A Fox's Love - 2. The Scryer

The dragon stared at the bowl of water, growling. He didn’t know why he tried anymore. Ryan would not be found through scrying. But he was going crazy, sitting in his cabin in the mountains with nothing to do. There was only so much work he could put into escaping this realm at once, and he had reached his limit yesterday. There was no way he’d be working on it in the next month.

And so he found other ways to occupy his time. Like scrying for his fox. But it failed every time, the water refusing to show him the face he desired above all else to see.

He had sent the cat, Acheron, away over a century ago, to watch over his daughter, Moon. And now he had no one to speak to, keeping the other beings who found their way here at an arm’s length. Daniel wasn’t sure what had happened to him. Time seemed to have no meaning for him any more. He was nearing six hundred years old, and he should be showing some sign of his age, but he still looked like his hundred year old self, young and hale.

“Elaun eim Ryan,” he commanded tiredly, holding a hand over the bowl.

The water rippled, and the dragon gasped. It was the most reaction he had seen from the water in years.

The ripples subsided, and he screamed in frustration, sending the bowl flying across the room, where it shattered into a dozen pieces.

Holding his head in his hands, Daniel thought. Something was blocking his scrying attempts. But the fox was alive. If he wasn’t, the dragon would know. But where was he? Was he even in the same time?

Daniel’s head shot up. There was a way for him to view the outside world. If Acheron had made it to Earth, he could use the cat to scry.

Repairing the bowl with a muttered word, the dragon filled it with water.

“Elaun eim Acheron,” he said, and the water rippled again, before clearing and revealing a young kitsune laying with a dragon.

“Moon…” Daniel breathed.

He hadn’t seen his daughter in ages, since he had said his farewells to Hana in Kyoto.

Hana…

Daniel let the spell fade, then cast another.

“Elaun eim Hana.”

More ripples, then the water turned dark. Daniel’s head spun, and he lay against the table, next to the bowl. She was gone then.

The spell faded again, and Daniel stood up, walking outside. He sat beneath the willow tree, a hand running along its bark.

“Thank you,” he murmured, eyes closed. “Thank you for everything.”

Hot tears fell from his eyes, and he didn’t bother washing them away. No one would see him here. No one would judge. He was free to mourn.