The Woods Boy Pt. 01

This is a story I've been publishing elsewhere for a while, and now adding here too.

Tha Woods Boy

It was a misty fall afternoon, somewhere in late October I guess. I'd been out in Knock Woods with Bess, my old wolfhound, hoping to add another doe to my larder before the winter really bit. It had been fruitless so far, but then my hopes hadn't been high to begin with. Fact is game of any kind had been scarce all over of late, and while I had provisioned myself well enough so far, I always liked to have a little to spare for those few neighbors I had that were going without, but each trip this season had been bringing poorer and poorer returns. It was almost uncanny, how still the wood was that day, the tall straight pines disappearing into the shrouds of mist and not a breeze or a bird to animate them. It was, then, a blow to my ears when all of a sudden Bess erupted into barrage of deep, angry barks. Evidently she smelt something ahead, hidden in the white.

"What is it, girl?" I said, before crouching beside her and following her gaze, but I couldn't make anything out. The chill in the air seemed to deepen, whatever had spooked her couldn't be good. She was a wise old thing, not quick to temper or easily provoked. My presence next to her calmed her some, and the barking had subsided to a deep, guttural growl. Mind racing like my heart now was, I tried to assess the possibilities, and the dangers. There were bears further north that sometimes ventured here, and a few cats not much smaller than bears, but they had all seemed to disappear when the game had. Could be one, maybe sick or old, got stranded here, in which case the beast would be hungry, and desperate. Bess's front paws danced in place on the forest floor, and while she would never go ahead without my say so I knew she was itching to get at whatever she had smelt or heard. Deciding to trust her instincts, as I had so many times before, I got back to my feet.

"Go on, girl. Go find it." It was all she needed, and she leapt into a sprint, charging in the direction she'd been pointing at. Quickly unsheathing my hunting knife I ran after her.

Bess led me over a ridge and down into the shallow valley of one of the brooks that lace the woods. She was making fast towards the bank and I as I followed I began to make out her goal. There on the bank, just a few feet from the water, crouched a large, dark shape, like some kind of great beast, but no bear or cat or anything else I'd seen before. Beneath it lay another, smaller figure, pale and unmoving. At mine and Bess' approach the creature looked up, two red, shining eyes seeming to glow from within like flames. I swear the heart almost jumped right out of me as that thing set me in its sights, and a thousand little prayers flew through my mind. It was the look of death, and as the beast began moving towards me I thought it was my end for certain. It stopped and regarded me with such intensity it felt like a furnace, like a terrible force of will made manifest, seeming to strip me to the bone. All I could do was stand there, and that was hard enough, as every fibre of me wanted to fall to the ground, to curl up and die rather than continue under that stare. Don't ask me what happened next though, because the next thing I knew the scrutiny had gone and the creature had backed off and was making its way back towards the stream, almost effortlessly crossing it in one bound before disappearing into the woods beyond. Bess was going crazy again, but I barely heard her over my thumping heart. Slowly I came back to myself, though, and I remembered the second figure. With a last scan of where the creature had vanished I cautiously approached the pale body.

It was human, that much I think I had already known. I stepped up, expecting to see a mess of blood there on the rocky bank, but there was none. Whoever it is would be dead, I thought, as I crouched down to it. I slowly placed my shaking hand on the shoulder. If was cold, but not the cold of death, that much I could feel. It was like a gentle tug on some sense I have no name for, a plaintive plea. Don't leave me. Don't leave me.

I pulled them onto their back and saw it was a boy, naked and wet, his dark hair matted about his face. No, not a boy. There on his pale chest he wore the mark of Becoming that signaled he had been welcomed by the men of his tribe into their fraternity, but the deep, sharp blue of the swirling lines of his tribe's design, along with a lingering pinkness to the skin around it showed that it was new, just a week or two worn I'd guess. I didn't recognise it, so he was not local to these parts. I leant over him and placed my ear to his cold lips, straining for a sound of breath. It was lucky the day was so still or I wouldn't have heard it, faint as it was, but I had been right. He lived. Bess, too, had come to investigate, her previous aggressive demeanour now replaced with the fussing maternal instinct that was much more her nature.

