Althea awoke to the smell of cooking meat. Slowly opening her eyes, she found herself at the bottom of a rocky ravine, leaning against a rock face. Her blanket from her bedroll was covering her torso and the front of her equine half. Looking up, squinting, she saw the morning’s sun working to beat away the thick fog of the night. Groggy and disoriented, she began to get up slowly, wondering why everything felt so sore. What the hell happened last night? Getting up didn’t seem so imperative anymore. She looked around to find the source of the cooking breakfast smell. She saw a fox tending a small fire with meat on a spit and a tiny iron skillet balanced on rocks. A cooking fox?!

“Well good morning there, sleepy hooves,” said the fox tiredly. His ears were slack, whiskers drooped, and tail to the ground.

“What the f… oof.” began the centaur, stopping when she felt the pain in her side, causing her ears to pin back. Suddenly, her memories came back to her. The annoying fox, the keep, the ogres, the flight in the night. She thought self-consciously, I let the fox ride on my back last night. The guys back home can never hear of this. I’ll never be able to live this down if they find out. I’ve got to ditch this fox. Preferably in a deep ditch.

“I’m not quite sure what you’re going for there, but you’re welcome” the fox said with a little smirk, turning back to the fire. “I’m not used to cooking so much for a behemoth like yourself. With those wounds, though, a good meal has got to help.”

Looking down, she remembered the sword wounds from the ogres. The bandage she had wrapped on her left arm at the keep had been redone and cleaned up. Looking back, the cut on her flank behind her barding had been bandaged as well. That left her abdomen… Pulling up the blanket, she was surprised to find that her armor breastplate was gone. Her torso was covered only with her undergarments and the bandages wrapped around her. This damn fox took my armor off! Blood still seeped through the fresh bindings. These are bandages from my pack!

“You took my armor off! And rifled through my pack! What the hell, fluffy!?” she snorted indignantly. The snort immediately led to a sharp pain in her side, softening her countenance.

Giving her side-eye, he retorted “Once again, you’re welcome for not bleeding to death last night. I told you the supplies I got would help. I didn’t have big enough bandages for you, so I had to get bold.” He picked up a miniature, aged book, clearly made for small hands or paws. He gestured with it, showing her the cover, so she squinted to read the tiny print on the cover - ‘First Aid for the Battling Voxa’. “You’ll need stitches, though, to heal that up better. I wrapped you up as tight as I could.” The fox shrugged as he continued to tend to breakfast. Looking again, she could see what looked like a skinned rabbit over the fire. The tiny iron skillet had cut potatoes sauteing in oil. Occasionally, the fox pulled out herbs from the bag to season the meat and potatoes.

Stunned, Althea looked at the ground, pausing to gather her thoughts. This all just took a turn for the weird. A cooking fox named Foxey bandaged my wounds. Struggling to remember the hazy night, more details came back. The fox had a little wooden house that I think he torched himself. He... I… had him ride on my back to because he has dark vision. Shaking her head slowly in disbelief, she remembered more. This is even worse than that night in Fairhaven. At least I blacked out for that. Raising her head back up, she gave the fox a quizzical look, tail swishing slightly. “First off, what’s a ‘Voxa’? Second, where’d the food come from?” More slowly, thoughtfully, she continued the questioning. “Third, why are you helping me? You should have abandoned me with the ogres chasing us.”

Foxey thought about this as he finished the cooking. He started divvying the food, placing the lion’s share of rabbit and potatoes onto her camping tin (Also pulled from her pack! What didn’t he go through?) and much less on a much smaller, tarnished old tin from his pack. Next a small, dark hunk of bread came out of his bag and a jar of strawberry preserves. “Do you want some strawberry jam?” he asked, holding up the jar.

“Um, no, thank you. I’m allergic to strawberries.” She was still confounded, not sure what to do with this. Her face still showed her wondering. “Well?”

He shrugged again, cutting some bread for her tin. He took some for himself, spreading the jam with a tiny knife. Carrying the tin to where she still lay down, she held it up for her, which she took, still unsure of the situation. “Well, let’s start from the beginning. I’m a Voxa. Not a fae or a cursed creature like you called me, but a genuine thinking, talking being born this way.” He sat down, thoughtfully starting on his food with a tiny fork and knife. “Second, I chased down the rabbit after I had bandaged you up. I was stalking around above the ravine looking for signs of the ogres and smelled an opportunity. The rest of the food was from my pantry. I figured I could do better than your field rations.”

