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The air was bitter cold. It was the kind of cold that smelled like fire, he thought, in a bleary haze, like the smoke from a distant fireplace that the clear skies carried for miles.
He found himself wishing that it were a little closer, maybe, that he could feel his wings and toes again, that he could heat a kettle on and make tea for himself and Nageki and Kazuaki-
Hitori sat up abruptly, looking to his side. Under their own piles of leaves shivered his brother and his friend, both asleep, both releasing puffs of white air at regular intervals. Hitori sighed, brushing the pile of brittle leaves off of him and onto his brother - Kazuaki had suggested it, bless his heart, thinking that some cover would be better than none - and turned his gaze upward.
The sky was bright, but the sun was directionless. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, a bright dome instead of clouds and breeze. It was painfully cold, and the smell of fire hadn’t faded.
Something dark flickered on the edge of his vision. More rustling came from behind him.
“Hitori…?”
He turned, at Nageki’s side instantly. “Yeah?” he asked, brushing a couple leaves away from his brother’s face. He looked sickly. He always looked sickly, but the darkness under his eyes punched holes into Hitori’s heart. The cold seemed to pierce even deeper.
“It’s cold,” Nageki said as he let his head drop, exhausted, back onto the snow. Hitori shrugged off his last coat and placed it over his brother.
“I know.”
“You should,” Nageki mumbled, wings moving weakly under the leaves and Hitori’s coat, “You should take that back. I’m fine.”
“What did we say about that phrase.”
“No- no. Really. I’m… I can’t really. Feel it any more. Please take your coat. You’ll catch cold too.
Hitori hesitated, the tips of his feathers brushing the fabric. “But you-”
“You won’t be able to do much for any of us if you get cold, too, you know,” Nageki said, opening his eyes again and forcing a weak smile.
Hitori’s grip on his coat tightened. He pulled it up again, around his shoulders, shivering at the already-chilled fabric. Anything to stop Nageki from having That smile. That smile was reserved for when he was in pain, in a type of pain that was too far out of Hitori’s reach to be able to touch.
He pulled the coat tighter around himself. It did nothing.
“Want me to get you anything?” It was a pointless question, Hitori knew it, but the industry of it was calming, soothing. Routine couldn’t be applied, but routine was something he depended on. They all had dinner together on Fridays. He would always ask if Nageki needed anything when he woke.
“No.” Nageki paused, considered, repeated. “No. Thank you. I’m f-” he glanced up at Hitori, shifted, tried in vain to sit up. “Okay. I’m okay.”
There was something not right about the way Nageki was moving. Hitori reached down, as if he was going to rub his brother’s head affectionately, and brushed the leaves off of him. They crackled as they were discarded, fluttering off of the mourning dove like solemn confetti - a celebration of things ending, rather than beginning.
Not nearly enough leaves came off of him.
Nageki looked down at himself, up at Hitori, back down with a weary sort of resignation. He was ensnared in what looked like vines, if vines were wooded, thick and brown. One had wrapped itself around his leg and between his toes, as if they were holding hands. Another had snaked its way between his wing and his body, its delicate tendrils holding onto leaves, bright with colour, and feathers, rumpled and dull. They wrapped around his neck, strapped across his chest, and the snow was stained with small drops of blooming red from where the wood had pierced flesh.
“I hoped you wouldn’t notice until later,” Nageki said, and Hitori’s numbness was momentarily replaced with a flash of panic and rage. “I didn’t want you to see that-”
“No,” Hitori heard, somewhere distant. “No,” it came again, sounding familiar in a way he couldn’t place. “No, no, no,” came the voice, before he realised that it was coming from his own beak. He scrabbled at the exposed foliage, pulling some of the thinner branches out of the way. Black oil stained his wings as Nageki started to squirm and the voice that wasn’t entirely his continued to repeat its mantra: No, no, no.
“Uzune,” said Kazuaki.
“Hitori,” said Nageki.
“You’re hurting me,” said Nageki.
“I’ve got him,” said Kazuaki.
“I’m sorry,” said Nageki, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
No, repeated Hitori’s beak as he tried to get back to his brother’s side, no, no.
