Chapter Text
When Kim Dokja finally arrives, it is already winter.
He pads forward, ignoring the stinging pain in his hind leg, an arrow lodged deep underneath his skin. Ice melts at each panted exhale into the snow, but even so, there is a sharp relief that comes at finally reaching the meadow. The winter has touched the land, covering the ground in a perfect canvas of pure white that glistens in the moonlight.
Kim Dokja lets his body fully rest on the untainted snow, content to let his blood drip into a steady pool underneath his paws. He curls into the blanket of snow, and his white tails wrap around his body, camouflaging him amid the winter landscape. There would be time to rest and heal, but a distant part of Kim Dokja wonders if this will be the end of it all.
After so many years, he would finally succumb to the price of being a gumiho, a fox shapeshifter. For a life supposedly led through deceit, and careless slips of the tongue…perhaps this was the final price for preying on the souls of men: an icy death under a fading moon.
Closing his eyes, Kim Dokja imagines the familiar meadow in the summer, a sea of lush green with dew at the tips of each blade of glass. The sunlight had been warm the last time he’d visited, and an ache passes through his chest at the memory. There had been warmth, too, and the ever-present laugh of happiness in his ear as he lounged in the sunlight.
Kim Dokja thinks it might’ve been nicer, to die in the summer.
He doesn’t quite remember how he travelled here, only that it was safe. This was a corner of the world that was untouched by magic, unweathered by the storm of politics brewing only miles away. A sanctuary, the meadow was nestled so deep in the woods that it was almost unthinkable that it could even exist.
This place was like magic, Kim Dokja thinks as his eyesight goes hazy. He remembers worn pages held between his fingers, of new worlds at his fingertips. It’d be nice if such a thing existed—a safe haven for a lost soul, a hidden secret for a weary traveller.
In his fog of exhaustion, Kim Dokja misses the sound of approaching footsteps. His eight tails coil around his injured body in an attempt to retain heat, his paws held close to his chest. The corners of his vision blacken.
The indistinct footsteps draw closer, and at the realization, Kim Dokja thinks that he should run again, but the exhaustion overtakes him, leaving him weak. He mewls quietly, a question in the sound that stretches in the otherwise soundless night, and in response, the approaching footsteps quicken.
A deep voice sounds out, the voice a low timbre that is pleasantly carried through the wind. Kim Dokja tries to catch the sound, but it fades quickly under his dimming consciousness.
He stays motionless in the snow as a pristine black boot appears. The stranger that approaches is draped in a thick navy cloak, their features indistinct in the dark. When the stranger crouches low, the cloak drapes over Kim Dokja’s tired, battered body, drawing out a weak purr.
Kim Dokja thinks he hears a sharp inhale before dark, obsidian eyes come into view, the stranger kneeling only inches away. There is a surprise on the stranger’s face that brightens the shadows of his gaze. A sea of stars floats behind him, framing the thick dark curls that fall around his face. The last thing he registers is the brush of warmth against his neck before it all starts to flicker away into darkness.
“Rest,” the voice commands, but the sound is oddly gentle.
Like this, Kim Dokja sinks into a deep slumber.
When Kim Dokja awakens, it is to the presence of solid heat pressed against the line of his lithe fox body. His tails uncurl slightly as he reorients, blinking away at the haziness of sleep. It must have been hours because thin rays of daylight escape through the clouds, the sun peeking out through the rising dawn.
He watches as a bird soars through the sky, and his instincts to hunt rise with a suppressed vengeance. He attempts to shift, but the motion only causes the pressure around him to tighten.
Kim Dokja’s ears perk up, brushing up against a sturdy chin. He yelps, craning his neck, only to butt his head rather ineffectively against the human’s shoulder. It is then he notices the muscled arms that hold him in a secure embrace.
…What was happening? Kim Dokja yips again, pawing at the stranger’s chest, wiggling in an attempt to break free from the shelter of heat.
Where was this man taking him? He continues for a while this way, batting his paws against what feels like an iron fortress.
The stranger heaves a sigh above him.
“Behave,” the stranger says, squeezing lightly in warning. Kim Dokja looks up, only to meet a gaze that is tinted in concern, the same dark obsidian eyes from the night before assessing his condition with a frightening intensity.
