Chapter 9

They began walking once the sun had started to set and the temperature began to cool.

The shade of the old stone building had been a welcome reprieve—a good place to steal away and recover—but it wasn’t safe to spend the night there. It lay too close to both the city and the road for either of them to feel comfortable.

So as the day faded and the shadows stretched, they headed north. For now, they wanted to avoid roads and people, at least until Ben could be properly attired.

For several miles they walked. At first the soil was rich and soft, farmland making for easy travel. They followed trails through fields of grain, beans, and other tall crops, using the plants as cover when needed but luckily avoiding any unwanted encounters.

Eventually the fields gave way to grassland. This, too, was easy to cross, with stalks so tall that Fuku could bounce along unseen beneath their seed-laden tops.

The tall grass rippled in the breeze, and only when Fuku sprang upward could he glimpse above it. Trees—sparse at first—grew more numerous the farther they traveled from city and farms, the land now broken by small creeks and hills crowned with swaying mulberry and olive trees.

They stopped for the day along one of the creeks, where several large trees thrived on the life-giving water. A flat patch of short grass beneath a towering tree overlooked the small gorge carved by the stream below. The air smelled of fish and flowers. From the branches and detritus nearby, they built a small fire.

“Tonight, we will cook and have a real meal,” Fuku declared.

But first—Fuku was on a quest.

“Ben. These leaves look like they might work for my Disappear-leaf skill,” he said as they arrived. He bounced higher than usual and plucked a leaf from high on a branch.

Before his feet even touched the ground, Fuku slapped the leaf onto his head—and vanished.

“Looks like those will work,” Ben said as he watched the leaf drift gently to the ground… then float farther into the grove.

A now-distant Tanuki voice replied, “They will indeed. And this big tree… could it be?”

Ben strode after the invisible Tanuki, following the sound of his voice while pushing aside low-hanging branches. His eyes caught on a rather large spider clinging to his horn, its web now a ruined mess from the path he’d just walked through.

Ben shuddered. Seven hundred years in the Labyrinth hadn’t been long enough to conquer his revulsion for the eight-legged monsters. He understood they were an important piece of the environment, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the chills running up his spine. With a grunt of distaste, he gingerly used another branch to wipe the creature away and tossed the stick to the ground before walking on.

“I really think these will work, Ben. Can you give me a boost?” came Fuku’s voice from just ahead.

Ben stepped through a small ring of saplings and into a clearing. A circle of stones already stood there from some previous traveler’s fire, and the space was relatively free of rocks or other obstacles. Several logs lay on their sides as makeshift seats.

Ben quickly concluded that this must be a convenient traveler's stop and was glad they had the opportunity to stay here for the night, though he hoped no one else would show up unannounced.

“I have to get a leaf from as high as I can reach—that’s the rule. So since you’re here with me, I’ll have to get one from way up there,” Fuku said.

“You do know that I can’t see where you’re pointing, right? You’re still invisible,” Ben replied with a small chuckle. The childlike enthusiasm in Fuku’s voice was unmistakable and brought a smile to his face.

“Oh, yeah.” There was a small pop, and the grass around the now-visible Tanuki rippled as if stirred by a tiny gust of wind. He stood pointing up at the largest tree with one paw while tossing the used leaf to the ground with the other.

“Up there. I’ll need to get four leaves from this tree—as high as I can reach,” Fuku said, bouncing with excitement.

Ben didn’t understand, but decided explanations could come later. He walked over to where Fuku was bouncing and picked the Tanuki up as requested.

“That branch there—it looks like it’ll be the easiest to grab from,” Fuku directed, deflating his sack (to Ben’s relief) and pointing toward the branch he wanted.

Holding Fuku up was no challenge for Ben. The Tanuki, while thick and round, carried most of his size in fluff, so he looked larger than he really was. And Ben’s Minotaur body had been built for strength; though he’d never truly tested its limits, he was fairly sure no human could match him.

He lifted Fuku as high as he could, and the Tanuki scrambled up with surprising agility to balance on Ben’s palms. From there, he plucked three leaves.

“I can only hold three at a time, and I don’t know if these will work—so I’m going to drop one, okay?” Fuku announced.

Ben didn’t quite understand the warning, but he answered, “Okay?”

A leaf slipped from Fuku’s paw and drifted down. It was larger than the ones he’d gathered earlier, but to Ben’s eyes it was still just a leaf… until it neared the ground.

Poof!

The leaf expanded with a burst of wind, swelling rapidly until it spanned six broad paces in every direction. Ben finally understood why these leaves were so special—and why Fuku had warned him. This was the same kind of leaf Fuku had used to free him. It was like a flying boat.

The gust buffeting his feet wasn’t enough to topple him on its own. But combined with the shock of the sudden explosion, the awkward angle of holding his arms straight overhead, and the not-so-insignificant weight of a chubby Tanuki perched on top…

Ben tipped backward.

He stepped back to catch himself, but in doing so lowered his arms. He looked up just in time for a brown-and-tan striped tail to smack him across the face. He jerked his head back—getting his horns clear at the last second—and windmilled his arms.

Crash. Ben hit the ground. Oomph. Fuku landed on top of him.

“Ow,” they both said in unison.

They lay there for a moment, blinking, hearts pounding as their brains caught up with what had just happened.

“At least we know they work,” Fuku said at last.

