Ignoring the Woods

"I know where your monster is," he said, knowing fully well that he may or may not have been lying. He'd heard noises in the forest; things that the townsfolk didn't hear, that the farmers ignored and that the cattle grew still at. Perhaps it was wolves. Perhaps it was hillops. Perhaps it was the beast the three rough visitors were looking for. Who knew? Maybe he wasn't lying. Of course, however, he wasn't born yesterday. They needed the information, it seemed, and rather desperately. So, he struck a bargain. "But I'll only tell you if you promise to take me with you." Yes, yes, indeed the master plan. And they only had the simple request to meet him in the center of town at sunrise.

"Sleep is important," the young man of the group had said. So he agreed. He shook their hands as a formal agreement, then went on his way.

Not a few hours go by after he'd parted from the group. He remained restless in his small bed, staring into the light of a candle, waiting for the nail he'd stuck in it to fall and summon him to his destiny. Tired as he was, his thoughts were far too rapid and shifting for him to sleep. So, he tip-toed out of the hut and into the frigid nightly cold to prepare. He'd eaten a scrappy meal, cleaned his boots, packed a bag of blanket and sustenance, and grabbed his stick. By then, the slow-burning candle had sunk halfway down to the nail. He paced his room, yawning and rubbing his numb fingers.

"Sleep is important," he reminded himself with a most tired voice. He plopped onto his bed once again and slipped his hand under his pillow, where he gripped the coins he'd earned. He stared at the flame, and stared...

Tick--

The boy flinched and opened his eyes. He rubbed them and yawned, then looked at the candle. Why did he light it, again?

His eyes shot wide open. "Oh." Then he shifted to the edge of his bed and spotted the nail. It was still hot; he was on time.

The boy rose and stretched. It was finally the hour. Excitement was sure to greet him, that day. He put on his clean boots, layered up with his purple farmer's shirt and gray fur vest, then grabbed his chosen belongings. His bag was slung around to his side and his stick was grasped firmly in gloved hands. He blew out the candle, then quickly left the hut without a sound.

He shivered and shook as he made his way toward the center of town. He stopped next to the wooden board, still pinned with dampened, deteriorating quest sheets, and waited firmly in place as the first birds started to sing. A few townsfolk slowly appeared on the streets, on their way to start their early morning duties. But none of them came in clusters of three, nor did any of their darkened figures quite match the silhouettes of the people he was waiting for.

Then the land slowly lightened and filled with a calm, blue haze. The sun was rising. The boy paced and wiggled in a tight self-embrace, not used to merely standing in the cold. He wanted to move, he wanted to hunt. Where were they? He averted his gaze at a few nosy passers, who were visibly baffled with how still he was being. Patience was not a virtue for him. He couldn't blame them for being surprised, but was such a reaction really necessary?

After long, too long, the boy was staring at a sun-filled sky. It was a bright morning, overcast and crisp. It smelled of cold fog and early-season plant life. By all means, it was one of the best mornings he'd witnessed in a while. But he frowned. He had waited, and waited, and waited, before realizing they had left without him.

"I heard it sneaking around in the forest near the eastern pastures," he remembered. Then he realized his mistake. He'd gone and given them all the information they needed, and then left.

"Dang it!" he suddenly burst, kicking at the muddy street with his now dirty boots. A few local shepherds passing him jumped. "Those scheming grownups left without me! I should have seen it coming." He crossed his arms and stormed up the street. "Who cares if they're protecting me or making sure I don't die? I wanted to go! Well, I guess I do care if I die. But still! Liars, the lot of them!"

He stormed down Harbur Street, past his hut, and all the way down to the farmsteads where the air stank like dung and hay dust. He stomped on the bottom log of a fence, pulled himself up, then peered over the pastures. Past the brown, smelly sludge piles, past the closed barn, all the way over yonder to where the farmsteads ended and the forest began. There was no sign of the strangers. Figures; they must have been long gone.

"Fine!" he shouted, letting the word travel what he thought was far enough for them to hear. After hearing nothing but the sounds of soft, distant moos and clatter from town, he gave up and climbed back down the fence.

