I didn’t usually miss my time in Japan. It’s hard, feeling nostalgic for such an unstable time in my life, with some of the highest highs competing against about as many of the lowest lows, all combined with the ever-present worry that I might wake up one day to a prison sentence, or worse. But there was one time of year that always had me remembering good times, untainted by anything else.

It was early April, and that meant it was cherry blossom season here in DC.

The trees were awash with pink-white petals, dancing and drifting on a light, cool breeze. The sun shone through sparse cloud cover, warding off the last traces of briskness that stubbornly lingered even with winter long behind us.

And above everything else, it was peaceful. Tranquil, even.

I’d brought a large beach towel into work earlier this week, and had been taking extended lunch breaks just so I could spend a bit more time out on the National Mall, lounging and enjoying the cherry blossoms. Things had faded into a bit of a lull at the firm; they always tended to around major religious holidays in particular, and Easter had given such a boring set of workdays that I’d just gone home, signed on remotely, and kept an ear angled towards the stairs while I cuddled up on the sofa with Gorou.

Speaking of the old fox, he was particularly pleasant this time of year. He’d spent the last few days at the Japanese Embassy, arguing and debating the finer planning points for this year’s National Cherry Blossom Festival — and, as usual, trying to put me forward as this year’s Cherry Blossom Princess. I’d tried explaining that it really wouldn’t be proper, even with how connected I was to Japan and to its embassy in particular, but he didn’t exactly listen. Honestly, I was pretty sure he just wanted to see me get all dressed up, and on the Japanese government’s (or even better, the Emperor’s) dime, to boot. Gorou may have lived in Japan almost twenty times longer than I’d been alive, but if the things I’d heard him mutter while drunk were any indication, he was still nursing grudges over the Warring States period, and World War II, and a half dozen other things I couldn’t quite remember.

Setting aside the persnickety old kitsune for a second, things were… honestly a little boring. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to get away with ditching the office for three hours in the middle of the day to just go lounge on the grass. I was off in the southeast corner of the National Mall, well away from the usual crowd. I’d initially set up shop by the Reflecting Pool, but, eh…

“Mommy, Mommy, that lady has animal ears! I wanna touch them! They’re so fuzzy!”

“Tommy, no, that woman is Moonshot—”

“She’s a superhero!? I want an autograph! Please, Mommy, please please please!”

“Tommy — Stacey, help me with your brother, please?”

“Think she’ll say how she got the ears and tail? I want those, too.”

“Stacey Hutchins, you help me with your brother right this instant—”

… yeah. Not exactly the fun kind of attention.

So I’d decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and set up further away, alternating between the Japanese Pagoda by the FDR Memorial and the Japanese Lantern a bit north of it. Today was a Japanese Lantern day, because a spring break tour bus had decamped at the FDR Memorial when I was still a few minutes’ walk away, so I just turned around, blinked across the water, and went with Plan B.

Oh, the convenience of having superpowers and a license to use them.

I turned a page in my book, a dog-eared mystery novel that had apparently gone through Alice’s daughter over to Alice herself, and which she had handed to me with an expectant look that told me I’d want it finished before she started getting cranky about not having anybody to discuss it with. And to be honest, it was a pretty good mystery. It was a period piece set during the days leading up to the Troubles in Ireland… so, well, not really a period piece, I suppose. The important bit was that the story predated the onset of Moonshot, so it was completely bereft of the cliches and Deus ex Machina that ran rampant in post-Moonshot media. No secret Moonshot detectives with built-in, flawless lie detector powers (looking at you for popularizing that one, Lady Liberty…), no metaphysical murder weapons, and no supernatural answers to closed-room mysteries.

It was honestly amazing how lazy people had gotten in the last decades. Not every story needed superpowers shoehorned into it. The Hallmark holiday movies were the worst in that regard, ugh.

But back to the novel. The lady detective, Siobhan O’Neal, had apparently discovered a crucial clue, which she’d then neglected to share with her partner and Watson-equivalent, the Lord James Harding, who served as both the public face of her freelance investigative business and as the bookkeeper, because heaven forbid a woman have been worthy of respect in those times. She withheld the clue specifically because Lord Harding was an excellent orator, far more able to spin a yarn as compared to her own terse, clipped speech patterns, and her narration revealed that whatever yarn her lordly companion spun was just as crucial to having the killer out themselves as the clue itself. Something about how the son of—

“Lovely little spot you have here,” a voice broke in, jolting me out of my reading as my ears spun towards the intruder. The rest of me turned to join my ears a moment later, and I caught sight of the newcomer at about the same time I realized that he spoke with an accent, something between English and Welsh, but I’d be hard-pressed to say which was stronger.

