Chapter Text
Even lesser gods are still just that- gods.
He woke to soft footsteps over the brush. Monsoon season nourished the land, leaving the ground mailable and the leaves soft, dampening their steps. Still, his ears twitched at the sound. A disruption of the forest- his forest .
That is the thought that rouses the fox, raising his head above the brush, the tips of his ears glancing against the canopy. The afternoon sun hangs low and red in the sky, filtering through the leaves in splotches of warmth and light, bouncing off his fur, the color of night-tinged copper by the ambient light. He could see past the trees if he tried- could lift his head far above the forest floor and see the whole of his domain if he so chose. Yet those green eyes stayed fixed on the interloper at the very edge of his influence.
Pitiful is man. Denied all the spoils of nature yet believing themselves to be above it all. And what better to fuel their egos than the pelt of a lesser god? Not powerful enough to earn a place among the pantheon nor strong enough to defend what little divinity he commanded. Or so they thought. In truth, he persisted on nothing more than spite at this point, as revenge impressed an importance unworthy of humanity. Pitiful are those so lacking nature’s gifts, that their greed will see them burn the forests to ash if only to feel their warmth. He should kill the man for this slight. Was it not enough to fell the trees for kindling and the hunt the animals for sport? Must another man seek the trophy of his pelt?
There had been others before this: humans looking to carve their pound of divine flesh. And some of them had even succeeded. Gods came and went with the waxing and waning of the moon- but that didn’t mean they all went quietly. He would not go quietly.
They approach without reverence or veneration, simply stepping languidly through the brush, their long robes leaving a trail in their wake.
The Deity expects a fight. Expects this person to lash out with some tool the way humans always do. He expects to tear the flesh from it’s bones and be done with it. Yet he could have never expected the way this tiny human kneels, pressing their forehead to the forest floor whispering into the leaves, “Why do foxes hunt rabbits?” A pause, “Because of their affinity for…fast food.”
….
Was this strange being casting a spell?
Against his better judgment, the Fox god leans forward, taking in this small creature. He knew of man- of the ways in which they clothed themselves in leu of the fur and feathers withheld from them, arming their vulnerable bodies with weapons emulating his own claws. Yet this human smelled only of plants- flax and cotton fibers woven into their sage-colored robes. Such a small thing; he moves closer, expecting the metallic scent of a blade but…no. It held nothing in its own defense save for- “Where do foxes take their rests in the winter?” Another pause, “Near the fur-nace.”
It takes a moment but eventually, the fox god notices the way they peek up at him from under that ashen fringe, breathing shallow to the point of being held- all in anticipation of…something. It’s curious. Humanity has always posed a threat to the forest- and, by extension, the god himself. Yet this tiny human (perhaps a juvenile?) prostrated itself before him, only to speak in riddles. The fox god tilts his head to the side in confusion, the tips of his ears rustling the leaves over head- and eventually, their soft sigh reaches him.
They deflate like a particularly sad balloon, “Hm, perhaps next time.” And only as they leave the grove, careful not to disturb the life all around, does Tighnari notice it, radiating from their chest, through their arms, and down to the tips of their fingers. Trembling. They had been afraid.
Gods…they do not have the same understandings as mortals. They measured time in schisms, not seconds. A thought could raise mountains- and a breath conjures a storm. Each god has the power to shape the very world in which they exist, and yet-
The fox god began to notice the intervals between this small human’s visits. Never staying for longer than a blink of the deity’s eye, only long enough to proclaim their riddles and then- after rambling on of something or other, disappearing into the brush. The God was no closer to understanding what this peculiar little being wanted, but their presence was…not unwelcome. If anything, the consistency that which they visited was… palatable.
Crossing into the hidden alcove, bare feet padding through the brush, that flat effect accompanying the chirps of the crickets and the rustling of the leaves. The human’s low, even drawl was calming, and while the god never truly let his guard down, he always rested after the human had left, that lilting tone becoming a familiar interlude to sleep.
That wasn’t the only thing the god became familiar with over the course of their time together.
