Petunia Dewdrop's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The kitsune padded beside Petunia's cart for an hour, saying nothing. Each time she asked what she owed, it only flicked its pink tail. "Name your price," she begged. "Tea? Coin? Work?" The fox blinked and stayed silent. Petunia gripped the cart handle. She could not roll on until the debt was settled, and the spirit would not tell her how. Her kitten peeked from the seat, his charm glowing soft in the shade. A path split off toward a strange tower. It rose from woven sticks and mossy vines, shaped almost like a fairy standing tall. Its shelves spilled over with books. "Someone in there must know foxes," Petunia said. She leaned the cart against the trunk and climbed a curling wooden stair. Inside, a portly fairy balanced on a ladder, a fat book tucked under one arm. A white beard spilled down his green tunic. A tiny sprout poked from his hair. He did not look down. "Mind the third rung," he said. "It bites." "I need help," Petunia said. "A kitsune wants a debt, but it won't name the price." The old fairy chuckled and climbed down slow. "Willowbeard Fernwhisper," he said, patting his book. "I've traded with forest spirits sixty years." He studied the fox waiting below the window. "They never name a price, child. That's the trick. A kitsune won't say what it wants. It waits for you to offer the right thing." "What is the right thing?" "Something only you can make." He tapped her petal dress, then her cart through the window. "You sell tea, don't you? A kitsune craves foxglove. Brew it with honey. Offer that, and watch." Petunia's wings buzzed. She thanked him and hurried down. At her cart she pulled out her kettle and her jars. She dropped in purple foxglove blooms and stirred in golden honey. The tea steeped until it glowed a soft yellow. She poured a cup and knelt before the fox. "I can't name your price," she said. "But I made this for you." She set the cup on the moss. The kitsune leaned in. It sniffed the steam. Its red eyes softened. It lapped the tea slowly, then sat back and licked its lips. For the first time, it dipped its head to her. "Your debt is paid," the fox said. "But you brew what my kind cannot resist. Word travels in this forest." It touched the air with its nose. A new path opened through the trees, deeper than before. "Others will want their cup. And not all of them ask so kindly." Petunia looked down the fresh path. She had freed her cart. But she had also shown the forest spirits exactly what she could make. Willowbeard called down from his window, no longer smiling. "You've paid one," he said. "Now they all know your name."