The Dragon's Fox

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Art by
Natsuko9ama
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Request Summary: Animal hybrid AU where they grow up together. Fluff, angst, mature content—a pinch of everything.

A clarification I personally find important: the version of WangXian I envision for this story is XianYun, or Cloud's Longing. I found it most suiting.

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Age 8, Fall

Wei Ying dove under a wagon of thoroughly rotted rosewood. He couldn't remember when it first appeared in the alley—maybe it was always there—he could only be certain that this was home. He had no mother to kiss him, no father to hug him, just the uncertain certainty that he had, at one point. Then, he didn't. The wagon was soaked black by years of rain and disuse, but there was a pleasant carpet of moss growing on its belly, and Wei Ying liked to touch it sometimes for it was soft and warm like he imagined a blanket might be.

The dogs giving him chase rounded the corner of the alley a few seconds later. Noses to the ground, they tracked his scent.

Beneath the wagon, Wei Ying tried to gather his unruly posy of tails in his arms, but they kept slipping from his grasp; he had nine of them after all, and all nine seemed to have minds of their own. One strayed too far from the den. Dull teeth sunk into it and tugged. Hard. Wei Ying squealed and clawed at the beaten stone beneath his belly. Curved and meeting at a fine point, his nails were but a whisper of what they would grow into. Today in his adolescence, they were not enough. Wei Ying was dragged from the safety of his home.

He miserably looked at the skeletal figures stood before him. Wei Ying always fought them for food. They were ugly things with bald patches in their hides and innards outlined by tight skin. He cowered as their six beady black eyes fixed on his chest where wisps of steam curled like phantom fingers; they wanted the baozi he'd hidden in his lapels. Licking their gums, the dogs coated their brown teeth in a preparative slick.

But... this was the first warm meal he'd had in months, gifted to him by a kind old woman with a hunched back, and he was so hungry.

One dog approached and prodded his chest with its muzzle.

"N-n-no!" Wei Ying wailed. Going to bed hungry was the only choice, it seemed. He threw the bun away from himself and the mutts all followed. It rolled until Wei Ying felt dizzy before landing in a beige puddle. Helplessly, he watched as the dogs snapped at each other's throats and tore the bun into pieces. Vegetables like guts spattered over the ground. Wei Ying's stomach clenched.

One bun was hardly enough for one large beast, let alone three of them.

Before Wei Ying could run back to his den, the black-maned dog with a flat face barked and seized his arm. It pulled and tugged as he sobbed, as his rank blood watered the sprouts that grew from cracks in the stone.

He cried for help.

No one ever helped him.

But suddenly, he was released.

Pitchy whines echoed in the narrow backstreet but quickly faded. It was silent once again.

Wei Ying bravely lifted his head.

There was a boy standing above him. No younger than he was, perhaps no older either.

The boy's eyes were round and gilded in the same way a gold coin was, sweet troves Wei Ying found easy to lose himself in. Pointed ears poked through the curtain of the boy's hair—hair that was fine as silk and unbelievably shiny, braided with familial care that could only mean he knew nothing of street-life.

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