The speaker was a man who looked to be in his early-to-mid forties, dressed in comfortable, heavy khaki trousers and a light-gray sport coat over a pale-blue polo shirt, with a bag slung over one shoulder. His blond hair was cut short and looked slightly tousled by the wind, and beneath that sat warm green eyes, carefully groomed beard surrounding a soft, friendly smile.

The most striking detail was the cane in his right hand — a thing of absolute beauty, deep royal blue with gold inlay and filigree patterns up its length, but which he held in a grip that suggested it to be an accessory, as opposed to a mobility aid.

“Would you mind terribly if I joined you?” The man waved down at the spot next to my pink-and-white beach towel on the grass, and reached towards his own bag. “I will admit, I had not intended to find such a remote corner already occupied, and will depart if you wish to keep it to yourself.”

“Oh, no, by all means!” I said, offering a quick little smile as I waved at the spot next to mine.

“Much obliged,” he said. A moment later, he’d produced a relatively thin cloth from his bag, more of a bluish-gray tarp than anything else, and sat upon it with a heavy sigh. He set his cane down across his lap, and when he did little more than look at the cherry blossoms, I let my gaze fall off of him entirely.

It was… odd, honestly. Pleasant, but odd.

“Thank you,” I said. The man looked at me, a question in his eyes. “For not commenting on my looks, I mean.”

“Ah.” Understanding gleamed in his eyes. “Yes, well. I assumed you had your own reasons for seeking privacy. But beyond that, well…”

“Beyond that?” I prompted.

“Just that you are not unfamiliar,” he said, a knowing smile reaching all the way to his eyes.

“… have we met?” I asked, my ears lowering in confusion as I wracked my memory. That was a particularly distinctive accent he had there, so if I’d heard it before, then… wait. Wait, wait I’d seen that cane before too actually, hold on, wait, no, hold up, wait a sec—

“Wait, I remember you now!” I exclaimed with a snap of my fingers, which I then pointed at the man. “It was… wait, wait, it was, uh… almost fifteen years ago now! Um… Lincoln Park in Chicago!”

The two years I spent in the NMR weren’t exactly fun to think about. Constantly being monitored by the Japanese consulate to Chicago, having to deal with being shoehorned into a law enforcement position in a city notorious for its corrupt cops, stares and heckling and consistent harassment for my appearance… and all of that before we got into the absolute nightmare that came about after the NMR and FMB torpedoed the wrongful death case against me. I spent my last month in Chicago as a pariah, to the point that the Tribune’s one-year retrospective on the event described it in similar terms to the Black Sox Scandal… which earned the ire of the NMR, and led to a few defamation lawsuits that really shouldn’t have held up before a judge.

But at some point during that month, I’d started going to Lincoln Park and just… resting. Sitting in public, where people could see that I was just a person, as lost and miserable and tired as they were. None of them saw that, though. All of them just glared at me, or ignored me, or worse.

All but one. Because one day, a man sat down next to me, with kindness in his eyes and an unfamiliar accent coloring his voice. He’d sat next to me, and listened. Heard my side of it all.

And when I was done talking, he shared words of wisdom, words that I remembered to this day.

“‘Sometimes a problem is beyond your ability to solve,’” I said, recalling the words that this kind stranger had spoken on that cold April morning, fifteen years ago. “‘And when you recognize this, there is no shame in simply walking away and letting the fire burn itself out.’”

“You remember!” the man exclaimed, a note of something — pride? appreciation? — in his tone. Whichever it was, there was warmth to it. “Words of wisdom that would have well served my younger self, but alas, the inexorable march of time knows only one direction.”

“Usually, I think that’s a good thing, but sometimes…” I shook my head, chasing away the cobwebs and any specters of the past hiding in them. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t think I can really explain how much help that advice was. If I hadn’t listened to it? Well, I… really don’t know what my life would look like,” I admitted.

I’d gone and called Ambrose after that discussion fifteen years ago, asking him to stop fighting Japan’s demand that I be returned to their island shores until everyone was relatively certain that the threat was past. And it was during that second year of exile in Japan that we hatched our plan to get me out from under the NMR long enough for everyone to forget Foxfire, and spirit me away to the UK to finally have the college experience I’d been denied in the States.

When I eventually told Ambrose where I’d gotten the idea to stop fighting against the exile, he got a funny look on his face before going into a full-on belly laugh. I wasn’t sure why, though, and even to this day I still had no idea.