"I guess we found a wounded stray, Bessy. What do you think we should do with it?" She barked once, and it was the playful bark she made when when I teased her with a bone. "I guess you're right. Not that I expect you'll help much."

The day was still light above the mist. I put it at maybe a few hours before it would be dark. Examining him more closely I saw some faint color had come back into his cheeks already, and looking close I saw his narrow chest was rising and falling steadily. Sighing, I carefully lifted him from from the rocks, holding him in front of me and, trying not to jolt or disturb him, got to my feet. I was surprised at how light he was, no more than a bundle of firewood he felt as I carried him away.

I had taken him home, back to my cabin, arriving as the last of the day's meagre sun had given up. I had wrapped him in my coat and that seemed to help some, because by the time I had lit a fire and lay him on a fur in front of it he seemed to simply be asleep, and no longer in that deathliness that had held him at first. I'd wet a rag and put it to his lips, wringing water into his mouth, and saw that he swallowed. That relieved me some, so I left him be and set to making some food, for I for one was famished. I took two of the rabbits I'd manage to catch the day before and, with some roots and herbs, put together a stew. It simmered above the fire and I sat down at last, the weariness of the day now hitting me.

The cabin window was dark by then. I looked down at the shape now lying at my hearth and began going over in my head just how he had come to be there. I shuddered at the memory of the beast that had so unmanned me. Despite the mist I knew that thing was not of those woods. No damn bear can jump like that, and no cat I ever saw was that big, or that black. And those eyes, those firey eyes that had pierced me like nothing ever, those weren't the eyes of any normal animal. Just recalling them I felt the dread that had filled me then, and I knew it would be a good while before I returned to Knock Wood. The creature was likely the reason every other animal with sense had left the place alone, and I was not about to contradict that wisdom.

My thoughts turned again to the boy as he lay there in the soft, orange glow, a look of quiet contentment on his face, his brow relaxed and his lips barely parted, and I found myself gazing at him and wondering why I hadn't just left him there on the bank. I know, I sound like a monster myself, but life can make monsters of us. Truth was I had supplies for myself, and little chance of getting more, and when I lifted him from the ground I had made a commitment to keeping him as long as was needed, be it one night or the whole winter.

Don't leave me.

That voice came back to me then. I looked to see he hadn't woken, but he lay there still asleep. That was why, I thought. When I had touched him and had felt that pull and heard that voice, so faint and yet so clear, I had known then what my duty was. There were still questions to have answers to, and perhaps the boy can provide some, but on that at least I was settled.

The smell of hot rabbit stew was now filling the cabin, and my belly began growling like Bess. She, by the way, had been happily gnawing on a bone, seemingly content to have had her usual spot usurped. She, too, was keeping one watchful eye on the stranger as she worked away. I stood and stepped to the hearth, lifting a ladle to the stew, then to my lips. It would do, more than do after the day. Maybe the smell of the stew had roused him too because, as I turned to grab a bowl and some bread I saw the boy stir. He looked like a little babe waking from a nap as he slowly and lazily stretched his arms, rolling and groaning a little like it was his own bed he was waking in and it was a Sunday morning. The sight held my attention as I stood half turned, and I admit the sight warmed me in more than one way. It had been a while since I had seen a naked human form move so, too long, and damn if he didn't look beautiful to my eyes right then.

I told myself I was just happy to see the kid alive, but my growing want made a liar of me as the blanket slipped, showing his taught, lightly muscled chest, the tattoo black now in the firelight, his pits brushed with hair as dark as that on his head, standing out against skin that was now no longer white, but still pale, like fresh cream. By the time my eyes had returned to his face his were half open and squinting up at me. No doubt I looked like some huge, dark shape looming above him, so I stepped back and squatted down to his level, and his head and eyes followed me, wary, and no doubt still half full of sleep.

"You're awake." I said. He looked at me for a moment, then peered around the small room, though he didn't look like he was taking it in. I pushed on.

"I found you by a brook in the Knock Wood. You were..." I didn't want to mention all that had happened just yet. There will be time for that. "You were hurt, so I brought you back here."

Sense seemed to be returning to him now, somewhat at least, because when his eyes returned to mine they were open and more focused. After a moment he opened his mouth to speak and it was it was as if he was struggling to remember how.

