The rain had eased to a drizzle by the time we reached our caamp again but the air was still thick and damp.
Master walks straight to the fire pit and lays the big fox down on a flat stone beside it. The carcass lands with a soft, wet thud, its red tail flopping limply over the edge. Blood still slowly drips from the bolt wound, mixing with the rain on the stone.
I immediately drop to all fours beside the fire, tail lashing once in determination. “I’ll fix it,” I mutter, voice a little embarrassed. “Watch me, Master. Your kitten can at least do this right.”
I lean in close, ears forward, and start poking at the fire with a stick. The fire is still alive just barely, a few stubborn orange embers glowing under a layer of wet ash and half-burned twigs. The wind shifts at the worst possible moment, blowing a gust straight through the camp. I hiss in frustration and shove more dry tinder in, blowing hard on the embers.
Big mistake.
A thick blast of white smoke erupts upward, rolling straight into my face. I cough, ears flattening, but I keep going, adding more twigs, brushing harder with my hands. The fire flares for half a second… then immediately chokes again turning into a proper smoky mess.
My tail lashes angrily behind me, slapping the grass. “Stupid… stupid rain,” I growl under my breath, cheeks burning under my wet fur. I keep brushing anyway, refusing to give up, even as the smoke gets thicker and starts drifting sideways toward Master and the dead fox.
I glance over my shoulder at him, blue eyes wide and a little sheepish, “It’s… it’s going,” I insist, voice thick and pouty. “Just a little smoky. That’s fine, right? Makes it feel more like a real camp. More… us.”
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I crawl back to him immediately, pressing my whole soaked body against his leg again, “Master can fix the fire better anyway,” I murmur against his leg, rubbing my cheek in slow, claiming circles. “But I tried. For you. Even if I made it all smoky and stupid…”
Master crouches beside the fire pit and takes over without a word. His hands move with that calm, effortless precision I love so much, shifting wet logs, blowing gently on the embers, feeding in drier twigs from the bundle he’d kept wrapped in cloth. The fire sputters, fights, then finally catches properly.
He straightens, reaches into his satchel, and pulls out the hunting iron dagger, “Butcher the fox while I keep the fire going.”
My ears snap forward. My tail lashes once in pure, delighted surprise, then curls high and proud behind me. He’s trusting me with this. Giving me the knife. Letting me provide for him properly. “Yes, Master,” I purr.
I take the dagger from his hand, letting my fingers brush his on purpose, claws grazing his skin just enough to feel him. Then I drop to all fours beside the dead father fox, tail wrapping twice around Master’s ankle so I’m still physically chained to him while I work.
The blade feels perfect in my grip.
I start with the same calm. First cut, right behind the jaw, sliding the iron in deep and clean. The hide parts. I peel it back in one smooth motion as I then begin precise, practiced slices along the belly, around the legs, separating the pelt in one beautiful piece that I lay aside like a trophy.
Blood runs warm over my hands, mixing with the rain still clinging to my fur, but my movements stay steady and sure. I then remove the organs neatly as the meat comes away in perfect strips.
When I’m finished, the fox is reduced to neat professional cuts laid out on the stone like something from a proper butcher’s stall in Merchant Cross.
I sit back on my heels, bloody dagger still in my hand, and look up at Master with wide, glowing blue eyes full of smug, spoiled pride. “See?” I murmur. “Your kitten can be useful. I did it perfectly… for you.”
I crawl forward immediately, pressing my whole blood streaked front against his leg again, face nuzzling hard into his thigh. “The fire’s still smoky,” I add softly, rubbing my cheek against him, “but the meat will taste even better that way… because I prepared it for you.”