"An adventurer like me would never go back on his word." As he paced the fence, he thought of the words they'd exchanged. All of them. Trying to make sense of the matter, perhaps. Then his wild thoughts landed on the pep talk that the red-haired woman gave him. The adventurer's personal code. Perhaps they were just following theirs. It would have looked bad on their part, he admittedly knew, if they knowingly brought someone his age into danger.

"Whatever," he growled. Maybe he was left behind for not knowing his - that was the only other thing that made sense.

The boy sighed and dropped his head low. He returned his gaze to the edge of Kuttle and rested his locked arms on the fence. What now, adventurer?

"Oh, upset now, aren't we? What for?" He ignored the beast that phased into existence behind him. He stared straight ahead, even though the monster's face crept in from the side to sneak a glance. "What's this about a beast hunt, hmm? It's not as if I've left you, adventurer."

The boy thought, then fidgeted. "Yeah."

"What? Growing bored of our battles, already?"

"No."

For a moment, he expected the battle to ensue with a choppy, half-hearted lunge and equally uninterested continuation. However, nothing came of it. He focused on the thuds of the heavy, clawed paws and uneasy breaths, drowning out all conversation. Maybe it was the restless night, but he wasn't nearly in the mood for the same old fake adventures. Not a scrap of energy for them was in sight. So, he listened, and the beast remained silent.

His brow twitched and he turned his head ever so slightly. His ear faced a faint noise, then he caught sight of the source. Old Harbur, from a remarkable distance for his horrid eye-sight, was waving him down from the edge of his house. The boy felt a little flicker of light return.

He grabbed his bag and stick, then ducked the fence and started running. The monster ran after him.

"Am I hunting you, this time, fool? Where are you going?"

"Come on!"

The boy and the beast hightailed it through the melting field, as fast as a malowe stag in the peak of spring. Old Harbur, though distant, was visibly stooped over in their direction as if trying to see. He heard the boy's approach and walked forward with his hands on his bony hips.

"Hi, Mr. Harbur," the boy huffed, coming to a loud stop with the slap of his boots. "Don't hit me, please."

"That you, my boy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good! Good! I thought I heard ya yellin'. Got an hour to spare?"

The boy's gaze momentarily dipped. Ideally, he wouldn't. Ideally, he'd be out having the time of his life with a few rough strangers.

"Yeah."

Old Harbur smiled and nodded profusely, then turned and hobbled back toward his house. He waved a hand to beckon the boy. The boy and beast followed. Old Harbur walked until they reached the other side of the house, which had a tattered shelter and a few tools. Then a few logs of unchopped trees came into view, covered from the morning frost by a blanket. The old man pulled it off less-than-gracefully to reveal them fully.

"I'll be out of firewood by morning, but my back hurts too much to chop any myself. Ah, I tried, but it's gettin' to be too much for an old man like myself."

The boy groaned. Internally. He smiled on the outside and nodded, not feeling too eager to add house chores to his list of quests. He swayed in place and pressed the toe of his boot down into the slime below, swishing it slightly.

"I, um..." House chores, sure. But quest? Do quests even count if the adventurer doesn't adventure? He could wrangle a snake if it meant the job would be more interesting. Nah, it probably didn't count. Still, he couldn't think of an excuse to refuse. "I can chop it for you," the boy smiled weakly. At least he knew how to do that much.

"Oh, would you? That axe is a bit heavy, now."

But the boy was already halfway toward the firewood shed. He grabbed the axe and picked it up with only a minor struggle. Then he strut back to the logs with the handle dangled over his shoulder.

"Ma doesn't have time to chop wood, anymore, so I do it. I've never chopped a whole tree, though."

"Oh, it's not that hard." The old man squatted and clasped his hands together, moving them up and down in an instructional pose. "You just chop 'em."

The boy cocked his head in confusion, but quickly remembered Old Harbur's lack of teaching skills. He smirked. "Got it."

"I'll be on my porch, here, if you need me." Old Harbur hobbled away, again, leaving the boy to his task. He leaned back in his rocking chair and grabbed a scruffy rabbit hide to stretch.

