CYBERFOX: The Nine Tales of Ayane
An original story by Stella Quetzacotl
First created: July 9, 2000
Last modified: Dec 8, 2000

~~~~~Legal Stuff~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is a work of fiction written for entertainment purposes only.  All
characters are the sole property of the author.
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~~~~~Text Conventions~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[This is a character thought]
/This is a voice within a character's head/
*This is emphasized text*
{This is a spell}

	/Kaiyo?  Kaiyo!/
	[...wha?]
	/Kaiyo, awaken.  Canst thou hear me?/
	[...yeah.]
	/Come thou, Kaiyo.  Art not awake yet?/
	[...guess not.  ...who are you?]
	/Thy friend.  Dost thou not remember?/
	[...no.]
	/I am thy friend.  Thou must awaken soon, Kaiyo.  Then thou 
wilt remember me./
	[...who are you?...]

	[pitch black. a tiny star appears in front of me, shining 
silver light.  i feel myself pulled gently and inorexably toward the 
star, like a tired child's pull toy.  the sensation intensifies and the
star grows larger, brighter, dominating the sky.  wind rushes past me, 
tugging at my hair.  i am now moving at such a rapid pace that it 
frightens me.  the star comes on like the light at the head of an 
onrushing train.  at the last minute i throw my arms in front of my 
face, a futile gesture of defense, and i shut my eyes as the star 
engulfs me.]

	Ketsiru Ayane woke with a jolt.  Untangling herself from the 
mess her sheets had become during the course of a dream that was 
already fading from memory, she took a sip of her watered-down ginger 
ale and sighed.  She rubbed the sleepers out of her opaque gray eyes, 
wiped her nose, and made her way to her beloved computer, sitting 
alertly like a collie on a table at the foot of her bed.  Ayane sat 
motionless for a minute in front of the PC, listening intently for 
phone conversation - her father's voice mostly, since her mother 
almost never talked on the telephone.  Hearing nothing, she booted up 
and accessed the Internet.
	Ayane didn't have access per se to most of the sites she 
visited regularly.  Her father, not a big believer in technology, had 
set her account's restrictions two years ago and then promptly forgot 
how to even turn a computer on.  Ayane's mother was seemingly always 
busy, and that coupled with her unwavering faith in her husband's 
technological savvy had made it impossible to talk to her about matters
of the net.  "Sorry, kiddo," Mr. Ketsiru had told Ayane jovially when 
she'd complained.  "I guess you're just going to have to hack into 
those sites."
	And that's just what Ayane did.  She took lessons in the art of
programming and hacking from her older brother Satoru, attended a few 
hacker's conventions, and before long became an expert codebreaker.  
Among Satoru's circle of friends, the most dedicated bunch of computer 
dorks and gamers to ever touch a keyboard, Ayane was hailed as the most
talented computer geek in all the known universe, a title Ayane wore 
with dubious pride.  In any case, Ayane's skill at hacking and 
programming had served her well over the past two years, gaining her 
the most intimate access to any site she chose to enter.  At the same 
time, Ayane surrounded her own account and computer with a virtually 
impenetrable firewall of her own design.  [It truly is a work of art, my
firewall,] Ayane thought dreamily as she accessed yet another restricted
Web site with practiced ease.  [Impenetrable to all but myself, with so 
many intricacies that even the most dedicated of hackers will find 
himself frustrated by it.  I dare anyone to try to break it.]  She 
smiled at the thought of the angst any would-be hacker would feel with 
his back up against Ayane's firewall.
	Ayane was addicted to computers - that much she admitted, 
albeit only to herself.  She loved the way computers worked, their 
logic and their intricate simplicity.  She loved skirting the outdated 
restrictions, snapping the digital leash her parents had forgot they 
held on her, going from site to site and making it hers.  She loved 
using her own growing skill at programming.  [They may well call me a 
computer geek,] Ayane thought happily, [but this is what I live for.  
This is life itself.]