Maybe he’d met this same kind stranger himself.

“I’m glad,” the man said, his smile turning wistful as his eyes lost some of their focus, staring into something that wasn’t there anymore. “Glad that some good can come from past mistakes.”

I thought to ask what mistakes he meant by that, what mistakes would have left him with the understanding that sometimes the only winning move was to walk away, but decided against it. That was the kind of question that felt deeply, intensely personal, and I wasn’t comfortable asking that. Not when there were clear scars left behind.

“And what of your life?”

“I’m sorry?” I asked, my ears lowering in question as the focus came back into his gaze.

“You mention that your life followed a different course than it otherwise might have,” he said, gesturing towards me with the cane set across his lap. “And what of that life? Has it been all that you expected? That you wished for?”

“It…” I trailed off, thinking.

My immediate thought had been to answer yes, that I’d managed to take control back. That I was comfortable, and content.

But the more I thought about it, the more I considered those answers?

“I… yes? No?” I sighed, ears falling flat atop my head. “I — I don’t know.”

“You sound conflicted,” the kind stranger said, and I seized on the invitation.

“It’s just,” I began, then paused, letting out a hissing sigh as I tried to decide on the right words. “I just — I went into law and became a lawyer because I wanted a way to fight back,” I told him. “To help people like…” I trailed off.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

To help people the same way Ambrose had helped me: by wielding a pen mighty enough to lock rattling sabers in their scabbards.

“I wanted to make sure I had access to the kinds of weapons that normally get used against us, against Moonshot like me. I wanted to find some way to, to — I don’t know.” I slumped. “I wanted to make things better for people like me. To make sure others couldn’t get screwed over the way I was. But I… I haven’t, at all. Not really.”

“And why is that?” he asked. “Surely you have tried?”

“I… no, I, I haven’t, really.” The admission tasted like ash in my mouth, so at odds with the cherry blossoms blowing past us on the spring breeze. “It’s a bit eye-opening, really. We have superheroes and supervillains and all the grandiose bullshit that comes with it, and yet?” I turned to the stranger, my hands worrying at the beach towel beneath me. “It’s all still there. All the everyday, boring, mundane evils. The constant stream of greed and cruelty and just raw pettiness. And I’m getting bogged down in all of it. It’s just — there’s so much of it, and it just never ends! I want to do more things, bigger things — better things! I want to make those sweeping changes, to stir up the kind of trouble that leaves the world better in its wake! But — I don’t know how. And even if there was some singular thing I could do to kick things off, I just… I wouldn’t know how to find it. And all of that is saying nothing about what I might break in the process.”

“Ah…” the man hummed, tapping his cane on one leg. “I’m well acquainted with this exact issue. That impossible balancing act, between maintaining a comfortable equilibrium and pursuing the greater goals. It’s a constant worry, that in chasing your ambitions, you will lose sight of the small things that gave the pursuit meaning in the first place, no?”

“It is,” I said, nodding in commiseration at the forlorn expression on the man’s face. “And it’s just… I don’t want to give up, but at the same time?”

“You do not know the way to begin,” he agreed. “And to that, there is but one thing I can really say: it needn’t be some grand leap, taken all at once.”

Warm green eyes looked into mine as he offered a reassuring smile and reached over to give me a reassuring tap on the shoulder with his cane. I couldn’t help but answer his smile with one of my own.

“What was that saying people are so fond of? ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day’?” He shrugged. “The same principle holds true. You needn’t dive headfirst into things. So long as you stay the course, you will still reach your destination, whether it be one step at a time or ten. But the most important step to take,” he added as he locked eyes with mine, “is the one that puts you on the road. That one is most important. The rest will come in time. But do not let your search for the right step, or the best

step, keep you from taking the first.”

“… like a snowball, then,” I said, turning it over in my head. “The steepness of the slope doesn’t matter, so long as you get to a downhill in the first place, then.”

“Precisely.”

The man offered one more pleased smile before he looked away, taking in the cherry blossoms. I followed his gaze, only for my eyes to go wide at the sight of a small wave of bright pink blossoms surging towards us, carried by a sudden gust of spring wind. I closed my eyes as they fell over us, ears held flat against my head to try and keep any of the stray flower petals from getting lodged in there. That happened last year, and Gorou had been absolutely insufferable about paying more attention to my surroundings, I swear.

