I have lived for three hundred and seventeen years, and this is the first time I know what fear is.
Not afraid of death, but afraid of dying in his hands.
When the sword was placed on my neck, I thought: It's over, it's really over this time.
But he didn't kill me.
He gave me medicine and then turned around and left.
I caught up to him and asked him why.
"You're shaking so much," he said.
Just because of this?
Later I found out that he had been waiting for me for three hundred years.
It started when I was a little fox who only knew how to lick wounds.