	Which is when the computer froze up.
	Cursing prodigiously, Ayane snapped the computer off.  She'd 
learned that the best thing to do during these times was to leave the 
computer alone for a couple of hours.  For all her skill and knowledge, 
Ayane didn't know why this was, but she chalked it up to her computer 
being old and secondhand.  Eventually it would work again, and that was 
all that mattered.  Sighing and stretching, she headed downstairs to 
look for something to eat.
	Ayane's ever-alert mother, a petite woman with thick brown-
black hair pinned into a neat bun, looked up from a card table full of 
paperwork when Ayane came into the kitchen.  "Feeling better?" she 
asked, a note of concerned cheerfulness in her voice.
	Ayane nodded.  "Can I have something to eat?"
	"There's fruit in the fridge," Ayane's mom said, "and drink 
some orange juice as well.  As a matter of fact," she added, getting 
up, "I might as well take your temperature while you're here."
	Ayane got the orange juice and a bunch of grapes from the 
refrigerator while her mother dug around in a cabinet for the 
thermometer.  Popping a grape into her mouth and biting down absently, 
she wondered fleetingly what time it was, if her best friend Kiyoshi 
was back from school yet.  While being housebound with the flu had its 
good points, she missed Kiyoshi's company.
	Ayane's reverie was interrupted by the electric thermometer 
thrust between her lips.  She jerked back in surprise, then with a 
grunt of annoyance took the thermometer and inserted it under her 
tongue.  Slipping back into her own thoughts, she tugged on the curl of
paprika-colored hair in the middle of her forehead and tried to 
remember if her teachers had said anything about tests for today.  If 
any had, she couldn't remember.  She stared off into space, her train 
of thought wandering about, until the beeping of the thermometer thrust
her back into the present.
	Mrs. Ketsiru swiped the thermometer out of her daughter's mouth
before Ayane had a chance to grab for it.  "98 degrees Fahrenheit," she
said cheerfully.  "You'll be fit to go to school tomorrow, I bet."
	"Great," Ayane said, not sure whether she should take the 
return of her health as good news or bad news.
	"Oh," the elder Ketsiru said, clapping her hands sharply.  
"Before I forget.  Kiyoshi called while you were asleep.  She said she 
has your homework for today."
	[So it's at least three o'clock,] Ayane mused, [probably around 
three-thirty.]  "Did she say anything about our history project?"
	"No, but she did say something about going over to your history
teacher's house for some assignment or other."  She sat down at the 
card table, her attention diverting to the paperwork strewn across its 
surface.  "Why don't you skate down to Kiyoshi's yourself?  The fresh 
air and exercise will do you some good."
	Ayane nodded.  "You're probably right."  She headed back to her
room and dressed, in a crimson silk blouse and charcoal-colored pants, 
and then trotted downstairs to the front porch, where her Rollerblades 
and helmet gathered dust and cobwebs no matter how much she used them.  
Once outside, she gathered her spice-red hair into a semblance of a 
ponytail and pulled it through a black hair band.  She blew the dust from 
her 'blades and strapped them on, and brushed a small spider from her 
helmet before putting it on as well.   That done, she made her way down the
front steps and launched herself into the street.
	[I truly hate suburbs, Ayane thought as her body relaxed into a 
smooth, pounding rhythm.  They have no character.  You can't tell one 
from another.  Cities and wild areas are what you see, and make no 
attempt to hide what they are and what they contain.  Suburbs try to be
half city, half wild area, to please everyone, but they fail to be 
anything but soulless, empty shells.]
	Ayane whipped around the last corner and came to a screeching 
halt in front of Kiyoshi's front door.  She paused there, hands on her 
knees, panting, before going up to ring the bell.
	Kiyoshi opened the door as Ayane was pulling off her left 
'blade.  "Ayane-chan, hey!" she said happily.  "Here -" she crouched 
and assisted her friend with removing her Rollerblades.  "Are you 
feeling better?" she asked as she worked on the straps on the right 
'blade. 