Once the petals were past us, I ran my fingers over my ears and through my hair, trying to liberate any of the bright pink petals that had gotten caught on their journey past us. There were quite a few in there. What a time to not have my hair tied up, oh I hoped none of them were sticky or grimy or anything.

“Ah, there are some petals in your fur.”

“Hm?” I blinked, then looked back and to the side. Just as he said, there were about two dozen petals stuck on my tail, which had me giggling a little bit. “Oh, t-that’s fine, a little color can stay until I’m back at the—”

My phone took that as the signal to sing me the song of its people, and I quickly reached into my purse to check the time. I squeaked in dismay, ears falling flat when I saw that it was my ‘start heading back to the office’ timer going off, and my shoulders slumped at the thought.

“Damn it,” I sighed, turning back to the kind stranger again. “Looks like work calls, I’m afraid.”

“Such is life,” the man said, understanding in his eyes. “I wish you luck in your endeavors. And remember: the first step is the hardest. The rest will follow.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Maybe we’ll meet again sooner than another… fifteen… years.”

Fifteen years? That long since I last had a chance to speak with this person, and here I was just… up and leaving the moment I got an excuse? Why? Why was I so eager to go, to take an out and run away? Run away from anything or anyone that made me think about myself, what I had and hadn’t done with my life?

(“How did you handle it?”)

Regrets weighed more than I could properly put into words. I already carried enough of them.

(“I didn’t, not really. I just… ran away from it all until ‘away’ became the same direction as ‘forward’.”)

It was time I started putting some down.

“On second thought?” I set my phone to silent and put it back in my purse. “Would you mind if I asked you a question or two?”

“By all means,” the gentleman stranger said, waving aside my concerns.

“Thank you. I…” I trailed off, giving me a few moments to think about how I wanted to phrase this. “I understand what you’re saying, that any journey starts somewhere, that I need to find my chance to start working towards my goals. But I… I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of… of losing everything,” I admitted. “Again. I lost my family when I first became, well, like this.” I flicked my ears and waved my tail for effect. “But I managed to carve myself out a little niche, a spot for myself. And then I lost that too. About a week before you first found me in the park, and gave a poor lost soul a bit of direction.”

“But you worry that you’ve held so tightly to that direction for so long that it now leads you astray,” the stranger offered. “Do I have the right of it?”

“I — yes? No? A bit of both?” I hedged. “It’s just that — I’ve gotten comfortable. I’ve built a life for myself here. One that I really like, even if it’s far from perfect. But I’m still feeling adrift, feeling stagnant, and it…”

I took a deep breath, and sighed. The stranger waited for me to continue, clearly not feeling the need to fill the silence until he was certain I’d said my peace. It was a small kindness, one I saw so very rarely.

“I know I need to make a change,” I continued after a few seconds to gather my thoughts. “Because I know that if I just keep doing all the same things I’ve been doing for the last five years? I’ll blink my eyes, it’ll be ten years later, and I’ll be in the exact same place I am now. And I don’t want that. But — but at the same time, I lost everything I knew twice already. It’s more than just worrying about my continued comfort. I… I’m scared of losing everything all over again, again. And it’s making even that ‘first step’ into something paralyzing.”

“Well. In that case, might I offer a more concrete suggestion?” the man asked. I nodded, to which he returned a smile before continuing. “You need not take a leap of faith immediately, but you should work up to it. Perhaps something outside of your usual comfort zone that you had set aside, something which you told yourself would be considered later, but that in truth you would simply let lie?”

“... I think so? There’s this conference invite that I never responded to,” I answered, remembering the symposium invitation that Ambrose had spoiled before the email ever arrived. They wanted me to speak on the treatment of Moonshot in the US, and since I was a lawyer, Moonshot, and an Oxford alum, I was kind of the perfect option. “And I think I still have another week to RSVP?”

“Far be it for a stranger to say how you should live your life, but…”

“No, no, you’re right, it’s a good idea,” I agreed, fishing out my phone so I could pull up the email. That was a response I could type out while walking back to the office, easily. “I think I get the crux of your suggestion, anyway. Be willing to try more things, even if they aren’t that ‘first step on the road’ that you mentioned earlier. Get used to seeing everything new and unusual as something other than a threat.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “As you are right now, that grand ‘first step’ is likely to elude you. Gird your loins, steel your resolve. You will find yourself on the path before you know it.”

“That’s the hope.” I took another deep breath before getting to my feet. Some of the cherry blossoms had stuck to my blouse, but they weren’t so sticky that I couldn’t just brush them off. “Okay. I’ve extended my break a bit more than I probably should have, and really do need to be getting back.” Returning to work was still the reason I had to disengage.