It was early that day when the human-made its way into his domain. The dew still clung to the foliage when he knelt in the clearing to cast his peculiar little spells (Why did the juvenile fox refuse to eat? Because it is a fennec-y eater. Do you not understand? Well you see it is a play on the words fennec and…). That’s what they must be; the fox god presumed, spells of lethargy. The human’s low, dulcet tones always had this somnolent effect on the fox despite never doing more than pulling a yawn from the god. Still, even the forest was slow to wake on a day such as this. The warmth of sun rays cresting the horizon warmed his old bones, relaxing the tension in his body for the first time in decades- to the point where nearly broke his cardinal rule and curled up for a mid-morning nap (in the presence of a human no less). Or perhaps, it was due to the human’s presence that he felt relaxed enough to lay still, his body against the brush, listening to his strange visitor. So there he stayed, blinking slowly at the tiny man who seemed to never run out of air- or at least he had until a short hiccup of a sound rang through the glade, and he found his human companion stifling a laugh behind those long sleeves. “….cute.”
Of all his centuries standing as arbiter of the forest, never had the deity been deemed cute . Of his many names, the title of Spiteful God seemed most ever-present. The venom they spat meant next to nothing, as were their cries at fallen allies, painting the fauna red in blood. Vindictive, Hateful, and Ruinous, all spewed without so much as looking down at the weapons in their own hands.
That legacy meant nothing to the Deity. They could call him what they wished, but never were the titles cast upon him…endearing. It’s strange, so much so that the Fox god rises to his full height, trying to understand the cause of the human’s muted cheer, twisting left and right- only to be smacked in the face by a tail. His own tail to be exact, the traitorous appendage waving with excitement at his human’s every word and, consequently- swatting him in the face. It would have been mortifying if not for the way his clumsiness drew another, fuller laugh from that small being. “I’m glad to see you finally appreciating my jokes.”
Hm? The insinuation of humor causes the god to pause, head tilted to the side in some vague gesture of confusion, willing an explanation that the human seemed reluctant to give. “I…suppose there’s no point in trying to hide my motives.” There’s something off about them now, their posture small and shrinking as they look down to the grasses sprouting between their toes- almost as though they are ashamed. “My parents were Eremites, hailing from deep within the Red Sands Desert.” His voice takes on an almost whimsical tone as those red eyes pass over the leaves of the trees.” The desert…It’s such a desolate place; you can imagine how astonishing it was to know that places like this forest could even exist.”
The human pauses a moment, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth- the gesture nearly invisible on their tiny frame, “And yet, as fond as I’ve grown of the forest and its abundance, I can’t help but appreciate the growth I grew alongside- the desert shrubs continue to reach out towards the sun despite its harsh rays…and the desert foxes always found reason to laugh.” The human looks down again, seemingly bashful at this admission. “Therefore, considering the form you choose to take, I thought that…perhaps you, too, would also like to laugh. You just hadn’t found any reason to do so…” he flags then, that same fear he once hid during their first meeting now on full display. His gaze stays downcast to the grasses, unwilling to meet the god’s eyes. “In truth, now that I’m speaking it aloud…this plan of mine was not particularly well thought out.”
The realization that this being’s spells of rest and lethargy were nothing more than attempts at humor? Well, that was something to laugh at.
So he does. For the first time since this forest had come under his care, the fox god laughs. Collapsing into the thicket below and trembling as that shrill cry echoes into the bright blue of midday sky- it’s all he can do not to crush the human in this sudden scintillating turn of events. The same tail that brought all this to his attention now sweeping across the forest
floor, kicking up leaves and pulling the human along with it.
Eventually, the god came back to himself, curling around this small being that had gone out of its way to make him of all deities, laugh. He blinks slowly down at the human, and when that doesn’t calm their panicked breaths, he presses into them- nuzzling as close as he could because- kindness was something novel. And he wouldn’t let go unrewarded.
In the end, the deity supposed that there were worse things to familiarize one’s self with. That buoyant feeling that rose in his chest when his human entered the clearing, the feeling of their thin fingers carding through the fur of his tail- and on rare occasions, his ears. It’s strange, the sensations this tiny human brought forth in him.
It is only when the leaves do not rustle as they approach, the grasses do not crunch underfoot, and his human does not enter the glade, a soft smile on his face. does the fox god stop to ponder when he’d first thought of the other as his.