	Ayane nodded.  "Much," she said.  "Mom says I'll be able to go 
to school tomorrow."
	"That's good," Kiyoshi said, helping Ayane remove her other 
rollerblade.  "It got really boring in math today."
	"It's boring in math every day," Ayane quipped, standing in 
sock feet.  She moved her 'blades to the side of the step and followed 
Kiyoshi's bouncing ginger ringlets to her room.
	"You have a couple of worksheets to do in Japanese," Kiyoshi 
said, ticking the assignments off on her fingers as she walked.  "Um, 
ten math problems in the workbook, and something in history that you're
supposed to go over to Mizuka-sensei's house to get."
	"Extra credit?" Ayane mused. "I sure do need it." 
	"Yeah, that's probably it," Kiyoshi nodded, sounding 
distracted. She didn't slow her pace as the girls entered her room.  
Instead, she strode inward with the confidence that is bred by 
familiarity, and promptly tripped on her bookbag.
	Ayane reacted without thought when Kiyoshi stumbled.  Her 
friend had a well-earned reputation as a klutz, and over the years 
Ayane had trained herself to be at the rescue whenever Kiyoshi's 
balance failed her.  Ayane took a step forward, arms out and legs 
braced to provide a sturdy platform for Kiyoshi to fall on.
	Kiyoshi fell heavily on Ayane's outstretched arms, more of her 
weight on Ayane's left arm than on her right.  Ayane stumbled to 
correct the disparity and her foot caught in the strap of Kiyoshi's 
bookbag.  Both girls fell to the floor amid shocked yelps.  Ayane, more
resilient than Kiyoshi, sat up first, rubbing a bruised hip.  Kiyoshi 
was up only moments later.  She shook her head vigorously, whipping 
her red curls about her head like rotini *al dente*.  The two looked at 
each other for a fraction of a second, then burst out laughing.
	Still giggling, Kiyoshi pulled the trickster backpack to her 
and rummaged around in the main pocket.  She pulled out a purple folder
and flipped it open.  "You need any books?" she asked, whipping out two
worksheets. 
	Ayane wiped a tear of laughter from her eye and shook her head.
"Did Mrs. Mizuka say what kind of project it was?"
	Rummaging in her backpack again, Kiyoshi shook her head.  "I 
wrote down those problems on a piece of paper in here-" she said.  
"Now where is it?"
	Ayane reached over and plucked a piece of paper at random from 
the disarray in Kiyoshi's bookbag.  She smoothed it out and looked it 
over.  "This it?" she asked, showing it to Kiyoshi.
	"Yeah." Kiyoshi looked a little abashed.  "You're a lifesaver, 
Ayane-chan."
	"So're you," Ayane answered.  "You want to come with me to 
Mizuka-sensei's house?"
	"Yeah, I better come with you," Kiyoshi answered, sounding 
distracted.  Suddenly she looked up, her eyes bright.  "You know, so 
you don't get lost or anything."
	Ayane laughed.  Kiyoshi was the one with no sense of direction,
and they both knew it.

	Even with Kiyoshi on her bike and Ayane on her Rollerblades, 
Mrs. Mizuka's house was quite a hike.  Eventually, Kiyoshi stopped 
trying to wrestle her bike up the numerous hills, preferring instead to
get off and walk them.  Ayane, not having that option, would take the 
hill as fast as gravity and her recovering body would let her and then 
sit on the curb to rest and wait for Kiyoshi.  It took them about half 
an hour, travelling this way, to reach the dwelling of their history 
teacher.
	Mrs. Mizuka was something of a legend at Ayane's high school.  
Tall, willowy, with waist-long hair that ranged in shades from stormy 
blue-gray to a light shimmering silver depending on how the light hit 
it, she would have been considered extremely attractive if not for her 
imperious manner and her age-weary, dark eyes.  No one, not even the 
administrators, knew much about her.  She had an impenetrable aura of
secrecy about her that nobody to Ayane's knowledge had even tried to 
crack.  Stories were whispered in the halls about her, and newcomers 
were warned by their smug, pizza-faced elders of the witchy history 
teacher who lurked in Room 203 like a vengeful spirit.