Althea smelled her plate, looking at it suspiciously. Am I really going to eat something prepared by an animal? From his pantry? Feeling a digestive growl (centaurs have quite the complex gastrointestinal system), she sniffed again. Smells… surprisingly acceptable. Is that rosemary and thyme? Meh, it probably won’t kill me. As she started to eat the roast rabbit meat, she was pleasantly surprised by the flavor. Althea then noticed that the fox was watching her. “Am I that interesting to you?”

With a strange look, he replied. “Well, it’s been a… long time since I cooked for someone else. I was looking forward to your reaction. If I’m going to do something, I should make sure to do it right. What’s the point otherwise?”

Althea was amazed at the simple yet profound statement. A philosophical fox chef. Maybe I got my head knocked around more than I realized. Getting her canteen out from her pack, she took a sip. “Why are you risking yourself helping me?”

Foxey looked down at his plate, poking around with his fork. Not looking up, he said, ”Let’s just say I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. You needed help, so I helped you.” Never mind that I’m the one that led you to danger in the first place. Scattering his food with his fork some more, he looked up into her eyes. “You’ve never heard of the Voxa before?”

She shook her head slowly as she chewed.

With a touch of despair, the fox pressed on. “Ever met a talking fox, or any other talking animals in your travels?”

“Never.”

Looking down again, Foxey asked again, feeling the exhaustion from the long night and a sinking suspicion becoming real. “Have you ever even heard of any talking foxes, or any other talking animals?”

Seeing that the normally snarky fox was getting hit hard by this, she tried to choose her words carefully. “I was taught in school that talking animals used to- I mean, do exist, but that they’re very rare, mainly living on the other side of the sea. There were wars in the past that, uh, affected their population.”

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Watching his sad response, she tried another approach. “I’m sure your kind might try to stay unnoticed. You know other talking foxes, I’m sure.”

He continued to stare at his tin, ears drooped. “Just my parents.” He looked up again with an odd look on his face, eyes scrunched up, ears up, like he was going through old memories in his mind. “I did meet a Voxa rabbit once as she was travelling through the forest…”

Sensing the awkwardness of the situation, Althea shifted, deciding to change the subject. With her surprisingly good meal finished, she started examining her bandages more. “You said you think this needs stitches?”

Shuffling to find his book again, he opened it up to show her a diagram. “The wound is open. I got the bleeding to stop with some herbs, but it won’t stay closed.” He reached into his bag again, pulling out a tiny needle and some thread on a bobbin. “I have this, but I don’t know if it’s the right kind. I’m… not that good at sewing, either.”

If this fox was a seamstress as well, I think I would have lost it. “I’ve got some experience with this. I’ll just look…” As she pulled the bandage off, the sight nearly made her lose her first fox-cooked meal. “Oh f&$%! Those must be some good magic fox herbs. I’ve got to sew this up before I get moving.” What color she had regained was lost, back to pale. It’s either let this freaky fox sew on me, or I’ve got to do this myself. Let’s see how tough that training really made me. As she turned to get into her pack the pain hit her again. Bad idea. Sighing, ears down, looking at the little fox, she decided. “Look in my pack and you’ll see a flask. Get it for me.”

Dutifully, he got it for her without any snark, curious as to what it was. She opened the flask top and poured some of the contents on her wound, leaning back to try to keep it all from running away. “Oh f&$% s@&*% son of a bitch that burns!” she cried out, head back, ears flat down, face scrunched in pain.

Foxey backed up, ears back, confused. Looking at her, puzzled and scared, he asked “What in the world was that?”

“Some good highland whisky. It helps to keep gangrene away.” Still trying to shake off the pain, she took a few swigs herself. “And control the pain.” This does not count as day drinking, she thought, knowing of what some of the matrons back home would say. “Alright, time to light this up.” Capping the flask, she gestured to the fox. Timidly, he pawed the needle to her. Staring intently, she put the first stitch in her abdomen, the wound right near the bottom of her human torso ribcage. She jumped as the needle went through, but she kept going, knowing she couldn’t make it out of the forest without closing the wound.

Watching in amazement, Foxey watched as Althea stitched her wound up, wincing and cursing every time she pierced herself with the needle. I wonder if dad ever had to do this. He was covered in so many scars, disrupting his fur. Shaking his head, he knew he couldn’t be like that. Mama always called me a gentle soul, upsetting dad. He said I needed to learn to be a fighter like him, but mom kept delaying him training me. She finished the job and started putting the bandages back.

Grabbing her breastplate from the ground in her good hand, she started the arduous process. Leaning back, she straightened her forelegs, getting into a sitting position. Sore, but everything checks out. She tested each foreleg, looking at her hooves. My right front hoof will need reshod. My new rubber sneak hooves are gone too. Great… Next came the hard part. She swung her body weight forward, getting her hind end up so she could straighten her hind legs out. She felt unsteady, stumbling sideways towards the ravine wall, steadying herself with her arms, feeling the pain in her side and flank. Alright, managed to get up. Not going to die in a ravine with an endangered species today. She took a few high steps, making sure everything was still moving right. Humans make that look so easy.