A closer inspection of the stranger reveals the lines drawn on his face, eyes narrowed back at him. In the daylight, the man appears far more piercing. His eyes are sharp and bottomless, enough that Kim Dokja wonders if he has been bewitched.
The stranger is handsome in a way that others aren’t. Wavy hair cascades over a forehead that is slick with a sheen of sweat. His deep eyes reflect a bottomless pool, entrancing even in the dark. And his lips glisten ever so slightly as he breathes out, bringing forth a plume of white that is stark against the winter wind.
The handsome visage twists as he purses his lips, and the low hum that escapes the stranger is enough for Kim Dokja to wonder what exactly he’s gotten into.
He is held like fragile cargo in the stranger’s arms. A knapsack is loosely held over a broad shoulder alongside a quiver of arrows and a simple bow. The navy cloak is wrapped around Kim Dokja’s body, holding him in place as the stranger travels quickly through the mountainous terrain.
A hunter, Kim Dokja’s mind supplies, and he wonders if there is a point to all of this. This strange kindness felt like a blade waiting to strike. The moment he dropped his guard, perhaps that final strike would come. For now, Kim Dokja settles back, enjoying the heat and company for as long as it will last.
They finally arrive at a cottage that rests at the edge of a small brook. The hunter pushes the wooden door open and slowly bends over to deposit Kim Dokja near the fireplace. In moments, there is a crackling fire, and the hunter idly pets his fur, letting the fox curl up in relative silence.
This might not be so bad, Kim Dokja thinks absently to himself as he settles near the fire. The warmth is pleasant, and he basks in the quiet joy of finally being warm.
Kim Dokja rests on his side against the wooden floor. A sharp ache still radiates from his injured leg, a result of the embedded arrow, but until the weapon was removed there was nothing the fox could do. The hunter watches him quietly for a while before he drapes the cloak overtop of him, muttering a stern don’t move to the fox who innocently blinks back.
Where would he go, Kim Dokja wonders as he watches his blood stain the formerly pristine floor with a wince.
A while later, he is unceremoniously dropped into a steaming bath, drenched in freshly warmed water. Kim Dokja curses, but all that escapes is a tiny squeak as he flails in the hunter's arms.
Then the arrow is pulled out in a sharp motion, and Kim Dokja yowls in discontent, mewling at the pain of the sting. His body curls in on itself, his tails bristling, and he struggles weakly under the hunter’s grasp. The hunter just shushes him, running a warm hand over his ears and back, murmuring low assurances.
“Shhh,” the voice soothes, a deep timbre that Kim Dokja can feel resonate in his bones. Embarrassingly, a whine bubbles out in response. He twists his head to nudge under the hunter’s arm, seeking desperately for reassurance under the stinging pain.
“I’ve got you,” the hunter says, and large hands reach to gently card through his fur.
Kim Dokja drops back into the water, exhausted. The water licks around his exposed wound, blood diffusing outward in a blooming pattern that Kim Dokja can’t seem to trace.
The pain ebbs and flows as the warm water gently sifts through his fur. With careful motions, the hunter cups handfuls of water, massaging and rinsing away at the grime. Despite the pleasant heat, Kim Dokja shivers at the frightening intimacy of those calloused hands that gently smooth down his sides.
Through this all, the hunter regards him with a piercing stare that seems illuminated under the candlelight. There is something gentle in his gaze that speaks of hidden affection. A light wonder that blooms at each gentle touch.
Kim Dokja meets the hunter’s stare, wondering, not for the first time, what the price of this kindness was.
Kim Dokja mewls, quietly. He brushes his snout right against the hunter’s fingers, an insistent nudge that the hunter bears with an amused huff.
Thank you, he wants to say, but his magic is weak and so is his body. Instead, he butts his head carefully underneath the hunter’s warm fingers.
Later, his injured leg is wrapped carefully using a clean cloth. A small piece of wood fits around his hind leg to be used as a splint. Kim Dokja is patted dry and settled near the fire. When he drifts off once again, it is to the gentle carding of the hunter’s large hands, and to the low crackling of distant embers.