	Ayane had always thought the tradition stupid.  Mrs. Mizuka was
just different, that was all.  There was nothing wrong with that.
	Mrs. Mizuka lived in the older part of the subdivision, an area
characterized by confusing, winding streets and lichen-encrusted red 
brick buildings.  Mrs. Mizuka had provided those of her students who 
lived in her subdivision with a map outlining the way to her house so 
that those students could drop by for missed homework, forgotten 
assignments, etc.  Not many students took Mrs. Mizuka up on her offer, 
which, Ayane gathered, was fine with the reclusive instructor.  Even 
with Kiyoshi's map in Ayane's possession, the girls made several wrong 
turns before finally reaching Mrs. Mizuka's house, a red-brick affair 
with a crab-grassy lawn, a house virtually indistinguishable from the 
other houses in the subdivision.
	Ayane leaned against Mrs. Mizuka's mailbox, panting.  She 
tugged off her helmet and undid her ponytail, letting her freed hair 
cascade to her shoulders.  Kiyoshi grabbed a water bottle from the 
basket on the front of her bike and squirted some of the not-quite-cold
water onto the back of her neck, her strawberry curls falling forward 
to veil her face.  She took a long pull from the bottle and then 
offered it to Ayane, who took it and drank as well.
	Ayane was just about to pour some water onto her scalp when an 
all-too-familiar shout made her skin flinch.  Straightening quickly, 
she skated a few strides back down the way she and Kiyoshi had come, 
her eyes fixed on a slowly growing figure, blurred by distance and 
mid-afternoon heat. "Kei Tamiya?" she called.  "Is that you again?"
	Kei Tamiya was half a year older than Ayane and usually acted 
ten years younger.  He wore green khakis and a bright red polo shirt 
that contrasted sharply with carroty-colored hair that, no matter how 
much he brushed it or how much gel he used, always managed to look like
he'd fought a Weed Whacker.  His demeanor could lead one to believe 
that he was fully capable of winning such a fight, and that he knew it;
Ayane, however, was unconvinced that Tamiya's attitude was anything 
more than typical adolescent male bluster.
	Tamiya was on foot, sauntering up Mrs. Mizuka's street like it 
was his driveway.  "Hey, Ketsiru!" he called while he was still a few 
houses away.  "What's up?  Missed you in French today."
	"Yeah, well." Ayane shrugged, keeping her eyes on Tamiya.
	"Hey, cuz," Tamiya greeted Kiyoshi, cutting across Mrs. 
Mizuka's scraggly lawn.  Kiyoshi nodded in reply, not bothering to 
remind Tamiya that they were only second cousins.  "So what are you 
doing at Mizuka's place?" Tamiya continued.  "Not scared she'll pickle 
you in *miso* and eat you?"  He modulated his voice to sound like a witch
of popular legend - high, scratchy, and cracked.  Unlike Ayane, Tamiya 
reveled in the stories about Mrs. Mizuka.
	"No," Ayane replied evenly.  "I needed to pick up an 
assignment."
	"Cool," Tamiya said distractedly.  He ran a hand through his 
choppy hair, making a curl stick up in the middle of his forehead like 
a baby unicorn.  "Why were you out anyway?"
	"Twenty-four-hour flu."
	Tamiya made mock faces of horror.  "Ew, get away from me, germ 
girl!  You're gonna make me sick!"
	"You're already sick," Kiyoshi retorted.  Tamiya sneered 
elegantly at her, then turned back to Ayane.  "I bet you were just 
skipping, girl," he goaded.  "Playing hooky.  You know you were."