"I.....was...." His voice was cracked, and I remembered he had only drank what little I'd been able to squeeze into him as he slept. I turned slowly so as not to spook him and reached for the jug and a cup. Filling it I held the cup towards him.

"Here, drink." I urged him. After a beat of confusion he seemed to remember his thirst too and near grabbed the cup, gulping half the contents and spilling the rest, causing him to cough. "Hey, slow down boy." I said. "There's plenty." I took the cup from him and refilled it and, before I let him take it told him, "slower this time."

The kid nodded and took a few modest mouthfuls before setting the cup down beside him. He was on his side now, propped on one arm, and I couldn't help but let my eyes follow the curves of his body again, the way the light shone on the now wet skin of his chest, a rivulet running down the parting in the muscles of his stomach. His voice then took my attention back.

"I was hurt." His voice was clearer now. It was the voice I had hear before, in my head. The same.

"Yes. You were...attacked by something out there. Me and Bess scared the thing away." The kid regarded her and I saw her tail take half a dozen lazy thumps of approval on the floor.

"Luckily you don't seem too badly hurt, no wounds or anything I can see." I blushed inside at this. I had taken the time to examine him for injuries once I had gotten back, checking for fractures and the like, something that doesn't necessarily bleed. I'm not a healer but you have to know enough to get by out here. It's mostly so I can patch myself or one of the few folks that live close enough to matter. As I'd layed him up on the bench, stripped the coat from him and began cautiously probing his flesh I was struck by the unequal intimacy of the moment. This kid had never even layed eyes on me, and here I was seeing him more closely and more nakedly that probably anyone since his mother. I kept my mind on the task as best as possible as my hands moved over his bare, milky skin, now warm and vital to the touch. There had been that pull again, like I'd felt the first time I touched him, but I was different now. Where before there had been a desperation to it, now it felt more like a gentle suck, like an infant on his thumb. No voice, just the sound of his breathing, steady and slow.

"Where am I?" He looked about the room again.

"This is my house. My name is Jack." I gestured to myself. "What's your name?"

The kid's face screwed up in confusion and he seemed to be struggling for an answer. He looked around himself for it and then his eyes fell on the tattoo on his chest. His fingers found it too and they traced and the lines of the abstract design as if the answer was in them somewhere. He couldn't seem to puzzle it out though, and with a hint of frustration in his young voice he said: "I...I don't know..."

I sat for a moment, regarding him.

"Don't worry. It'll come. Takes time to come back to yourself after a shock like you must have had." I tried to sound reassuring, but even I knew it wasn't a good sign. I decided to drop it for now.

"Are you hungry? I have made some stew." I said, and pointed to the kettle simmering merrily on the hearth. Those dark eyes widened at this, and I could swear I almost saw the drool start dripping from his lips the second I said it. It was a stupid question really.

"I'll take that as a yes."

I stood again and set about what I'd started earlier. He'd sit up by the time I put his bowl and bread in front of him, and I didn't bother him with talk as he ate, nor him me. Another bowl each later and we sat, me in the chair, him on hearth. The fire crackled and spat.

After a while I asked him. "Do you know what happened? What do you remember?"

"Not much." He said. A glaze came to his eyes as he sought in his mind. "I remember I was running. I was scared and I was running. Away from something. Towards something. Then darkness. It was dark and I was cold and so..." He sobbed, taken by the memory. His face fell and he shook, pulling his knees up and putting his arms around them. Carried by instinct I was on the floor kneeling next to him and brought my arm around his shoulders.

"Shhh, it's OK, kid. You're safe now. You're safe here." He didn't resist as I pulled him to my chest and gently held him as the sobs subsided.

"I was so scared." He said, once he was able. "But then I heard a voice." He looked up into my face as he said it. "It said 'You're safe now'." The silence pulled taught between us. "Over and over, it said it, and it seemed to pull me out of...of wherever I was."

My heart thumped heavy at what he had said. Those dark eyes glistened up at me. I was the one who couldn't speak now, so he did.

"It was you, wasn't it?"

I nodded. "I think it was. I felt it too. I heard you too."

