ears.
"Walk forward, little flame… before the darkness finds you first."
But Tianlan didn't hear it.
Only Ember did — and her gaze, for just a heartbeat, softened with something that looked very much like sadness.