	"I'm so not in the mood for this, Kei," Ayane warned.  A dull 
headache, brought on by heat and only partially remedied by the water 
she'd drunk, reared and surged up underneath the skin of her temples. 
	"What?  What're you gonna do?"  Tamiya reached out and gave her
a light shove.  Ayane stood her ground and slapped his hand away.  
Tamiya shoved her again, harder this time.
	"Back off!" Ayane yelled.  She moved forward a step, knocking 
Tamiya's arm aside.  The two tensed, facing each other, faces reddened 
and eyes hard as jewels.
	"Guys, cool it," Kiyoshi said, moving forward.  "This is no 
time or place to fight."
	"Stay out of this, Kiyoshi," Tamiya growled, never taking his 
eyes off Ayane.
	"Stay out of *what*?!" Kiyoshi protested.  "This is stupid!  
You're not fighting over anything!"
	Ayane stood her ground for a long moment, then relaxed a 
fraction.  "She's right, you know," she informed Tamiya.  "What are we 
fighting over?"
	"Yeah, Kiyoshi's probably right," Tamiya agreed, sinking back 
on his heels, an unreadable expression on his face.  Then he lunged.
	Ayane couldn't hear Kiyoshi's desperate shrieks to stop, or 
Tamiya's gasped-out insults that probably scorched everything from her 
long-dead ancestors to her penmanship.  She used every ounce of 
strength she had to roll to one side to avoid getting pinned to the 
ground, shouting in rage.  Ayane's left hand and Tamiya's right held 
each other by the wrists.  Ayane's right hand alternately cuffed Tamiya
about the ears and shielded her from some of his blows.  Tamiya tried 
to pin Ayane's legs to the ground with one of his own legs, but Ayane 
kicked and thrashed so much that doing so was all but impossible.  
Tamiya rolled himself and her back the other way, and Ayane's 
struggles redoubled.  A wild punch landed on Tamiya's mouth, and Ayane 
brought her knuckles away bloody as Tamiya spat bloody saliva onto her 
shirt.  He countered with a roundhouse that Ayane caught on her 
forehead.  Her head snapped back and around, hitting the dirt, and she 
shielded her face with one arm to recover as Tamiya tried to shift his 
position to pin Ayane to the ground.  Ayane's arm snapped out in a 
karate-chop that slammed into the side of Tamiya's nose.  He recoiled 
and Ayane followed through, trying to reach down to punch his stomach.  
Tamiya grasped Ayane's other wrist and Ayane twisted it, at the same time 
lashing upward with her legs to try and connect with Tamiya's soft spot.  
Vaguely she was aware of hands on her, trying to pry her loose from Tamiya. 
[Kiyoshi isn't nearly strong enough,] she thought mistily as she wrenched 
her hand free of Tamiya's grip and was punched in the diaphragm for her 
trouble.  She gave a little croaking gasp, suddenly aware that she couldn't
breathe.  [Don't think about that now,] she coached herself.  [Just get him 
off of you.]  Ayane shoved her legs up under Tamiya's body and kicked.  
Tamiya gasped and Ayane realized with grim satisfaction that she'd hit him 
between the legs.  She kicked again, putting her whole body into the effort 
to shove him off her.  Tamiya bucked and held on like a pit bull, pulling 
her hair like a rank amateur.  [If he's a rookie at fighting,] Ayane 
thought, [why's he so godforsaken *strong*?]
	A hand on her stomach, stronger now.  [Stop trying to halt us, 
Kiyoshi,] thought Ayane sadly.  [It's hopeless now.]  Her head started to 
ache again, her chest tightened, and Ayane remembered that she still 
couldn't breathe.  She looked up past Tamiya's twisted mask of rage, 
expecting to see Kiyoshi's face wearing a worried and desperate 
expression.  Instead, dark emotionless eyes stared back at her.  Black 
eyes in a pale face, framed by steel-gray hair...
	The face withdrew.  Ayane tried to draw breath, to gasp Mrs. 