So, the boy went to work. The trees were small and thin, and luckily light enough for him to roll into place. He started from the top and worked his way down. Though the wood was rather damp from exposure, it was at least not green. He hacked away at it bit by bit, focus driving the beast behind him into an impatient back-and-forth strut.

The boy heaved up a few chopped portions in his arms and dropped them in a slowly-growing pile near the chopping block. He looked up at the old man, who still carefully tugged at the rabbit fur.

"Mr. Harbur?"

The old man reacted a little late. "Eh? Y-Yes, boy?"

"Has anyone else visited you, lately?"

"Why, no, I don't believe so. You know I got a foggy memory."

The boy shrugged and readied a log chunk on the chopping block. "You remember me." Old Harbur chuckled and shook his rabbit hide.

"Come to think of it, I don't remember if I asked who you were. To be honest, I thought I'd never see ye again. Younguns don't visit me, really."

The boy raised the axe up, struggling to keep it steady with the weight against him. Then he let it fall, splitting the narrow log into two. "So you don't know me? My Ma knows you."

Old Harbur paused and leaned forward, pushing the twiney bushes of his eyebrows together in a sort of squint.

"Eh, I don't know. I don't get out often, anymore. Folks gotta fetch things for me, these days. Who's your Ma?"

"Jill. She brings you chives."

"Oh. Heheh, she's a good gal, that one."

The boy scoffed. "Yeah, I guess."

"I didn't know Jill had a kid. What's your name, boy?"

The axe came down again, splitting the half once more. And another... and another... The boy grit his teeth and peeked to his side, where the beast sat patiently nearby with a testing glare. His yellow teeth peeked through his fleshy lips, then he gestured toward the old man. The boy softly groaned.

"Th-- Thistle."

"Like the flower?"

The boy chucked a piece of firewood into the pile and kicked another into place with his boot. "Like the weed."

"Y'know, when I was a kid, my friends and I would dare each other to pluck one with our bare hands for eatin'."

The boy looked questionably at the old man. He said nothing after that, however. His hands grew still, as well. Perhaps he was lost in an old memory.

"Mr. Harbur?"

The old man flinched. "Oh, mornin' kid."

The boy sighed. "Morning." He chopped a few more logs into fourths and gathered them up in his arms. He dropped them on the pile.

"That pile's growin' mighty fast," the rancher said, tapping the bottom rim of his thick glasses to check the hazy lump of firewood. "Why don't you take a break, kid? Hungry?"

The boy huffed and clapped his hands free from dust and dirt. "I brought something, thanks."

The boy grabbed his bag and stepped onto the porch, crouching next to the old man and pulling out a small strip of feemock jerky to gnaw on. He examined his progress.

"Oh! Thistle. That's right. Almost let that one slip."

The boy smiled. "Mr. Harbur?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you know anything about adventuring?"

"Adventuring? Ah, well, no. Not really. I been a cattle rancher my whole life."

"Oh."

"I bet it must be hard. I can't imagine being on the road for more than a few days trip. I hear they be always on the move."

The boy fidgeted. "If there were adventurers here, what would you think?"

"I wouldn't think much of it. Why?"

"There were some. They came here just last night looking for something." The boy nodded, a gesture toward the trees to the east. "I heard something out there, yesterday. You were right."

The old man nodded slowly. "Aye, so perhaps no kids are out there foolin' around, playin' with my herd. Best stay away from those woods, then."

"But, like, what if I went after it?" The old man whirled his head around to look at the boy.

"Kid-- Ah, Thistle, that there forest is no joke. Only strong folk go in there to take down a few trees. Fools go in there chasin' beasts."

The boy straightened as if to argue against the statement. "I'm strong. And adventurers do stuff like that all the time."

Old Harbur sighed and reached a hand down to pat the boy's shoulder.

"Well, I can't argue with that, now can I?" The boy smiled. "Do you know what your job is, boy?"

The smile dropped. "O-Oh. Sorry. Firewood."

He almost stood, after a measly moment of rest, to return to his work. Old Harbur held him down with a light push on his shoulders, however. He waved his other hand in dismissal and winced.

