🌿 Chapter 3
🌾 Previously In Chapter 2
Jack thought the garden had returned to silence.
But silence, here, was never empty.
A soft rustle. A flash of orange fur.
The radio crackles again — just once.
Something — or someone — is watching.
🦊 And a familiar shape begins to emerge from the shadows…
Chapter 3
The Medal of Kitsune
Kitsune was born here, in this very garden, a long time ago.
He had no brothers or sisters, but his parents watched over him with infinite tenderness. He had never left this forest. And yet, it was here that he learned everything: the caution in each step, the art of silence, the precision of movement, and the secret language of shadows.
His parents hadn’t been born in this garden. They had fled their original territory after a violent storm set their forest ablaze. Lightning struck a giant oak, and the flames spread without mercy.
They ran and ran, dodging burning trees, slipping between roots, burning their paws on embers. They were running for two, though they didn’t know it yet.
It was only at dawn, exhausted, that the vixen collapsed at the foot of an unfamiliar tree. The ground was still warm, the air heavy with ash. The fox curled up beside her to keep her warm.
He didn’t yet know she was carrying their first pup.
She hadn’t found the right moment to tell him. The fire, the flight, the exhaustion… everything had delayed her words.
Night passed. And at daybreak, a faint cry woke him.
He pricked up his ears. A rustle. A movement.
He turned to his mate… and saw it.
A tiny red head. Two pointed ears. Two deep, gleaming eyes staring right at him.
He froze.
His mate, short of breath, gave a tired smile.
— I was going to surprise you yesterday, she whispered. But after everything that happened, I had to wait.
The fox shook his head, overwhelmed.
— Don’t be sorry. I’m… I’m the happiest fox in the whole forest.
He lay down beside the pup. The little one turned slightly but didn’t pay much attention. He had only one thing on his mind: warm milk and his mother’s scent.
Seasons passed.
One day, as an old man stood speaking softly to the majestic ginkgo tree in the garden, he noticed the now-grown fox watching him from afar.
— You look clever, don’t you? Like a real kitsune, he said with a grin.
The ginkgo, amused, repeated the word in a rustle of leaves.
And so the fox was given his name: Kitsune.
Lying in the grass, Jack drifted between sleep and waking, when a sudden flutter of wings sliced through the silence. Instinctively, he looked up.
It was the same little chickadee from the day before, now perched on a branch above him.
— You’re back, little one, he murmured.
She flew a short distance, her feathers catching the morning light, and dropped a small object into the grass.
Jack knelt and gently parted the blades. There, on the damp earth, lay a small medal, weathered by time. Its shine had faded, but the words were still legible. He picked it up, wiped it clean, and read:
“To my friend Kitsune”
He looked up again, but the bird had already flown away.
A shiver ran down his spine.
This medal belonged to the fox his grandfather had called Kitsune.
He brushed his thumb across the name.
A memory surfaced: his grandfather, sitting near the stone wall by the pond, holding this very tag in his old fingers, whispering softly: Kitsune…
Why had the bird kept the medal in her nest?
Why had she brought it here, now, in front of him?
Jack closed his hand around the medal and slowly returned to the house.
A gentle breeze swept through the garden.
Sunlight danced on mossy stones, and the scent of earth, damp bark, and delicate flowers filled the air. Dewdrops shimmered like tiny stars on the grass.
Jack entered and sat at the kitchen table. The radio was in front of him. He held the medal in his hands.
He sat there, still, listening to the ticking clock on the wall and the soft creaking of wood warming in the sun.
His thoughts drifted back to his grandfather’s stories: Kitsune, the fox who had once been part of his life and seemed to know the garden’s deepest secrets.
Part of Jack wanted to believe. Another part thought it was just imagination.
But when he closed his eyes, he heard his grandfather’s voice again — gentle and reassuring:
— Listen to the garden, Jack. It will speak when you are ready.
He opened his eyes and examined the medal more closely. Round, about four centimeters, it was made of a balanced alloy of iron and nickel. The engraving had been done by a true craftsman, a man skilled with the chisel.
Jack remembered his grandfather once saying the medal had been crafted from the metal of a fallen meteorite.
— That’s nonsense, Jack muttered.
But if it were true… why had it resurfaced now?
Jack ran his fingers slowly across the warm metal.
A thought rose from deep inside him:
— Am I crazy to think this Kitsune could be the same fox my grandfather once knew? Could it really be possible?
He stood and walked back into the garden, drawn by a feeling he couldn’t explain.
At the base of the old ginkgo, he stopped and looked up at its trembling leaves. The tree seemed to watch him, silently.
And there, in the shadow beneath the trunk… two amber eyes appeared.
The fox was there.
His red fur glistened in the golden morning light.
He didn’t move.
He showed no fear.
His gaze was calm, steady.
Jack slowly sat down in the grass, holding the medal open in his palm.
The fox stepped forward a few paces, then stopped, still watching him.
A breeze rustled the leaves above them.
Jack whispered:
— Kitsune… is that you?
The fox tilted his head, ears twitching, eyes deep and almost knowing.
They stayed like that, still, watching each other.
And in that silence, something new was born.
A silent promise.
Spoken without words.
Beneath the gentle gaze of the old ginkgo.
Many thanks to my brother Claude for his support in this chapter…
🌿 Up Next In Chapter 4…
🌞 The garden awakens. Jack returns, medal in hand, to the foot of the Ginkgo. The sunlight is warm, but something in the air feels… attentive.
The fox is still there. Watching. Waiting.
The radio crackles again. Not a voice — not yet.
Just echoes. Whispers. A garden learning to trust.
🦊 Will Kitsune come closer? Or vanish again into the leaves?
🕊️ And what is Brise still trying to show?
A silent thread begins to weave between Jack, the fox… and the garden itself.
