The swipes of flashlight beams swept up behind her, and the din of sirens and lights seemed more like a stage show from her spot on the roof. She swallowed and sighed, releasing herself from the muttered radio calls, from the cries of shock and the muttered disparaged remarks about how much one ought to get paid to look at the sights below, the wreckage of people that she'd left in her wake. She clutched the little wooden figure painted in old blood, running her thumb over its owl-face, to stop the list of her weight toward the edge of the shadow and toward her exposure to the authorities below, to keep herself focused on the purpose of her messy task.

The whine of a helicopter rotor firing up carried from across the din of the city, and her internal struggles fell silent at the prospect of failure for all of her efforts. She shifted her feet to settle parallel as she crouched, curling her tail around her ankles as she focused on the downward pull of her weight. The shadow she hid inside darkened, a flat, angled corridor that ate the light which entered it. She took in a deep inhale through her nose, risking the very faint, hollow sound her sinuses made, and held, letting the darkness draw her into its embrace and away from the scrutiny of light. In the back of her mind, the staccatto yips and chirrups toyed with her, coming from just under the plane of the shadow. Then, gradually, she exhaled, closing her eyes, following her weight down... through the floor... through the grasp of matter.

The sounds of the police chopper roared above as she sank deeper into the shadow, relieved of hue, and left only with contrast. She felt the brush of moss against her soles, bypassing the presence of her sneakers to meet with the intricate pressure receptors of her feet in immediate felt experience. The cool waft created by running water toyed at her cheek, and yet still, no images made themselves known in the darkness, and no sounds... just sensation and the thrum of her heart.

A single, vulpine "KrOOAH!" shot from her ears and down her spine, awakening the traits that the spirit had left upon her form as backhanded gifts during her initiation, drawing her further into the worlds of hard lessons and precious, ephemeral victories. Twin green pinpricks of retinas stared at her in the gloom. She dared not turn to face the source of light that gave them their reflection. She drew out her hand slowly, carefully, and placed the game piece in front of her, to hover in the invisible current. White-furred legs under a black-furred body drew the lean Fox forward, teeth bared and mouth slightly agape in a sweet, guileless joy as laugh-like gulps and squeals rang through her throat. Hurried sniffs and a final, trilling "Brrrrowwwooww Woh!" of gratitude marked the vixen's acceptance of the piece, daintily lifted to rest behind the pin-like cuspids. A single look over her shoulder, and Fox pranced away, her tail swishing back and forth proudly before breaking into a jogging cavort.

Saffron kept still during the process of inspection, although the faintest tilt marked her lips, bending her cupid's bow to a light smile. The Fox was pleased, excited, and, for once, grateful for her presence. The peace of the shadows, the caress of cool darkness, the other side to the fire and light that roared inside of her found its place in her heart. She felt the weight of a long wand of opal settle in each palm, pressing at just the right point to initiate the infant's instinctive curl. An icy chill ran from her palms, to her elbows, to the base of her neck and down to the egg behind her heart, cold fire providing a backbeat to her pulse. Fox had given her a true Sanctuary, no longer a fantastic structure perilously situated in the noisy intersections of Spirit Roads, a Den beneath the bright fascinations, the barrage of the senses.

Saffron's eyes opened slowly as the silence gave way to the warbling, muffled creak of Alberto's voice, humming along to the tinny beat of Eddie Grant's "Electric Avenue" through his old headphones outside of the door to her apartment, followed by the crackle of an antique broom against hardwood floor. The Dakini idol flashed into view before her, just as the phantom hints of light flickered out above the severed neck, perhaps little more than a trick of light. The neat rows of Mary Janes still remained at their post by the door, and their presence sent that weighted bulge of sorrow rolling up from her root to her guts, pushing out a fresh, sad sigh. Soon, however, a light smile twitched from her lips, fingers plucking her laces free of their knots, and the well-placed shoves and twisting kicks casting them over to the shoe-mat with nary a press to the pristine bamboo floor. Her soles spread bare and free, toes gripping and tapping at the sensation of cool lacquer as she rose, trekking over to the shoes. Her fingertips sparked blue, and on each pair she etched a few runes: Jera (harvest), Eihwaz (endurance), Algiz (divine protection), and Kenaz (Fires of Initiation and Inspiration). The runes glimmered on the surface of each shoe, a radiant army of benediction given multiple vehicles through the caress of memory, and faded into the spaces beneath vector. Perhaps they would reach Mayu. Perhaps she would shove them away. They would be there for her whenever she wanted, carried on the feathers of a noisy spirit-bird.