"Agh, no, no, not that."

A crease formed on the boy's brow. "To help Ma?"

"No. Well, yes, but that's not it. Your job is to stay safe, kid. Alive. I know ye winterborn kiddos think you're safe from the world, but you ain't. There's a lot more out there than just the cold and open fields."

The boy slumped and rolled his head away, then muttered under his breath. "That's why I want to leave."

Old Harbur frowned slightly, seeing that the advice went over the boy's head. The two remained in silence for a moment, neither knowing what to say next. After a moment, though, came the breaking of that silence.

"Agh," Old Harbur muttered, then shakily started lifting himself from the chair. "Hear that? Them girls are gettin' restless."

"I can let them out for you." The man faltered, processed the words, smiled, then flopped back down with a content sigh.

"I like that idea very much, kid! Keep an eye on 'em while you're choppin' that firewood."

The boy hopped to his feet and stepped off the porch, opening a new task for him for the day.

"Oh, and don't let them go near the forest!"

The boy ran the whole way to the barn and collided with the door. He put an ear to it, listening to the shuffles and grunts of the animals inside. Then he grabbed the metal handle and tugged hard to slide it open.

One by one, the girls sped out, smelling of freshly-munched grain, hay, and dung. Their noses immediately dipped once the tiniest patches of grass were in sight.

He watched them for a minute or two, only retreating back to his woodchopping duties once he believed the herd wouldn't stray far.

Then it was back to chopping. He presumed idle conversation with the old rancher every few minutes or so, speaking of nothing in particular. He watched as the pile of stretched rabbit hides slowly grew, as Old Harbur watched the pile of firewood grow as well. Despite it seeming like forever and a day, the time they spent busy at work was only long enough to let the sun creep to its highest. By then the old man was shaking his sore hands, and the boy was glistening with sweat.

"Kid, I think the herd is wanderin' off." The boy looked up after a tired swing, then followed the old man's shaky gesture to the open space behind. Sure enough, the herd was rather distant from the barn.

"I got it," the boy said, stepping away from his task. He attempted to run, then faltered. His stick lay patiently for action as it usually did. With a moment of consideration, he stepped back to grab it, then rushed off again. Action could spur at any moment, after all.

The herd was distant, probably heading toward the woods. He wondered if they heard the strange sound again. That... monster, or whatever it was.

His pace was at a brisk walk, his feet powered through the melting ground. With the crisp air pushing him from a solid angle and whipping the hair off his sweaty forehead. From ahead, the bobbing view of the forest and distanced herd lay in wait, and from his side trodded the goat-faced beast. The beast glanced back at the boy, narrowing his eyes and twisting his foul face to bear a smile. The boy looked back, knowing immediately what was on his mind.

The two picked up their paces bit by bit, one threatening to reach the target before the other.

"Don't," the boy warned, but couldn't hide a small smile form on the corner of his mouth. "I have to focus."

"Oh, focus you must," the beast agreed with a growl thick in his throat. He sped his pace up again, encouraging the boy to do the same. "Work, work, work. What say I help you with it?"

"Not a chance." The two were at a fast march, as if battling each other in a race without running. But the beast broke the stride and bounced into a run. The boy followed in pursuit of the creature in the same manner, charging at a full sprint to keep up. "Wait!"

The charge turned into a chase, the chase turned into a running battle. The boy slashed and whipped at the ghastly creature with his stick all the way up until they reached the herd, at which time he cut in front of the beast before he could reach the lazy grazers.

"Hah," he cheered, staring down at the defeated predator. The gap between them closed by one step of a massive paw, then grew with one mighty sweep of the stick. Then another, then another. Despite the various bounds and leaps and reaching swipes of his paws, the boy cut his advances. Eventually, the monster groaned and flopped to the ground in defeat.

"Even beasts like me must eat," the creature growled. "Eventually."

"Feast on the rabbijacks, mangey thing."

The sound of bells drew the boy's attention back. He glanced behind him to see the herd once again stepping away.

