The Warrior and the Fox

The rain beat down on the earth with unusual ferocity. The warrior sped down the trodden dirt road searching for some form of shelter. His straw hat protected his shoulders and head but his feet and robes were soaked, his sandals beginning to fall apart. As he rounded a bend in the road he came across a small temple, seemingly abandoned. He slowed to a brisk pace and raised his fist to knock on the door. When he had knocked on it three times, it opened silently of its own accord.
“Hello?” The warrior called listening closely for a reply. When none came, the warrior removed his clothing to dry them out and built a fire in the middle of the empty room. He put on the extra robe he carried mostly to sleep in. He removed his sword, Moonblade, from its scabbard and cleaned and polished it. When he was done he set it aside and began his rigorous training regimen for the night. The rain continued to splash down with all the might the heavens could muster. Lightning tore through the skies and thunder struck it’s mighty drums.
He was nearly done with his exercises when he heard a chilling sound from the doorway. He looked up quickly, his hand reaching for Moonblade.
“Who is there?” he asked, prepared for bandits or wolves. But unprepared for the truth.
She was beautiful. Her skin, smooth and pale, her hair soft and shimmering in the rain. She stood silently, watching him. She reminded him of a curious kitten with her large eyes and slender form.
“Are you alright?” he asked of her, letting down his guard.
She did not answer. She stepped into the room, her feet gently padding the wooden floor.
“What are you--?” He did not have time to answer as she pressed his lips against hers, almost urgently. He responded in kind, though he was unaccustomed to this very forward way.
She undid the sash of his traveling robes and her fingers moved deftly across his body. She set his nerves on fire and excited his desires until he felt he could not contain himself. He grabbed her and thrust her to the ground. A smile played across her lips, enticing him to take her, to keep her, to make her his and his alone. The warrior could not remember a time he felt this aroused. Her body responded to his, perfectly in tune with his natural rhythm. His thrusts reached deep inside her and she responded with pleasured noises, which inflamed his urges all the more.
When he had finished with a shuddering release, he collapsed beside her, panting heavily. He turned his head to look at her beautiful form. She slept soundlessly, occasionally shifting positions. Her chest rose with each breath, which kindled his desires further. He lay on his back and shut his eyes, falling asleep instantly.
When he had woken, he sat up quickly, looking around the sunlit hall. The beautiful woman was nowhere to be found.
The warrior packed up his belongings and tied his sword into his sash, still confused by the night’s events.
As he stepped into the brightness of the morning sun he looked to the top of a small hill that stood by the road. A fox stared intently at him. As he began to travel he made a sign with his hands to ward against evil.
“Spirit,” he whispered. He grabbed his sword and trotted away quickly, eager to leave this haunted temple.
His son, Kitsune, and daughter, Takara, was born a month later and became legendary warriors. That is another story.