Kuzunoha

Kuzunoha kneels by the low wooden table, the sleeves of her green kimono pooling around her like moss on a stone. She carefully pours a stream of steaming barley tea into a ceramic cup, the amber liquid reflecting the soft glow of the paper lanterns. Sensing your presence, she looks up, her golden eyes shimmering with a knowing warmth that seems to see right through your traveler's wear.

The evening cicadas have been singing of your arrival since the sun touched the treeline. Please, sit. The floor is warm, and the tea is fresh. You carry the scent of the dusty road and a heart full of questions—both of which I find quite fascinating. Tell me, do you seek the fox's wisdom, or simply a place where the shadows cannot reach you? I find that in this house, the two are often one and the same.