The Case of the Missing Moonshadow Fox
I was tucked into my favorite corner of the Hunter’s Guild, sipping my usual—piping hot coffee with coconut milk and a dash of cinnamon—when Derek started ranting.
“I’m telling you, the old bag’s nutty as a loon. No proof she ever had a fox. Can’t remember the last time she saw it or where it vanished. And all I found was a damn collar! The old bag swears it isn’t hers, swears the fox never wore it. Which makes sense—because moonshadow foxes don’t exist!”
Moonshadow fox. My ears perked up. Those creatures are rare—so rare they apparently don’t exist. And—let’s be honest, by all the rumors—super cute.
Derek slammed the last of his drink, flipped the empty glass onto the bar with a sharp crack, then stomped over to the bounty board. He pinned the notice back in place, driving the tack like a nail in a coffin.
That was enough for me. I slid off my stool, plucked the bounty free, and headed out.
Per Lark—my dryad friend at the Conservatory and knower of all things foresty—moonshadow foxes aren’t fully here. Half in the Veil, half in our world. They don’t leave tracks or scent, just shimmer where their paws touch. Pretty, fleeting… which is why most hunters don’t believe they exist.
Here’s what I know: they shimmer in moonlight. They’re drawn to shiny things. Their pawprints fade fast, like spilled ale on hot stone. And if they’re bonded, they stay bonded—loyal enough to sit by a master’s grave every night. Cute as all get out… and still on my top 100 cuddle list.
If Derek struck out, there were only three possibilities:
- The widow is losing it, and there was never a fox. A chat with Bram would settle that.
- The fox doesn’t want to be found. Scared, stubborn, or—highly unlikely—it bonded with someone new.
- It can’t be found—because someone took it or because it was injured or trapped.
So, I stopped at Bram’s bakery. He confirmed the widow’s husband did have a moonshadow fox familiar. It’s name is Ashwhisper. Apparently, the wizard had a flare for the dramatic. Since the wizard died, the fox had been waiting for her every time she came in. I grabbed a cinnamon bun, then Bram drifted out with something in hand: that same torn leather collar Derek was bitching about. The widow swore the fox had never worn one.
A closer look showed traces of a broken anti-tracking enchantment. That’s why Derek’s spell came up empty. Only by knowing enough to check for interference did I catch it.
Between the broken enchantment and a fox spooked enough to fade in and out of moonlight? Derek never really stood a chance. No wonder he went back to the Guild to day drink.
“Ok Izzy, time for a little magic. Heh. Damn I crack myself up.” I chuckled to myself as I grabbed some ash from Bram’s oven, pulled out my pocket engraver and scratched a “cling” rune into a tin cup. The spiral core, three little hooks—designed to catch mana residue. I splashed ash in, pulsed mana through the rune, then fluffed the ash into the alley. The particles drifted until they clung to lunar shimmer… and the cobblestones lit up with silvery pawprints.
At first the trail looked like pacing. Then it turned more erratic—circles, double-backs, a stumble. The marks dragged long, like the fox was bracing against something unseen. Then, suddenly, a lunge forward—clean and fast. Whatever spooked Ashwhisper had driven him deeper into the shadows of the alley.
Ashwhisper wouldn’t have gone far. He was bonded. And whatever spooked him was gone. So I built a lure: lantern + funnel rune combo. Low hum. Moonlit glow. A whistle-lantern, if you will.
I set it and waited. Hunters have to be patient. After a couple of hours, smoke-fur appeared—nose first, then ears, then Ashwhisper circling the lantern. I offered a silver trinket, and inch by inch, he padded close enough to follow.
Not captured. Not collared. Just coaxed.
We returned him to the widow. She clutched him, sob-laughing. The torn collar went into my pouch. The runes etched across it didn’t match anything I knew. I’d have to poke around my own circles—artificers, tinkerers, the odd runesmith who doesn’t ask too many questions. For now, though, the fox was safe, and that was enough.
I finished the week with a dozen cinnamon buns from Bram. Because sometimes, saving a fox comes with delicious perks.