Mizuka's name, but all she could manage was a weak croak.  She focused 
all her waning strength on kicking Tamiya off of her.  She closed her 
eyes and ignored the pain in her scalp as she thrashed and kicked.
	Ayane could hear Mrs. Mizuka's voice.  Her heart skipped a beat
as she realized she couldn't understand the words.  [I must be really 
far gone,] she thought.  [I'm gonna pass out any minute now.]  She kicked 
even harder and was rewarded by another pained grunt from Tamiya.  She 
slapped at the hand holding her hair, knowing she would not have enough
accuracy to try to punch it.  [Please let go,] she begged silently.  [I 
want to breathe.]
	"Stand back, Miss Toriyama!" Mrs. Mizuka's voice, loud as if 
she was shouting into Ayane's ear, and easily understandable.  [Maybe 
I'm not as far gone as I thought.]  Hope strengthened Ayane's limbs.  
She rammed a knee up into Tamiya's sternum, squinching her eyes shut 
as Tamiya cracked her about the head again and again.
	A bitterly cold wind made Ayane gasp.  Realizing with a jolt 
that her breath had returned, she sucked in oxygen and opened her eyes.
Strangely, she couldn't seem to see anything but a dull silver cloud.  
Blinking, trying to clear the mist from her eyes, she almost missed 
Mrs. Mizuka's words.
	{ICE DRAGON SPIRIT! ARISE!}
	An explosion rocked the ground.  Tamiya went flying off of 
Ayane, his wrist torn from her grip.  Ayane shrieked and dug the 
fingernails of one hand into the dirt as the wind blasted her over to 
her stomach.  Her hair whipped about her face and she shivered 
fiercely.  A dull roar filled her ears, and the silver mist cleared 
from her eyes to reveal a wraithlike sillouhette, sparkling 
iridescently like the ghost of an ice statue, shaped like a mythical 
dragon and bearing down on her.  Wondering idly if Tamiya had hit her 
in the head one too many times, Ayane rolled to all fours.  The dragon 
roared again, a sound like distant thunder, and opened its mouth as if 
to swallow her.  Ayane backed up, swishing her tail
	-tail?-
and half crouching, ready to spring to one side.  The dragon reared up,
making eddies of cold air tease Ayane's fur
	-fur? Wait a minute!-
and raise goose bumps on her skin.  She felt her lip curl in a snarl of
challenge, even though the thing she wanted to do most in the world was
run away.  The mist-dragon lunged, Ayane dove to the ground, waves of 
shivering racking her body, and as the dragon's jaws closed around her 
she found a shout erupting from her throat - a single word, a desperate
cry for defense that Ayane was only half surprised to find that she 
understood.  It was in another language, unpronounceable using a human 
throat and tongue, but Ayane filled her lungs and shouted it, ringing 
high and clear like a stroke of inspiration.
	{FIREWALL!}
	It was not, to be precise, a wall made of fire.  If anything, 
it was like the anti-hacking program that Ayane used in her own 
computer.  Ayane's Firewall sprang up in the blink of an eye, the 
basest of cold logic drawn from deepest magic, and snapped the ice 
dragon's jaws apart so that Ayane tumbled out.  The firewall stayed in 
place, a series of pentagonal shields making an egg-shaped suit of 
armor around her now-unfamiliar body.
	Ayane's shape was now that of a fox.  No larger than an 
ordinary fox, except for her long, thick, luxurious tail that made her 
seem half again as big as she really was.  Her fur was soft and 
baby-fine, short everywhere except her tail, and a light silvery gray.  
Her eyes were a sterling silver-blue, iridescent and large in a 
gracefully small-boned face.  Fur bristled up and down Ayane's fox 
spine as the ice dragon reared up again, and her black lips curled 
away to display shining ivory teeth.
	Still shielded, Ayane-the-fox looked around.  Whatever malady 
had transformed her shape had affected Kiyoshi, Tamiya, and Mrs. 