The last page of the notebook inched close to fullness on both sides. The ominous owl-faced being had been reduced to a simple elongated arch, topped with a vertically bisected balloon, and a pair of intricate circles set on either side, nested with concentric layer upon layer. Outside of the figure the page curled and crumpled from the multiple maledictions and castigations that Saffron poured on herself, new forms of hatred drawn over the other. She never ceased once to reflect on the words that she wrote, for tear that she would, for a moment, have to reflect, have to stop her austerities, have to cease her ritual of writing enough of her faults, her failures, her damaging acts with the purpose of striking her from existence. Perhaps, if she made enough of a case for it, Heaven would take her tail, and her ears, and turn her into a mouse so that the Black Fox would eat her, and she could provide fodder for a cautionary tale about making deals with spirits. She ached from malnourishment, each motion a spike of pain, as if skin strangled tight over thorny vines. Through sheer, hateful will she pulled the page free, dropping it limply at her side, with a weak toss of the empty spiral binding and covers to the stack that accumulated by the door. She groped for the book, to start anew, to offer greater sacrifices to the abyss of her malaise, and pulled it to her lap, every inch of her tightening while her core collapsed. her internal furnace had no fuel, and the black fire at her pit began the orobouran process of consuming itself.

Didn't I just do this? Why did the Phoenix Egg even f*cking bother with a stupid slut like me? She couldn't even register the title of the book that she was about to tear into; its cover appeared as a senseless mess of colors and lines. The act of pulling it onto her lap left her arms weak, well-sculpted muscle hanging as exhausted branches from shoulders tense enough to take buckshot and feel no change. The back of her hand flopped onto the most recently finished picture. The plethora of words crammed in around and on top of each other turned the page into a starry field behind the owl-figure, criss-crossing lines producing impromptu runes. Each little letter-shaped mystery went studied, drawing her eye more than her eyes captured them, and a final drift to the gaze of the rendered figure. Rings of stars, of waves, feline bursting rays... so many eyes stared back in those rings. So many eyes, pointing to a single soul, one once bound to her by a clasp around her neck. What kind of fickle bitch climbs out of the abyss for the girl she loves one week, and then a month later dumps her and goes catting around the day after?

A flash of heat lightning from the clouds reached in, pulling up all that she allowed to work beyond her boundaries, how she invited so much, how she stifled protest. Unfamiliar hands, misheard license, the leers. None to blame but herself. Why can't I just be a good girl and make everyone smile? Why do I have to be this stumpy little f*ck-up who can't even get possessed without growing big stupid ears and a dumb f*cking tail that everyone wants to pet, and grab, and tug, and yank without thinking that I feel everything that they do to it?

The base of her spine became hot, energized. The ache wound its way up her spine and down her legs, and with no volition of her own, she stood. The book toppled onto the floor, clattering into the bowls and flatware which she kicked aside in her stumble through the flood of paper, toward the door, and out into the main room, shambling toward the shower all the way at the other side of the apartment. Her toes lifted and curled around the hems of her pajama pants while she reached back, unfastening the button around the little clasp she'd made just above her tail, flicking it open to walk her way out of the musty garment. She entered the washroom raw and wild, overgrown with the shock-red landscape from her waist to her ankles, bushy thickets of crimson under her arms, each bearing a few streaks of dark-matter-black to match the feral influence of tail and ear. I don't want to stick up for myself any more. I don't want to be on the defensive every single time someone tries to loom over me or treat me like a toy because I'm small. I don't want to care.

She trudged up the spiraling incline toward the tub at the center, a combination of both the dead and the mourning. As she passed the shelves in her stumble, past the goods and supplies she had yet to return to their owner, she stopped next to a low shelf, set at about shoulder-height to the little shamaness. She clumsily turned in a weeble and wobble back and forth, blinking with effort to moisten her eyes and evaluate the sight that brought her pause.