"Oh, right," he muttered, then started toward the nearest feemock. Not before whipping a finger up and demanding the monster behind him to stay put, of course. The head of the nearest feemock rose from the ground as the boy approached. He reached out for the rope around her neck as he had earlier. However, before his fingers could touch it, the creature grunted and pivoted away.

The boy hesitated, then carefully stepped forward again toward a different one. He was met with the same refusal.

"Hey, come on," he said, trying once again. The feemock he reached for stood at the far end.

"I told you that I'd help," the beast called. He stared up at the clouded sky with his eyes rolled.

"Oh yeah? And what could you do?"

"I could chase them," the beast offered.

"You're not doing that."

Then his yellow eyes rolled back down and looked upon the boy. "Then you."

The boy's face fell flat. He raised his arms to gesture to, well, everything. "What do think I'm doing?"

Moos rose from the general buzz of the land and bells chimed in a soft, chaotic symphony. The boy whipped around to face the herd, ready to bound out of the way before he risked a similar struggle to that of the previous evening's. The herd, however, was stepping away. Farther away, in fact, and toward the forest. He slouched and threw his head back. The beast behind him struggled through a fit of stifled giggles while the boy, a lot less amused, groaned.

"I'm an adventurer, this is my question, abd I will get it done," he muttered. His slouched posture straightened into that of a board and he shoved the sleeves of his shirt up his arms. He stomped toward the herd, who immediately took notice in his advance.

"No-- No--" he demabded, seeing them once again attempt to distance themselves from him. The faster he walked, the faster they fled, some even breaking into a slow trot. The boy growled and hopped into a run, and he skirted around the herd until he managed to reach the neck of one feemock. He lunged for the bell tie with his free hand and tugged until she came to a slow stop. When she did, the boy sighed and smiled at the little win. However, the moment his other hand came into view, her steady position turned active once again. She veered opposite from him, bumping the boy off with a bump of her flank. The boy let go, not risking another burn, and raked his fingers over his face.

"Ugh."

Then he paused. He lifted his other hand to look at his stick, then flicked his gaze back to the herd. "Oh," he whispered.

He once again approached the herd, this time extending his arm to reveal the stick. Fluffy ears and black eyes momentarily focused on the object until the herd went into motion once again. They stepped away from the stick, veering left at first, then right when he switched hands. The boy smiled. He'd figured it out, at last.

---

He most definitely hadn't figured it out, at last.

The boy dropped to his hands and knees in the middle of the massive field, too focused on the heat in his body and the need to catch his breath to care about what he could possibly be crouching in. Sweat dripped from his face and mud had stained his clothes practically everywhere.

He lifted himself slowly and approached the herd. He may have gotten them to move, but directing them was most difficult, as he'd found. If they weren't veering off in different directions for him to chase down separately, they were going in entirely the wrong directions from where he was urging them. After so many minutes of dashing around trying to contain the group, he'd have thought he'd wandered more than just a few measly yards.

Back and forth he sprinted, finding that it was the easiest way for him to keep the herd at least somewhat together. Even if it meant their strides were full of zigzags and his running was robbing the air from his lungs by the second.

He'd managed to push them enough toward the barn to where he felt they'd be close enough, but by then his energy was all but gone. He returned to Old Harbur and his post at the chopping block wheezing and dripping with various face fluids.

"I did it," he sighed, collapsing onto the dirt without a moment wasted. Old Harbur appeared from the woodshed carrying the remainder of his dried firewood into the house.

"Well, look at that. I thought you'd be gone all night." He tossed the armful on the porch and peered at the sky. "Bah. That sun. You should run home. I've worked ye hard enough today to let you loose."

The boy wiped his face dry. "What? I haven't finished chopping, yet."

"Eh, you can finish tomorrow, maybe."

"Or I could stack the logs in the shed for you. O-or help you feed and fetch the herd tonight."

Old Harbur chuckled. "Good lad. Ah, alright. Bring that wood to the shed and we'll call it a night. I can handle the girls from here."

The boy stood and swept his hands over his sleeves, which again did next to nothing in terms of cleaning. "I'm still getting paid, right?"

Old Harbur scratched his chin. "Oh. Right." He vanished into the house. "I just need to find..."