Only now, even a few short minutes later, it didn’t feel like running away anymore.

“A shame. I couldn’t convince you to recommence our discussion again?” the man asked, though his question had the air of ritual to it, as opposed to actual dismay.

“Afraid not,” I said as I picked up my beach towel, and folded it to tuck under one arm. “I… thank you. Whoever you are.”

“The pleasure was all mine, my dear.” The stranger stood to join me, transferring his cane to his left hand and extending the right. “I look forward to our next rendezvous, whenever that should be.”

“Likewise.”

I accepted his hand, and looked up to meet his smile with one of my own. Then, his farewells over with, he sat back down and returned his attention to the cherry blossoms. I smiled, my soul feeling lighter than it had in years, and departed.

I made it back to the office a bit later than I’d expected — turns out, it’s actually somewhat difficult to draft an email while also paying attention to the sidewalk. I hadn’t actually sent my RSVP yet, mostly because I wanted to give it a once-over on something bigger than a phone screen first. But also because, well… it was one thing to chart a course. It was something else entirely to step onto the trail.

I got back in my office and logged back in, then pulled up the draft email.

From: Naomi Ziegler, Esq.

To: Oxford University Alumni Office

CC: Sir Ambrose Camden

Subject: Re: Keynote Speaker Invitation — Oxford Symposium on Moonshot Affairs

To whom it may concern;

First, please accept my sincere apologies for the delay in responding — unfortunately, urgent work affairs stymied my ability to respond in a manner befitting my preferred punctuality.

Regarding the invitation to speak at the Oxford Symposium, it would be my pleasure and singular honor to accept the invitation.

While I understand from your prior email that travel and lodging are provided by the University, I am unable to take advantage of the assistance. As the administration will recall, there are some unique circumstances to account for regarding my flight and accommodations; for assistance in scheduling and arranging for these, please reach out to Sir Ambrose Camden with Her Majesty’s Diplomatic Service (cc’d here).

Thank you very much for the invitation. I eagerly await this visit to my alma mater, and hope that what I provide to the symposium exceeds the University’s expectations.

Sincerely,

Naomi Ziegler, Esq., FKA Foxfire

Supervising Attorney, Litigation & Moonshot Affairs

Bierman Viskie & Schotz, LLC

I read the email over a few more times, picking at the grammar and verbiage for a few moments. It definitely came off a bit stuffy, to be sure, but… this was Oxford. That, and —

No. I was stalling, again. Waiting to see if some distraction would present itself, give me an excuse to forget about this. The urge to turn away from discomfort was easier to spot, now that I knew what to look for.

I hovered my cursor over the ‘Send’ button, and closed my eyes. A path lay before me. All I had to do… was take a step.

I clicked ‘Send’. And with that, my RSVP was on its way, beyond my ability to take back.

This wasn’t the path I’d described earlier — the one that brought me closer towards my goals, my ambitions, the dreams and desires I’d let myself forget over the last decade. But it was still a different path than the one I’d stalled out on, the one that meandered in circles and went nowhere.

And I’d still taken that first new step, no matter how small and hesitant it may be. I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and let myself process that. Something different. Something new.

There was barely any time to savor the moment, though, because my phone began singing the song of its people again. But this time, it was a tone that sent shivers down my spine — the loud, spine-tingling sound of steel leaving a sheath. The sound I reserved for an Arthur Alert, and which would only be playing at this volume if it was nearby.

I grabbed my phone, worry hot in my veins, and clicked over to the Arthur Alert app to check. Verified sighting, Washington DC.

Capitol Mall. Five minutes ago.

I slumped down into my chair, sighing and giggling in sudden relief. Holy shit, phew. I was safe. It was close by, yes, but I wouldn’t have to go anywhere near there during the upcoming couple weeks of insanity. All I had to do was send another email to Alice, and that would be that.

But dang, talk about a close call! Like, imagine if I’d been there for another hour! Nope, I was back in my office, safely away from the crazies hunting for their Once and Future King in Hiding, and perfectly happy to leave them to it. And sure, it was a nice thought, having a conversation with someone who’d walked straight out of myth and legend. But I already had.

I talked to Gorou every day.

And, oh, speaking of, he’d sent me a text while I was on my walk! Right, time to see what that was… about… oh, for the love of God.

… he wanted me to okay his credit card purchase for half a wheel of Parmesan Reggiano cheese?

I was going to strangle that fox.

With his own tails.