A six-inch statue of a woman in light, but ornate armor stood at the center of the shelf. Her hair, brown and streaked with glittering silver, was pulled back in a tight bun, set low to accommodate a helmet. She held a fierce halberd, twined with bolts of lightning, readied to strike. Her lips were pulled back, sneering in defiance, and her wide eyes were set with gold and onyx. An exaggerated version of the sneer appeared on her breastplate, complete with tusks from the lower lip and a wreath of snakes spilling across the surface, all the way to the snakeskin buckles that held it attached to her form. She wore bracers on her shins and forearms, also decorated with clouds and lightning. Behind her, a massive snowy owl swooped down as a totemic figure, claws outstretched toward the aim of that vicious stare. At the base of the statue, the plaque read "Athene" in Greek letters. Saffron's eyes refocused, and examined a tiny sprig of white near the goddess' back foot. A tiny rose bush emerged, complete with small florets, tiny rose hips, and prickles all throughout. Carved around it, in the tiniest letters, another engraving made itself apparent: "Pour Saffron, ma petit rose. -Jean-Pierre."

The tremble began deep in her chest as she stumbled back, nerves humming, body still weak. Each step towards the tub came forth from the meticulous splay of her toes against the floor, accepting the weight into the breadth of her soles, and up through her leg to her core. She stepped into the shower with a gasp and a wobble, cursing softly beneath her breath. She crouched to turn on the faucet, managing to find the right temperature. Her tail curled in while she hid beneath the initial frigid spray of the shower-head, and after a few moments she scooted back, into the embracing warmth of the water, and cried.

"Awowowowowoh, wowowoh..."

Saffron's bubbly, ker-klippity-klopping flip-flopped stride came to an abrupt halt once Reynard's song rang insistently from the alley, tuned to but one pair of pointed ears, coated in black fur. Smoke-grays peeped left and right as she settled her palms on the auxiliary pockets of her black cargo capris, feeling around in the pouches both visible and invisible for her various supplies, in particular the loop that appeared, for all intents and purposes, as a ring for clipping keys near her left hip. She patted down her arms instinctually for the flared sleeves of her bolero, but instead met the bare skin of her arms. "Aghdammit... dammit dammit dammit." She sighed with a rumble in her sinuses. One hand moved up to massage the scar across the bridge of her nose, while the other dropped to tug and check the hem of the indigo racerback neoprene shirt, copper ink etching the thorns and petals of a rose motif across its surface.

Her ears perked for a second call in the shadows, followed by impatient creaking whimpers. "Alriiiight, alriiiight..." She trotted around the corner blithely, Her tail fixing into a rigid 'omega'-shape behind her as she stopped before the dividing line of the shadow created by the combination of setting sun and building's edge. Her toes pushed free from her flip-flops, one foot at a time, spreading to meet the breeze in between them once un-stuck from the dollar-store soles. Once unshod, she stepped across the shadow's line.

Her stride fell on a surface quite unlike the pavement that appeared around her. It was smooth, cool and solid. Each step seemed to brighten the surroundings to her eyes, as if the light itself rushed outwards to clear her way in a mad scramble. The summer's heat swelled around her, tehn breezed away to a thick, pressurized chill more characteristic of a tunnel than an alley, and all went dark.

Four very large thumps traveled through the shell from behind Saffron, followed by a rolling, pattering gait. From the sealed, burning state of her ears, she could hear the huff from massive lungs. She could feel the wind around her drawn in through huge nostrils, and blown out as a warm breeze against her back to thaw the horrific chill. Her trembles centered in her abdomen, and her lips cracked into a grin she had no chance of suppressing. The hot, moist breath enveloped her in its entirety as she ventured out a hand from her huddle, setting it on a sabre-sized fang as the muzzle enclosed her like a parent tending to its kit. She breathed deeply in the dank, slightly dog-breathy respiration that returned her to a body's warmth. Her toes settled on the rubbery lower lip, and, one limb at a time, she scaled the giant fox's muzzle, blind as can be, until settling herself to cling in the thicket of the ruff across its neck.