“But you only grabbed two more, right?” Ben asked.

“Nope. I snagged the third right after I let go of the other one.” Fuku turned, still sprawled on Ben’s chest.

“Well, that’s good. At least I don’t have to pick you up again,” Ben muttered wryly, his vision still blurry from his head hitting the ground first.

“Well…” Fuku began.

Ben lifted his head and angled his eyes down at him, his expression pure weary disbelief.

Fuku caught Ben’s stare and tried to look ashamed, but it didn’t last.

“I’m just kidding,” he said, flashing a toothy grin.

Ben smiled back as best he could and rolled his eyes.

It was in that moment something completely unexpected happened. Fuku’s snout darted forward, and Ben felt their noses bump. His mouth was still slightly open from his exasperated expression when a small, wet tongue swiped his lip, slipped inside, grazed his tongue, and licked his upper palate.

In the next instant, the sensation was gone.

Blinking in surprise, Ben watched Fuku push himself up and off his chest with a quiet, “Thanks, Ben.” Then the Tanuki darted toward the edge of the clearing, gathering sticks for the fire—or maybe just avoiding eye contact. Ben wasn’t sure which.

He didn’t turn to look, but heard Fuku scamper away on his feet. Fuku rarely walked, so the fact that he ran told Ben he was probably embarrassed by his own boldness.

Ben was embarrassed too, though for different reasons.

He just lay there. He still hurt a little, but more than that he was startled. The leaf, the fall, and then… was it a kiss? He assumed so, though it was nothing like what he remembered kissing to be. 

Though considering they were both more beast than human—his muzzle like a bull’s, Fuku’s more canine—it made a strange sort of sense that kissing would be different.

He really didn’t know how to respond. He knew Fuku liked him, but that had been far more forward than expected. Yet the more he replayed it in his mind, the more he put himself in Fuku’s paws, the more it made sense.

If he were the smaller one, just saved by the larger, and if he set aside the gender roles drilled into him as a human… maybe it hadn’t been romantic at all. Maybe it was simply a friendly sign of appreciation. And with their elongated snouts, the slip of the tongue could have just been a matter of logistics.

He’d been licked by dogs in the past… was this similar?

‘That’s all it was… right?’

He finally closed his mouth, still feeling where Fuku had licked him. He thought he could even taste the difference in their saliva.

And honestly… he didn’t mind it.

***

“Are you just going to lie there all night?” Fuku called after a few minutes, dropping a bundle of twigs into the ring of stones.

“Uhh… no. Sorry.” Ben pushed himself up and brushed the dirt from his hide. “What would you have me do?”

Fuku studied him for a moment. His ears twitched, tail swished, and his eyes flicked toward the ground—then, as he looked back, his usual quirky smile returned. Ben couldn’t help but notice the faint trace of embarrassment beneath it.

“You have all the muscles. Go find some big pieces of wood for the fire.”

Ben nodded and turned away in search of a dead tree. He wasn’t sure why he felt so distracted. Perhaps I hit my head harder than I thought, he mused. Surely it wasn’t the kiss.

Still, his tongue absently brushed the roof of his mouth.

It didn’t take long before he found an old, long-dead stump. The tree itself had been gone for years, leaving only a broken and splintered base jutting from the ground.

“This should work,” he muttered, setting his hands against the wood.

The stump resisted his first pull. He gritted his teeth, reset his stance, and pulled again, muscles straining as he leaned his full weight into it. A low crack groaned from beneath the soil, followed by another and another—deep, muffled pops of roots snapping one by one.

Ben adjusted his footing, hooves digging in as thick, woody tendrils tore free from the earth, trailing clumps of dirt and stone. The sound built until, with a final shuddering tear, the whole stump wrenched loose from the ground.

He heaved the gnarled mass into his arms. Its weight and ungainly shape forced him to carry it in front of him, roots dangling and dripping soil as he trudged back to camp.

“Will this do?” Ben asked as he lumbered back into the clearing.

“What in the Kitsune’s nine tails is that?” Fuku blurted.

With a thud that shook the ground, Ben dropped the stump in the clearing, careful to set it far enough from the fire pit that it wouldn’t accidentally catch.

“It’s a stump,” he said with semi-snark. “What does it look like? Firewood, like you asked for.”

“And how are we supposed to burn that? I mean… sure, it’ll burn, but we’d have to sit here a week before it went out!” Fuku practically yelled in exasperation.

This time it was Ben whose expression carried all the mirth. He simply smiled at his frustrated little companion as Fuku circled the stump, muttering.

“This… how? Why did you…? I can’t even…” Fuku mumbled, inspecting every side as if it might reveal a secret.

Ben decided his friend deserved an explanation. He lifted one of his hooves and slammed it down on a thick, dirt-caked root.

Crack!

The root snapped clean through. The weight and sharp edge of Ben’s hoof sheared off a decent length of the root, its diameter nearly the size of Ben's calf.

“This would be easier if we had an axe,” Ben said, “but I’ll make do.”

Fuku leapt back at the sudden motion, staring open-mouthed. “You… you’re… I mean… wow. Just, wow.”

Ben beamed, pleased to have finally found a way to leave Fuku speechless.

Fuku edged closer, shaking his head in disbelief. He reached out and placed a paw on Ben’s leg, tracing along the curve of muscle beneath the hide. “I knew you were strong, but…” He trailed off.