Neither of us knowing what to say we embraced like that for a while, as the fire lowered. He felt so good in my arms, like he'd been made for them, and the way he had lain his head on my chest, nustling in a little, sent jolts to my groin. It was getting harder and harder to ignore how much I wanted him. Every time my skin brushed his I'd feel that pull from him, whatever it was that had run between us before. Now there seemed to be urgency to it again, but it came not from fear but a desire that seemed to match my own. I looked and saw he was breathing at my shirt covered chest, his lips touching the fabric, seeming to consume my smell. He seemed lost in a world of his own, his eyes closed, and he reminded me of a pup looking for a teat. A thought entered my head and, before I could stop myself, I pulled my own shirt off over my head so his face could lay on my naked chest. Wordlessly he brushed his nose and pretty lips on my furred chest, sniffing and licking and sucking and nipping, send more jolts through me. He seemed to be acting on some instinct or need, so I let him. For a while at least. I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good, and I wanted to pull his body fully to mine and take him then, but that was not my way. That was not why I had pulled him from the bank. I just let him nuzzle away until sleep began to take him again.

Asleep, I lifted him, and carried him to my cot. He'd be more comfortable there, and he needed rest. He looked so peaceful as I pulled the woollen blankets up over him and I brushed the soft, dark hair from his face.

"Sleep well." I murmured, almost to myself, before taking my own place in my chair. I pulled over the bottle of spirits I keep for tending a cut and, giving it a sniff, decided it was good enough and drank a slug. It burned through me, but managed to shake me out of the strange mood the kid had put me in. I wondered at what the morning would bring as the fire burned low, the room became dark, and I too drifted off.

*****

Bess was first up the next day, as I awoke to a cold nose at my hand, nudging it, and a warm tongue at my fingers. Groggily I peered through half open eyes at her. She wagged her tail.

"Hmm." I growled. "Why are you so lively this morning?""

Another few wags. It's a wonder how motivating a friendly face can be in the morning, and so with a few creaking stretches I shook the cold of the night from my bones and levered myself upwards. It only took me a second to remember the kid and, turning to the cot I saw him still asleep, no more than a head peeking above curled around blankets. I went over and, light as a feather, I brushed the tips of my fingers on his sleeping brow. I felt a tingle, but no fever. As light as I was he stirred, maybe feeling what I had felt, and I pulled my hand away as his eyes opened to me.

"Morning." I said, and smiled. He smiled back and, sleepily, replied in kind.

I grabbed the back of my chair and pulled it to the bed so I could sit, and he turned on the cot to face me, propped on one arm as he had the night before. In the silver light of the morning he looked even more beautiful, his flawless skin seeming to shimmer.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

He took a moment to ponder a response.

"I feel good. I mean I feel well. Thank you." He said with a small smile that tightened my belly. "And you? Did you sleep?"

I paused, a little surprised at the question. It seemed odd that he would ask after me, when he was the one who had suffered.

"Yes." I said at last. "I slept some." His smile grew at that. Then his brow furrowed again, looking about the room.

"Where?" He asked, worry at the edge of his voice. I patted the chair I sat in.

"Here." I gave him a sideways smile, but his frown deepened. He wears his thoughts so plainly, I thought. After a while he resolved into a look of determination.

"No. I can't take your bed. You have done so much. I think I owe you my life." His voice sounded now less like the boy he had been, and I had to remind myself that he is indeed a man now, and can have his own mind. Still, some deeper part of me knew that I had a responsibility to him now. Not just the fact I saved him, but there was some bond between us that, while I couldn't begin to explain it, no more could I ignore it. So, as he began to hastily lift himself from the bed I found myself reaching my hand to his arm. I touched the bare flesh and it was like a flash of lightning. I knew we both felt it because he turned to me with gasp and a look of shock in his eyes. The bond held us both for a moment, and it was like I could see his mind. I saw the fear he had spoken of the night before, the pain and the fear, and then the hope at hearing a voice, my voice, beckon in that darkness. It was only an instant but the shock near threw me from my chair. He pulled away at the same moment and sank back onto the bed, breathing as heavy as I was. We both lay panting a few moments more until finally he broke the silence.