With hands clenched tight into the ropey hairs, she sank against its form and kept pace with its leaps, scampers and crawls through the landscape that remained completely dark and alien, her only cues of its nature coming from the patter of feet and the warps and weft of the titanic foxy form beneath her. The dashes, kicks and leaps settled into a long, straight-away run, pounding out a rhythm of movement beneath her that lulled her from the concept of distance and measure, into the trance-like beat of paws across the ground, until all became that very rhythm.

The rhythm softened, and eased to a halt. The air had warmed from the vacuum-like cold to something at least supportable. Saffron's hands unclenched from the ruff, and her toes combed through the strands to take purchase on the fox's shoulders. Her ears unfolded and twitched, flexing and rotating to accommodate the throbbing ache of renewed blood flow, and her tail worked up and down, back and forth to assuage similar tensions at its base, her root. She held her arms wide and stretched herself out as far as her little body could manage, then pranced her way back into a standing position. From the patter of her feet, the fox released a soft, high noise of glee, which Saffron echoed in a rolling, cheerful little giggle. Once the hum of blood vessels subsided, her ears began to fix upon the noises of her surroundings.

A lulling hum rumbled in time with the fox's breath, first sounding in one tone, then followed in a canon by a second. From behind her eyelids, Saffron picked up a faint glow at the corner, which only grew brighter as she turned to face the same direction as the fox. A cooling, soothing sensation spread over the scar across her nose, sinking through the skin and washing through her face, up to the top of her mohawked head, and down through her body like liquid. She flicked her tongue against the back of her teeth as the odd, astral flavor of the phoenix's eye returned from memory, coinciding with the vision of the transformed bird within the egg. The light subsided, and left pinpricks of light in a particular pattern, a constellation found far from the strange, dual-mooned planet which she had left, a constellation found much closer to home, in the skies far from the blaring street lamps and smog. Then, finally, she dared to open her eyes.

Two white stars danced together, one large and diffuse, the other smaller, more dense. Saffron blinked for a moment and looked from the fox to the stars, pursing her lips as logic began to creep back in. The How of her retinae not burning out in her observation started to give way, as silent secrets caressed their way through her inner voices. She closed her eyes to view the constellation once more, then opened them to look upon the stars. Beneath the hum, somewhere far in the shadows, she heard the panting of a hunting dog. Tension rolled through the fox, and just as soon left from the tip of its tail. Saffron tilted her chin downward from the light of the stars, and looked upon the fox's fur. The fox's coat was black, devastatingly similar to her own ears and tail, yet it held a starry luster to it, a celestial sparkle that no physical being could ever replicate outside of visions and dreams. A vision of two brighter stars followed the next volley of canine vocalizations.

She closed her eyes again, and the constellation imprinted on her eyelids flashed to the image of a running fox, and then to a phoenix in flight. She measured her gasp of recognition to a slow, but sharp inhale.

"T..." She began to sound out a word, a Name. "Two..." She swallowed as the tingle rose in her chest, and her shoulders rolled as she straightened, facing the oncoming, nervous rush of energy that flowed up through her soles and into her body, riding through the wild, expectant thrum of the beast beneath her.

"Teumessa."

The vixen continued to tilt her head back and forth after Saffron's offer, occasionally lifting an ear and her muzzle up towards the black egg hovering above them. She angled her head one way, then the other as she checked the little redhead across from her, nudging up slightly at the air in an almost human gesture, as if goading for her to continue.

"Urhm..." Saffron's hands slid down to scrape her nails along her upturned soles, picking clay from the creases as she swallowed. Her lips folded in as her tongue drifted out to moisten her lips as the nervousness settled in around her shoulders, pulling them in toward the center of her chest. "Uhhh... I--"

As if prompted by homophonic association, the trembling, iridescent light centered into a single circle, surrounded by a wide lozenge shape, intimating the symbol of an eye, which focused rather directly at Saffron. Outside of the circle, Reynard laid flat on his belly and pinned his ears back, lips pulling back in a snarl as the "Hruk! Uk! Uk!" coughed menacingly from his throat towards the egg.

A warmth, at first merely unnatural, but soon uncomfortable, began to throb through Saffron's body. it traveled along her pulse, emanating from the growing heat within her chest. Sweat formed in sheets on her skin as she began to pant, reeling forward for a moment as the color drained from her face, and her vision fell victim to the colorful fireworks and yellow-honeycomb that signified the incoming faint.