She noticed the fox was looking at her again, having witnessed the ordeal of an equine standing back up. He seemed to be holding back tears, head and ears drooped, tail between his legs. I think I just told him he may be the last of his kind. This gave Althea pause. So far, I seem to be the only one of my specific kind, properly… “Never saw that before? It’s not easy for us centaurs to get up from the ground.”

The fox gave a weak smile, wiping his eyes with a paw. “That does seem rather difficult for you to stand up. I never thought that your legs might work differently. I’m confused, though. I thought two-legs like to cover those up?” The fox was pointing at Althea’s chest.

Looking down, Althea saw that her undergarments weren’t garmenting her so well anymore. Blushing, she lifted her armor back up to cover herself and turned around, nearly trampling the fox. “Not a word, fuzzball!” She fixed her clothes and buckled the breastplate back on. Getting a better look at it, she saw that her armor was ruined. Great, there’s more gold gone. At least it did its job, and I didn’t die. Yet anyways.

“Maybe it’s because you all don’t have proper fur” the fox laughed.

“Shut up!” Althea’s nose flared, face getting even more red.

Deciding to change the subject, Foxey kicked dirt into the fire to snuff it out. “Time to go. There’s a human village we could get to tomorrow tonight if we take the game trails. We’ve got to avoid the main road. I put some fake tracks down in the night to confuse those dumb ogres – they’ll think we’re headed to the mountains on the coast.” The fox reached behind the snuffed fire and grabbed Althea’s missing horseshoe, tossing it to her. “This came off last night – I put it to good use.” The horseshoe bounced off her side, thrown poorly and too low.

“Let’s hope your navigation is better than your aim.” Althea straightened her pack out, getting herself back into travelling condition. “And by the way – don’t ever go through my pack again!”

“Alright, I’ll let you bleed out next time. Remember, my navigation saved your wide load last night. Just try to avoid more sword wounds, huh?” Bantering with the centaur was helping to not dwell on the implications of the night and morning. The house is gone, ogres want to kill me, and I may be the last Voxa left alive on this earth. This jackass centaur is the closest thing I have to a friend. He put the last of the cooking gear into his pack, and as he went to put it on his back, he had a thought. Looking into the satchel, he thought about his father’s dagger. He pulled it from the bag, cold and heavy in his paw.

As he turned the blade, the intricate carving on the pommel caught the morning sunlight. Light seemed to dance around his family crest, a shield with a parchment scroll still bright. Two crossed spears adorned the shield emblem, while being surrounded by nine fox tails. He flicked the edge with his paw. The blade was still wickedly sharp after all these years, ready for action. This is the destiny I’ve avoided for far too long.

Althea watched in curiosity as the fox readied himself. He’s got the smallest bag of holding I’ve ever seen or heard of. That blade looks like it was made by a master craftsman, and clearly not for human hands. Both items are ancient looking, though, old as dirt. As the fox slowly pondered the blade in his paws, Althea noticed he began to profusely bleed from one of his forepaws. Foxey dropped the blade and frantically started licking his paw, trying to stop the bleeding. Sighing, Althea lowered her face to her palm. And he’s a &#%^ing idiot.

“Bandage that up and let’s get going.” Althea said with scorn. I thought this guy was hardcore enough to torch his own place. Now I realize he’s an idiot. Sighing to herself, she had to admit, he’s an idiot that saved my life twice now.

After a quick bandage job for the paw, the pair cautiously left the ravine. Foxey walked on his hind legs to give his paw some time to scab under the dressing. He eyed the blade on his hip, now safely back in its scabbard, with caution. With no sign of the ogres, the fox led the way out of the forest.

As they walked on, Althea considered what had happened. He licked his paw to stop the bleeding. That’s what animals do. He used an animal first aid guide to bandage me up last night… In horror, she regarded the fox still walking upright in front of her. “Last night… how did you stop my bleeding?”

The fox answered nonchalantly, not looking back at her as they walked. “You know, the traditional way. Clean water, herbs from the book, all the normal things.”

“That’s all?” she said doubtfully.

“Are you sure you really want to know?” he said looking back, brow arched, whiskers waggling.

She thought about it, and they continued in silence.

“Phineas, by the way.” Said the fox, breaking the silence.

“Say what?” said Althea, unsure what she had just heard.

“My real name is Phineas. Foxey Loxey was my father’s name.”