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TAMMY'S SURPRISE
Freya stood at the bottom of the stairway down the cliffs. The looming rock faces made her feel shorter than she was. The wind whipping her light hair painfully against her face was also making her nose run. She sniffed, then wished she hadn’t, as she was assaulted by the stench of rotting seaweed.
Fenris’s teeth, I wish I had packed a handkerchief to cover my nose with. Now I know how Bilbo Baggins felt. Who knew handkerchiefs were so vital?
She surveyed the rocky beach before her, searching for any sign of her sister, as she had done every day of the past winter.
Freya knew that there wasn’t much chance that her sister would turn up here again, but she felt that she had to try. She shifted uncomfortably on her rocky perch. She was going to have to get closer to the sea if she wanted to survey the whole beach. Gritting her teeth, she leaped from one slab of rock to another, wishing the grey stone wasn’t quite so slippery and the sea not so close. She didn’t want to risk being taken herself, no matter how unlikely that was. One foot skidded on landing, and she lurched, trying to regain her balance. A step sideways, an unbalanced rock teetered, and she fell, her muscles tensing painfully in anticipation of the impact. Unexpectedly, she landed on gritty sand, coarse and brown under her outstretched fingers, but infinitely preferable to landing on rock.
“Oof. I need chocolate.”
Lucky I have some, these days.
Freya turned around so she was sitting on the damp sand, fumbled in her pocket and found a somewhat battered square wrapped in gold foil. She brushed a few crumbs of sand off the precious package and peeled the foil off, the thin metal delightfully smooth to her fingers after the sandy landing. Biting off an edge of the chocolate, Freya savoured the morsel as it melted on her tongue. Cocoa overriding a hint of caramel, vanilla, a touch of salt that might have come from the nearby sea or from the chocolate itself.
This is why I don’t want to survive off foraged food all the time. Chocolate is much better than salad in a crisis.
Her chocolate-aided recovery was interrupted by the unwelcome splash of waves on her trouser-covered legs. She scrambled to her feet.
“Alright, I’m looking. No need to get watery with me.” Freya no longer felt silly addressing the waves. She knew there was a goddess there – and maybe her sister, too. Pocketing the remaining chocolate, she resumed her slithery progress towards the far end of the beach, where a long-fallen piece of cliff blocked her view.
Rounding the obstacle at last, Freya paused in shock. She had not found her sister this time. But she had found... puppies? A thin whimpering reached her ears. Or was that far-off gulls? It was hard to tell with the constant rumbling of the sea telling its tale of unseen tumbling rocks.
Freya bent over the pile of puppies. Surely it was too cold here on the beach for such young animals. Her hair immediately fell forward into her face, obscuring her view. She pushed it back impatiently, and it fell forward again. Freya gave an irritated huff, and shoved it behind her ears once more.
Maybe I should just cut my hair off, if it’s going to be so annoying. Except then I’d look more like Tammy. I guess I’ll leave it.
She transferred her attention to the small beings in front of her.
“What are you little ones doing here? It’s a lonely place for puppies. And where’s your Mum?”
She looked around. No sign of a dog anywhere. Or... she looked more closely at the small heap of wriggling, whining bodies. They stilled and looked back at her with shining dark eyes. Their large ears twitched towards her. Not puppies.
“Are you fox kits? I’m sure you don’t belong on a beach, whatever you are.”
Fox kits might also mean she was in danger – were they true foxes, or were-foxes? She had no way of telling unless an adult turned up. On cue, feet crunched on the sandy strip of the main beach. Freya backed away until she tripped on the ubiquitous rocks.
Ow.
She shuffled behind a larger than average rock.
I hope the seaweed smell overwhelms the smell of me.
The rock didn’t provide much camouflage, but some cover was probably better than none. She peered around the edge of the rock. The figure who appeared was somehow familiar, a big man with red-blond hair. A were-fox from the local clan. She tried not to breath, though she thought she’d probably been spotted - or smelt. All the same, Freya felt insulted when the blond man totally ignored her, striding directly to the kits. He crouched over them as Freya had done, sniffed loudly two or three times, and began gathering the kits up into his arms.
Freya decided that being ignored was worse than any alternative right now – after all, this was just one were. And his hands were too full of baby fox for him to attack her, if he didn’t abide by their uneasy truce. She stood up and picked her way over to him.
“Excuse me? Are those yours?” she asked.
The man looked at her at last, and Freya was startled by the grief evident on his face. He was relatively young, but deep lines marred what had probably been a handsome face. Freya suddenly remembered where she had seen him before: supporting Tammy before the sea-goddess took her. This is Tammy’s were-fox boyfriend, the one she abandoned us for.
“You must be her sister,” he said.
“If you mean Tammy, then yes.”
“I smelt you earlier.”
Way to make a girl feel special. I am so going to change deodorants.
“Well, good for your nose then. I asked if the kits were yours.”
The big man nodded.
“More mine than anyone’s. But can’t you smell your sister on them?”
Freya stared.
“No. Around here, I smell the sea. And a bit of fox, I guess.”
The man shook his head.
“They smell of her. She must have been here, and I missed her.” He bit off his words, mouth turned down, his anguish apparent. Freya found herself thawing in the face of such strong emotion. He seemed to be genuinely sorry about Tammy’s loss.
“You and me both. Did she leave these kits then?”
“She must have done. They smell of her,” he repeated. “I will raise them in her memory.” The blond man clutched the kits closer to him.
“But what about Tammy? If she was here, where is she now?” Freya looked around wildly, as though her sister would appear magically.
“I can only guess she has gone back to Nehalennia,” he sighed.
“That b- that goddess has seriously mucked up our lives,” said Freya.
“On that, we are agreed,” he said.
Freya looked around more closely. No sign of a goddess here. But a short line of footprints led away towards the sea. Freya followed the prints, and found a patch of wet sand inscribed with words and pictures.
“There’s a message here,” she called. “Something about shared care, I’m guessing from the pictures of foxes and humans. And... I think it’s from Tammy. You should see this.”
Juggling kits, the blond man looked at her as though she were a person, at last. Clutching the kits to him with difficulty - they squirmed - he hastened over to her. Together, they puzzled over the message.
I wish Tammy was better at drawing. Though I guess it’s hard to draw messages in the sand.
A series of line drawings were scrawled across the sand. There was a foxy-looking thing, then an arrow, followed by a similar thing but with lines on its neck. Two stick figures towered over the foxy thing. Only one of them had a tail.
“Looks like we’d better work together,” Freya said.
“Yes. Will you help me carry them home?” asked the blond man.
“Of course.” Freya picked her way over the rocks and held out her hands. When she grasped one kit, it tried to nip her.
Why couldn’t Tammy have left kittens?
“Does this mean I’m an aunt to foxes?”
“Were-foxes. They only change when they’re older,” he said.
I don’t remember that in Mum’s teaching. All that time spent on the non-mundane, and there’s still big holes in what I know. It must be so much easier to be a mundane, pure human. Maybe when I’m officially an adult I can go away somewhere and pretend to be one. That would be peaceful.
Once all the kits were secure, Freya and the blond were-fox set off along the beach towards the stairs. Behind them, a larger than average wave curled into the small bay, caressing the pocket in the rocks where the kits had been and washing away the drawings in the sand.
***