"Hnnh..." In desperation, she peeled off her shirt, tossing it outside of the circle. She closed her eyes as she unhooked her bra, groaning in relief as the fabric fell away from her skin. It landed within inches of the shirt, soon followed by the noisy clatter of pants that had been squirmed out of desperately. Saffron curled onto her side and tucked her arms under her head, breathing slowly, before her weakened, creaking little voice murmured her testimony.

"Okay... so maybe... eating your eye... nghmfm... wasn't the... the nicest thing I could have done. But you... phoenix-being... thing... I didn't know you as well as I did Teumessa, and I didn't even know her name." She curled her knees up and kicked a little into the clay, fingers slowly running through the substance warmed by her body heat and smearing it on her skin in the hopes that it might disperse some of the excesses of the inferno inside of her. "I didn't... I thought you were going to kill us, and let's be honest here; you were. It's f*cked up that I'm taking care of you... and that-- nnh! ... that this whole eye-eating incident's still hurting me."

She stopped for a moment to flop her hand uselessly on the ground, writhing wildly before collapsing back down again into her desperate, overheated little ball. "It's... it's not you... It's Hank... it's Ronnie and his friend... it's-it's..." Saffron's fingers dug in deep into the clay as she began the litany of names that she remembered. "... all the... hurt and the fights and the horror and sh*t." She covered her face with her arm and arched her lower back, inching her heels around to attempt to lie on her back and get air, which only spread the white-hot sensation even more through her body. She whined and rested her head back, holding to her breasts to expose the creases beneath to open air, doing what she could to try to disperse that oppressive fire within her. "These are... I mean... I shouldn't... care at this point." She peeked over to the flat-pressed Reynard, still poised and snarling at the egg, with an apologetic purse to her lips. "I was like a fox in a hen house." Saffron dropped her hands from her breasts and let herself go limp, succumbing to the climbing fire that finally began to sizzle beneath her skin in prismatic tones and wisps.

The eye in the phoenix egg rotated, turning and re-settling on its scan of Saffron, and her slowly cremating form. Its light settled from the flickering rainbow hues to a rich, steady violet, and the visions began, displaying the crimes, the desperate moments to which she bore witness, and the grim form of relief she gave its perpetrators. It rested on Ronnie last, his face serene, and angled toward the trunk of his car, drifting out of life right as the police arrived.

The harshness of the flame fell from the searing pain to trails of stimulation, easing the tissue curled and twined in agony into an easy, almost anatomical relaxation. Teumessa rose from her sit and stretched, trotting in a serpentine path to settle atop Saffron, paws on her collarbone, head at her sternum, staring up at the scar-marked face. Reynard began to pace around the perimeter of the circle and howl, shrill, weightless cries for all of their pathos. He circled around to stare at the pair that sprawled in the circle, ears hanging like streetlamps at either side of her head as his lips set hard around his muzzle, the fierce coppery brow knitting up to an array of linges at the top of his sinuses. Teumessa leaned up and started to lick across Saffron's scar, clearing its entire length, before nipping gently, just enough to draw blood. Red droplets poured down in twin streams down each side of her face, and the scratchy voice made hoarse groaned in protest.

Prismatic sparks ignited along the trails of blood across Saffron's nose, and the egg lowered in its hover to rest inches above Teumessa's resting place on Saffron's stomach. The eye's shape dispersed to a foggy halo of light, and the lids over Saffron's own grew heavy. The scintillating tingle that was once agonizing flame settled in her sinuses and pulsed across her scar. The single, glassy black eye played in her vision in time with the tingle, with a deluge of data from long before her birth, from the eaves and annals of her body as the flame suffused both her and the fox lying on top of her.

The sounds of the world around Saffron became louder. She could hear the squeak of little vulpine veins both outside the circle and atop her being. She could hear the latter's form begin to grow, to shift as hers. She could feel the drift of toes not her own along a tail that was, nimble fingers spreading across her breasts, dark hair spilling down across her neck. She whimpered, both from the steady, soft presence of lips at the base of her neck and from the returning rupture of four fangs to her own dentistry. Her square litle hands pushed back the inky locks from the face of the woman atop her, feeling at the elfin points to her ears and pursing her lips in curiosity as tawny irises revealed themselves to Saffron's graphite grays. ?Geez...? She smiled down to the woman and stroked the ball of her foot along her calf. ?... you do make a pretty lady, Teumessa.?

