Week 9: Storytelling--A Shadow White as Snow

When I first saw him, I was amazed by his strength, his independence, his masculine beauty.  I had heard the sounds of construction, of blades cutting wood and skins, of nails being pounded into wood and bone--so, curious, I followed the noise to the scene.  He stood there, bare-chested, ebony hair hanging around his face, bending over some wooden rods that he was lashing together with tough sinew, sweating in the sunlight.  Padding silently closer, I hid behind some low-lying shrubs and watched as he worked tirelessly to complete his home, creating a wooden and bone framework on which to suspend animal hides.  I sat and watched him, tail swishing contentedly behind me, as night fell and he deemed his house complete.

As the man vanished from my sight, I headed off into the night, using the light of the moon to guide me as I hunted.  But even as I enjoyed the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of the catch, my mind kept turning back to the lone man who had appeared in my territory.  Why had he come?  Would he stay, or would he soon leave?  Did he have someone that would be coming to join him, or was he alone, isolated, like me?

Weeks passed in which I spent my days following the man as he hunted and gathered supplies, preparing for the long winter.  When night fell, he would disappear into his house and I would go off to do my own hunting, returning in the morning before he would depart for that day's tasks.  Sometimes I thought that he sensed me following, saw me disappearing and blending into the white of the snow, and that he reveled in the companionship I brought him in his isolation, his constant shadow. . .

Soon I realized that the man, my man, neither knew or had time to keep a house.  His home was growing dirtier and more disarrayed by the day, skins were left hanging unscraped, boots and clothes went unwashed, and more often than not he would stay up late into the evening in order to prepare his food starting only after he returned home from a long day's work.  I feared that he would be unprepared for the harsh months to come, that he would wear himself out or fall ill, and my heart stuttered in my chest at thought of him dying in this icy wilderness.

Thus I resolved to help this man, the man I had fallen in love with as he struggled to survive alone in the harsh, snowy North.  The next morning, after I returned from my night's hunt, I waited until he left his home and then--rather than silently shadowing him, as usual--I cautiously entered his house, his domain.  My paws left tracks in the dirt as I wandered inside, and I admired the construction of the dwelling even as I noted all the work that needed to be done.  Yet I knew that in my current form I would be able to do little to no good. . .

And so, with a gentle shiver and a few softly spoken words, I shed my gleaming white fur, hanging my skin on the back of a chair as I took human shape.  Quickly and quietly, I worked at setting the house aright, scraping and hanging the animal skins, cleaning his boots, washing and hanging his clothes, preparing a hot meal and setting it over a warm fire to simmer--all the things a woman does for her beloved husband, for that was what I wished to be for him.

Before the man returned, I retrieved my fur from the chair and donned it once again, settling comfortably back into my skin.  I padded silently out of the house, sitting at the edge of the clearing in which his house stood and waiting for his arrival.  When the man did return, he marveled at what I had done, reaching out his hand to touch the skins and the laundry, picking up the boots to check their sheen, stirring and sipping the stew to assure himself it all was real.  He then wandered back out into the clearing, looking around to see who could have done this.  I swear, his azure eyes paused when they met mine before continuing to search the shadows. . .

This pattern went on for quite some time, I entering the man's dwelling and doing a wife's duty while he was away, he returning from his chores and looking around in wonder, searching for the perpetrator of these acts.  Soon his curiosity grew too much for him, and then everything changed.

One day he left, but I could tell that he hadn't gone far.  Sensing that today would be different, I looked around more cautiously before entering his home, observing everything around me with a quiet alertness.  I sat in the house for a time in my natural shape, only shedding my skin after nearly an hour had gone by without incident.  I gently hung my skin up on the chair back and began my day's chores, singing softly under my breath as I worked.  Perhaps I should blame my human form's weakened senses, or perhaps I should admit to myself that I was hoping that it would happen--who knows?  What I do know is that not long after I had set to work, I turned at the sound of a gasp from the doorway and froze when I saw the man standing there with a look of shock.

I looked over to my skin, debating whether or not I should put it on and attempt to escape, but my glance caused the man to shift attention as well.  He did a double-take, looking from the skin to myself and back again, blue eyes widening as he realized who I was, what I was.  He uttered a simple three words--"It was you. . ."

His voice trailed off, and silence fell around us once more.  I reached for my snowy-white pelt, but before I could grab it the man laid hold of it himself and caressed it gently.  Glancing back towards me, he pierced me with an enrapturing gaze, murmuring under his breath once again.  "It was you. . ."

Author's Note.  So I picked this tale partially because I love foxes and transformation stories, but also because the abrupt ending of this tale struck me as kind of odd.  In the original, the man simply asks about the musky odor around the house, and then the fox-woman takes offense and leaves.  I decided to expand upon the building attraction, the way the fox would have fallen for the man and began to act on his behalf, and the shock the man must have felt in discovering that it was a fox-woman who had been helping him around his house.  Hope you enjoyed this story!  Ciao!

Bibliography.  "The Fox-Woman," story from Tales of the North American Indians by Stith Thompson (1929).  UnTextbook.

Image Information.  Polarfuchs/Eisfuchs (Arctic Fox); photo by Marcel Burkhard.  Wikimedia.
Arctic fox; photo by Dr. Robert Franz.  Wilderness Committee.