The Witch and the Fox (Part II)

The Witch and The Fox.

The woods were painted in shades of red and purple as the sun set and the Witch followed her crow through the trees as he lead her to the not-fox.

These were her woods and she strode fearlessly through them as if she owned them, knowing deep in her bones that she was the scariest thing in them. Her lips quirked in a smile as the thought occurred that reading Discworld novels as a young woman had shaped her view of witches both before and after she realised she was one. It was all about belief and what you did. I think I am witch so therefore I am. It had taken a long time to admit even to herself that she was different then those around her, she always felt the odd one out, the black sheep, and it wasn’t until she was old enough to know better that she finally did know herself better.

Cornix hopped down onto the path in front of her, wings spread, and made a human-sounding shush noise at her. She almost tripped over him he had stopped so suddenly and was frowning down at him before realising where they were. The small grotto near her home had become her official shrine. It was perfectly hidden in a clump of trees, hedges made of hawthorn and blackthorn had made a natural barrier around it in a perfect semi-circle, while a stream burbled through the middle of it, the sun only shining through at the peak of the day just as the moon only shone down in the very dark of the night. The plants that grew there were varied and plentiful, she used a lot of them in her spells and potions, they were all the more potent for being from this magical grove. It was her happy place as well as a sacred one and so she had built a stone shrine dedicated to the goddesses inside it where she would come at least every full moon to pray to them, ask their favour or just to shoot the shit in a holy sort of way. If anyone ever found it they would know a witch worked here, not that many people would or even could find it, however.

So the not-fox had made her shrine its home? Did it know this place was important? Could it feel the magic that permeated the very air of this place? She could, she could almost feel her curls start to frizz at the touch of magic. Shooing the bird out of her way, she toed her boots off and padded barefoot into the space, her eyes immediately finding the ball of red and black fluff under the stone table, the altar holding her candles, offerings and statues. She unfocused her eyes slightly and saw the magic shimmering around the sleeping fox, she squatted down to have a better look at the creature, squinting one eye and then she clicked her tongue.

“What did you do little fox?” She breathed, trying not to startle the creature.

The fox’s head shot up and it froze in fear at the sight of her. It’s pupils widened in its yellow eyes and its jaw dropped open to pant. It wasn’t focused on her though, not exactly.

It was the hat.

Anyone with eyes could see she was a witch. An animal wouldn’t know that but a people would. Her hat was a clear symbol of witchiness. Its why she wore it. She wanted anyone who looked at her to think “yup that’s a witch alright. She’s got the hat and everything” and it worked. Part of magic was belief and if people believed she was a witch it made the magic working easier. The fox was staring at the hat. She smiled and she knew it was the kind smile she reserved only for animals and children, she held out her hands to show they were empty.

“I only want to help little fox.” Her lips quirked in a smile and she shrugged one shoulder, “not-fox”

The fox twitched at her voice but it didn’t run. The Witch dropped from her squat onto her arse and sat cross-legged, hands on her knees, a calm yoga pose, she tilted her head and sighed.

“The trick with this kind of magic, little not-fox” and the fox’s ears twitched “is that it is your belief that you deserve this curse which is what is powering it” she said softly, waving her hand in the air between them, feeling the construction of the spell. That was the devilish trick of this curse, whoever had cast this had clearly known the not-fox would punish itself. They must have been truly angry to cast it and knew the not-fox well enough to know it would keep the spell going without any of their input. The final awful twist was that even if someone found the not-fox they would forget it as soon as they walked away. How dreadful. And very, very clever. She didn’t want to be impressed but she was.

The Witch pulled on a string of magic in the air and the fox leapt up suddenly as if it felt it, it didn’t run but it was wary and ready to flee. Under where it had slept, the Witch could see that the not-fox had been gathering quite the treasure trove. Shiny pieces of paper sat among what looked like an old blanket she had left outside one night and was that…yes she could identify several of her missing socks in amongst the debris, the sock-fox-not fox had been stealing human things, her things, to build a nest for itself. Clearly the fox knew it was not truly a fox in there, at least not entirely. This was a good start to breaking the curse. How long had it been like this though, she wondered. The fox made a gekkering sound, the noise almost like an aggressive query and she realised she had muttered that thought out loud, although the high pitched noise sounded almost like a human scream and she nearly laughed. So that’s what the fox says.

Holding out a hand, the laughter still showing on her lips, the witch smiled “Let me help you, not-fox” she said again and the fox lowered its head with a low rumble of a growl, its lip curled upwards, it kept growling as it extended its thick, furry neck and sniffed at the Witch’s fingers. She held still as the Fox huffed a breath through its nose as if clearing it before it sat back on its haunches, the growling stopped and it cocked its head at her as if to ask “so what now itchy witch?” It still looked wary but at least it wasn’t running away.

The Witch put her hands back in her lap and just stared, what now indeed? It was a complex working and it wouldn’t be easy to unravel but she could do it, with time anyway. The fox moved suddenly, it was in front of her and bumping her hand with its pointed head, lifting it and shoving its head under her hand like a cat wanting stroking. The Witch nearly smiled until she felt the pull on her own magic, the fox…blurred and in its place was a naked woman, dirty and bruised, looking at her with huge yellow eyes. The Witch’s hand rested on the woman’s hair.

“Oh…!” They both said at the same time recoiling from each other.

The not-fox turned back into a fox and the Witch just stared.

Interesting.