The woman who was formerly fox squinted cleverly amidst delicate, angular features, dropping her lower lip in a strange, poorly-practiced smile. She settled her hands at either side of Saffron's head and planted a line of kisses, from forehead, to lips, to throat, to heart, to abdomen, to navel, to her sex. Just as suddenly, she popped up to stand and took the melon-sized egg into nimble fingers. The flame stayed behind as Teumessa scampered out of the circle, with Reynard circling around her ankles and keening happily. Saffron remained on her back, watching the floating fire as her ears listened to the pop and crackle of a second set of vulpine anatomy transitioning to human. She did what she could to manage her grief at the sounds of ripping fabric and frantic clasping as the clothes she'd discarded found their way onto narrow-waisted, ethereal bodies built more from dream than flesh. She bit back a wry little smile once a soft, tittering utterance of ?Thisnofit? followed the struggle with her bra, as her top had been shredded to form a makeshift skirt tied at Teumessa's hip. The quick, cavorting steps brought the pair over to peek at Saffron within the circle, both sets of the former foxes' hands entangled in each other as they grinned awkwardly down to the round little tailed lady, bouncing up and down on the balls of their feet before waving, to disappear into the shadows.

Saffron siiiiighed and watched the dance and curl of the flame as it descended, floating above her heart. ?So... at least I still have my panties...? She tucked her thumb into the waistband of clay-coated blue cotton, worn at the edges, with the mermaid motif barely visible from the effects of entropy, and released it with a snap against her hip. The fire sank down, pouring in around her sternum and between her ribs, coalescing once more in the four, pulsing chambers, to coat her skin in its noble, cleansing, transformative fire. The clay remained... yet the flimsy old cotton flitted away as naught more than a transient ribbon of smoke. Saffron's voice rumbled from between her teeth. ?Dammit!?

While Reynard and Teumessa went off with the material of the Phoenix Egg, with the tools and weapons that Saffron had unknowingly brought to the sacrifice, the very catalyst of the Phoenix's rebirth, its Flame, remained close, became bound to her, involved with her essence. The knots in her muscles and the dents in her flesh sealed away with slight shimmers. The damp scent of clay actually made its way through her nose, riding through her sinuses with nary a rumble or snort, bringing her to release a high, crooning sigh. She rolled to her side and pushed herself up to sit, drawing herself up to take in the newly articulated world of scent, until the skin at the ground picked up a low, sinuous rumble beneath her, climbing and rising. She settled her ears to the darkness and squinted, sniffing for a moment to catch the scent of rose, and violently upturned soil, as a wall of thorny vines erupted from the ground.

Saffron fired up to a standing position as the Phoenix Flame coursed through her, immediately taking off into a run. The circle that had encased her now trailed behind her as a waving banner of arcane symbols, held together with tiny points of light at its edges and junctures. The avalanche of vines blew across the long straightaway, tumbling into her path to bring her climbing and bounding between the wild coil of vegetation. Up and down became irrelevant as the bladelike thorns and crushing stalks curled over each other, filling in what space remained between them with impossible dense blooms. Saffron shrank down as the thorns closed in, and allowed her lids to settle, drawing in a breath that brought the white streak of light to dance across the bridge of her nose.

Her arms, back, chest and legs burst into ghostly fire as she leapt up through the thicket, following the phantom scents as her touch tore her a path through the thorns. Her touch left tinder, drowned plant rot, warped mutations and bizarre transformations in its wake. Change had become her weapon, her tool to escape from the onslaught of the Ghost Rose. The phantom fire began to trail down her body as a curtain as she reached the top of the vines, following a familiar hum in her vulpine ears. Off of a massive stalk shaped into a springboard by a quick series of rounded kicks and slaps of her soles, she leapt towards the beacon, following the pull of twin moons as the flame unfolded into a loose silver shirt, and starry black gauchos. She nearly trilled as the sounds of a flirty elf filtered through what sounded like the walls of a booth.

From the pull of two moons, she grabbed onto the shadow, and pulled herself into it, entering the inn from one of its innumerable side entrances in shadow.