—-
Slowly, Hitori became aware that time had passed. It was like swimming, he thought as he stroked his brother’s wing idly, like water so dark and deep that he couldn’t tell which way was up. He floated to the surface of consciousness, gasped weakly for air, sunk under again.
He came to again when Kazuaki had built a small fire in front of them, the other quail piling their leaves from last night and some sticks together and striking stones together until there was a spark. The fire grew from a spot on a leaf to a small smoky pillar in short order, and Kazuaki settled down next to him after feeding a few more sticks to it.
Hitori noticed that he was still holding Nageki’s wing. He tightened his grip. Nageki weakly squeezed back.
The fire grew clearer, its column wicking away into the still-bright sky.
“What now,” asked Kazuaki, his voice a quiet rumble in his chest. As if he were afraid to draw attention to himself. As if it were obvious that Nageki was dying.
“I don’t know,” said Hitori, still looking at the fire. He begged it for answers, but it simply sputtered once, twice, then retained its clear burn. He was bobbing along near the surface of the icy lake, taking in shallow breaths like the weight of consciousness was too heavy.
“You go on,” Nageki suggested. Hitori’s wing tightened again. The dove shifted, frowned, laid silent.
They waited.
—
The Beast was out there. Hitori heard it, moving through the rustling leaves. It brought the chill of night with it, the fading of the sky, the blank white expanse of the forest floor broken only by dark trees jutting from it irregularly. Hitori thought - he thought that there was some sort of mathematical beauty there, an irrational number, the square root of something-or-other that continued on to eternity.
We’re not going home, he thought, and the wind agreed. It rustled his feathers, plunging its cold fingers into his down.
No, the Beast agreed, you’re not.
“What-” Hitori’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. He wasn’t even sure he was speaking aloud. “What do I do. What can I do?”
The Beast’s eyes loomed in his own, the only source of light and just out of reach. It cracked as it shifted, the sound of twigs being stepped on and wings being broken. You can’t save your brother, it said.
“I know.” Hitori avoided its gaze - tried to, failed to. The Beast was everywhere he looked. “I’ve known for a long time.”
A long time, The Beast repeated, its words the rustle of leaves. How long are you willing to try?
Hitori looked down at Nageki. He was unconscious again. He had been slipping in and out all day. The wood had only grown thicker around him. Hitori released his wing for just a moment, just enough to smooth back the feathers on his head, brush the snow off of his shivering frame.
“Forever,” Hitori whispered.
I can help, the Beast replied.
—-
The lantern felt heavy in his grip. He watched the flame dance through its glass.
There, the Beast rustled, peering over his shoulder. It is done.
Hitori wanted to look up, to see the Beast in the light of its lantern, but he couldn’t bear to think of what it might be. He couldn’t bear to think that it might have his brother’s face.
The Beast uncoiled from around him, swaying like negative fox-fire in the gloom. It seemed to draw light into it, away from the surroundings, a void or a glitch in space. Something that should not exist and did. Hitori became aware of how precious light was, huddled closer to the lantern, clutched it to his chest for the warmth and protection.
Your brother’s soul resides there now, the Beast said, its stained glass eyes finding Hitori’s once more. All who fall in the forest will keep it alive. All who fall in the forest become the trees you seek.
Hitori stole one more look at Nageki’s corpse, almost completely overgrown now. The dark wood was thick, strong. Hitori thought that he would need an axe to help cut it down. He remembered Kazuaki finding one a while back, but not wanting to touch it because the blade was stained dark. In the gloom, it could have been blood.
Hitori knew it wasn’t. He knew a lot of things about the forest, now.
He picked himself up, cradling the lantern and watching his brother’s soul flicker. It was weakening, just like he had in life.
Hitori walked into the woods, and the Beast followed close behind.
—-
Finding the axe had been simple enough. Now that he knew how to traverse it, nothing in these woods scared Hitori any more. Nothing except letting his brother’s soul wink out.
He wouldn’t let that happen.
He needed more oil.
—-
All who fell in the forest were ensnared in the Beast’s trees. That included Nageki. That included Kazuaki. Eventually, Hitori thought, as he ground the gathered branches into thick black, it would include him, too. But not for a very, very long time.