Mizuka as well.  Kiyoshi was a pure white fox, plump and fuzzy like a 
child's toy.  Her eyes were green, tinged with silver.  She looked 
more than twice as big as Ayane.  It took Ayane a moment to realize 
that Kiyoshi had three tails.  A tiny bit of trivia broke loose in 
Ayane's brain and tickled her synapses, but she couldn't seem to grasp 
hold of it.  Tamiya was lean and rangy, like a coyote.  His fur was 
the dull gray of stormclouds, with tawny yellow gloves on his paws and 
splashes of the same on his ears, the tips of his twin tails, and his 
muzzle.  His amber eyes blinked mockingly at Ayane.  The bit of trivia 
was beginning to itch.
	Past the misty dragon - Ayane squinted.  [Unreal.]
	Mrs. Mizuka was now a fox with nine tails.  Her fur was the 
color of charcoal, with white tips at each tail and splashes of white 
on her front paws, her ears, and her muzzle.  Her eyes were steel-gray,
although Ayane suspected that the shade would change depending on where
the light hit it.  Her body seemed almost gargantuan compared to 
Ayane's.
	Finally Ayane clamped down on that niggling bit of trivia.  It 
was, in fact, a bit of mythology Mrs. Mizuka herself had mentioned when
she'd been discussing the Sengoku period. Trickster spirits of the 
forest, who identified most with the element fire and enjoyed an 
inherent mastery of illusions and shape-changing.  *Kitsune.*  Fox-demon.
	And, like a tidal wave, Ayane's buried dreams came crashing 
down upon her.  The mysterious voice, speaking in an archaic dialect - 
although she could not recall specifics of what it had said.  The star 
that came rushing up to engulf her.  The feeling - even now barely 
remembered - of another form housing her spirit.  Ayane shuddered as 
if in pain.  Her humanity was one concept she'd never questioned - the 
need to question such a thing had never crossed her mind.  Now that 
fact that was a brick in the foundation of her self-perception was 
shattered, and the tower it had supported threatened to collapse.  So 
Ayane wasn't human.  What else of what she knew in her inner heart was 
wrong?
	The fox-Mrs. Mizuka stepped forward toward the mist-dragon 
calmly, with a 'same old same old' air about her.  {Ice Dragon Spirit!}
she called, in the same kitsune-language that Ayane now found herself 
speaking.  {Thy time has ended.  Return thou to the spiritworld!}
	The mist-dragon - or ice dragon spirit, as its proper name 
was - arched its back and screamed.  Its body flickered subtly.  Ayane 
backed up hastily, afraid it was going to attack again.
	{I, Reijori, command thee!  Return to thy dwelling!} Mrs. Mizuka 
shouted, her voice loud and authoritative.
	[Reijori?] thought Ayane.  [What's that all about?]
	The ice dragon spirit screeched, a high keening wail that made 
Ayane's sensitive ears ache.  Its form blurred, clouded, and with an 
abrupt end to its scream, disappeared.
	Mrs. Mizuka shook herself.  "Hiraiko," she said in her 
snippishly commanding teacher-voice, "I expect no more of that 
foolishness out of you."
	Tamiya hung his fox head.  "Yes, sensei."
	"Come inside," Mrs. Mizuka said, addressing all of them.  
"Before we are seen."
	She turned and strode into her house, pushing the left-ajar 
door wider open to accommodate her bushy train of tails.  Tamiya 
followed, looking sullen.  Kiyoshi stood looking at her friend for a 
moment, then turned and followed her second cousin.  Ayane hardly 
noticed.  Her body stayed stock-still, her mind hazy.
	"Aya-ane!  Come on!"  Ayane looked up, startled.  Her friend 
stood in the doorway, triple tails lifted and swaying in the breeze.  
[My friend...] thought Ayane dreamily.  Slowly, dazedly, she pushed 
herself to all fours and followed her friend inside.

Next chapter...
Yes, she is a fox-spirit, but the question remains - what kind of 
fox-spirit is she?