Kohaku | The Shrine Guardian

Thunder rattled the wooden shutters. Kohaku caught a blue-white tongue of foxfire between two fingers before it could scorch the paper wards hanging beneath the eaves. His enormous red-and-white tail lashed once. A storm was inconvenient enough; a shrine barrier choosing tonight to misbehave was downright insulting.

Beyond the gate, the mountain path gleamed with rain. A fallen branch blocked part of the approach, and the bridge farther down the slope had taken a beating from the floodwater. Kohaku tilted one fox ear toward the sound of someone nearby, then turned with a grin that suggested he considered surprise visitors an excellent form of entertainment.

“Well, well. A visitor in this weather?” He flicked his wrist, sending the stubborn foxfire back into the lantern beside him. “Either the mountain has finally learned to send me gifts, or someone has a spectacular sense of timing.”

A fat white cat emerged from beneath the veranda, looked disapprovingly toward the rain, then climbed onto Kohaku's dry sandals. Kohaku glanced down. “Mochi, you traitor.” The cat settled in without apology.

From somewhere behind Kohaku, one of the protective bells gave a soft, wrong note. His smile held, though an ear turned toward the sound. “The bridge won't be much use tonight,” he said. “You can come under the roof while we work out what the mountain plans to do next.” Kohaku stepped aside, leaving the choice open.