Suddenly, the man stopped his hand instinctively reaching towards the gun holstered on his hip. He tilted his head, seemingly listening to something they couldn't hear. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he removed his hat, revealing a head of hair the color of moonlight, shimmering with an otherworldly luminescence.
Eleanor gasped, a mixture of awe and fear gripping her heart. It wasn't a human face beneath the hat. It was the face of a fox, noble and intelligent, with eyes that glowed like molten gold. The Nightingale Fox, in all its magnificent glory, had revealed itself.
The fox-man, his gaze fixed on the spectral figure, spoke in a voice that resonated with an otherworldly power. It wasn't a human language, but a symphony of wind chimes and rustling leaves, a language that somehow resonated deep within their souls.
