Crying - The fox's weak voice trembles, interrupted by sobs. "I'm cold!" I place my massive front paw gently on the fox, but it feels searing hot. Turning my head, I witness a greenish liquid oozing from a wound in its head. The lightning strike must have run deeper than I thought. It's clear that time is running out for this poor creature; the wound is too severe, and the tissues are badly burned. Helplessness and self-loathing wash over me.
"Take me to my children, Wrist Strap!" The fox pleads, and without hesitation, I follow the fox's guidance, moving swiftly along the path.
Arriving at the entrance of the burrow, I'm met by a worried fox named Faur, who whines, "Mom, Mom, Mom, where were you?" The little foxes, tails tucked beneath their bellies, shake with fear, their only solace in their dying mother's presence.
"My dear children," the mother says, turning her head towards me, "your mother loves you, and she will always love you." With a sigh, she continues, "There was an accident while hunting. I was struck by lightning. Something inside me is broken, and if I survive, I will only be a burden to you." She looks at me with a solemn gaze. "Dragon is a friend, not a monster. It will protect you until you can fend for yourselves. I'm sure you'll be fine. I'm sad that I won't see my grandchildren, but wherever I'm headed, I'll think of you and try to protect you from my end, so you can lead long lives."
The female, the youngest, and the oldest foxes approach their mother, sharing intimate moments only passed down from parent to child, both among girls and boys.
As the poor fox's breathing hastens, silence falls upon us, punctuated by moans and tears. Slowly, her eyes close, never to open again. "Mom, mom, don't leave me, don't leave us," the sorrowful chorus sings.
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My heart aches, and guilt consumes me. Dragon tears fall onto the fox, and then, unexpectedly, a radiant light emanates from the dying creature. To my astonishment, the fox opens its eyes, rising without a trace of injury. Even the burned and missing fur has regrown. It's nothing short of a miracle. The fox family leaps onto their miraculously healed mother, showering her with joyous licks and kisses.
The entire family then clambers onto my paw, thanking me profusely. "Thank you for saving Mommy," they chorus.
I reply, still bewildered, "I was despondent and didn't do anything."
"Yes, it was you. There's a legend about your species that we pass down from generation to generation—that your tears can heal any ailment or condition. That's why your kind was hunted to extinction or imprisoned, to make you sad and steal your tears, according to the legend."
After sharing a satisfying meal with the fox family, I bid them farewell and turn my thoughts to my own family. I can't accept that it's all over, and a sense of purpose stirs within me. However, I lack any clear guidance on what to do next. Communication has never been my strong suit, and I find myself pondering how I managed to build a family despite my difficult personality. Work has always been my top priority, and I sought happiness within the confines of my profession, following in the footsteps of my parents—work first, then pleasure. That was our motto.
Meanwhile, in Aachen, Inspector Drick retrieves his phone. "Inspector Navaro, here. Regarding the missing person or possible homicide case in Belgium, I appreciate the data you've sent. I'll contact the family because we have a lead, and I'll forward the investigation report to you. The blood volume we found in the room is highly unusual; it exceeds what a human being could lose."
"Thank you, Inspector Navaro," Drick says, taking a drag from his cigarette. His smoke-filled office, reminiscent of the 80s, provides the only clarity as his head emerges from the darkness. Seated at his desk, he opens his computer and switches on the light of his old-fashioned metal lamp, casting a warm, comforting glow in the dim room.