Chapter Text
Somewhere, lost in the clouded annals of history, lies a place that few have seen—a mysterious place, called the Unknown—where long-forgotten stories are revealed to those who travel through the wood…
-Over the Garden Wall
The trees that hem the path loom closer, their gnarled branches caging the moon against the sky and throwing tangled shadows across the forest floor. They’ve been walking for hours in the damp autumn air, each crest of a hill and bend in the path bringing more forest, forever unfamiliar and nothing like home. Tooru hates the way dry leaves crackle underfoot, broadcasting their presence to the night. There could be wolves out there, or bears, or boars, lurking in darkness too deep for his poor human eyes to see until the moment the creature strikes. A breeze slips its cold fingers under the collar of his sweater, and he sniffles, trying not to dwell on yellowing fangs and claws the size of his hand. He’s only fourteen: far too young and pretty to die. And such a horrible death, no less.
Tobio, tramping ahead in a jacket that looks like a girl’s hand-me-down, seems unconcerned.
“Kitty? Kitty! Where did you go?” he calls out into the shadow-blackened trees, a scuffed volleyball clutched in his hands. He’s been playing with it every time they pause for a breather, bumping it in the air, and doing wall sets against tree trunks.
“Ugh, stop it, Tobio-chan,” Tooru says, shuffling to a halt. “The cat’s gone.”
Tobio scampers up to a lichen-encrusted boulder and peers around the side. “You don’t know that. He could be here.”
He says it with a determined little nod, and Tooru rolls his eyes.
“We have more important things to do than cat-hunting, stupid. We need to—”
Leaves shake like a flurry of finger snaps somewhere to their right, and Tooru’s heart jams in his throat.
“Kitty—”
He claps a hand over Tobio’s mouth, smothering the rest of his cries, and squints into the murky darkness. He’s sure that he hears snuffling—heavy wet breaths from a very large beast poised to spring, slinking closer and closer…
And then it’s silent again, the rustling fading into wind. Swallowing his heart back down, he releases his held, burning breath, although he can’t shake the prickle on the back of his neck.
Tobio makes a little muffled protest into Tooru’s palm, and he snatches his hand away, wiping it off on his pants.
“As I was saying before, we need to find a way home. This place is creepy.”
Somewhere in the distance sounds an owl’s eerie hoot, and he shivers.
Tobio cocks his head. “I thought you knew where we were going.”
“How could I? We’re lost, alright? I’ve never seen this place before.”
As if he ever goes hiking willingly—his sister has given up on dragging him along. He used to help Iwa-chan capture bugs in the field near their houses, and one spring he took his then-girlfriend (who dumped him two weeks later) to see the cherry blossoms, but that’s the extent of his tolerance for the natural world.
“Hey, maybe I can help!”
Tooru yelps at the new voice and whirls around to find nothing behind him but the trees and the path they’ve been following. Even as a cloud scuds away from the moon, shedding cold light on the skeletal branches, he sees no one. The back of his neck prickles more urgently.
“No, up here!”
In unison, he and Tobio tilt their heads skyward. There, on a crooked branch, is a small crow with something pale and bright on its crown.
“I can help you get home,” the crow says. “Or, I know someone who can.”
It’s a human voice, coming from a beak that should not be able to form human words—hard-shelled and pointed, a thick black tongue visible in between. Tooru blinks hard, and when the crow shuffles around on the branch with its tiny talons scraping against the bark, he blinks again.
Beside him, Tobio’s eyes sparkle. “Really?”
“Nope. Nuh-uh,” Tooru says, and wonders if dehydration can cause shared hallucinations. “Birds don’t talk; it’s not natural. We don’t need that kind of bad luck.”
“Hey! What do you mean?” The crow fluffs its wings. “I’m not bad luck. I’m good luck!”
Tooru grabs Tobio by the elbow and tugs him away. The path on which they’re traveling must have an end, and at least it’s more normal than a talking bird.
“Come on. We’ll find our own way home.”
There is a soft thud as the volleyball hits the leaf cover, and Tobio squirms from his grip to scoop it back up. The crow has flown to a closer branch, watching them with beady eyes.
“And put that away!” Tooru says. “I don’t want you losing it again.”
“Okay.” Tobio stuffs it into the satchel at his hip and trots back to Tooru’s side.
“No, wait up!” the crow calls. Tooru picks up the pace.
As they walk, the path begins to slope downwards. Roots seem to rise from the fallen leaves with the sole intent of tripping them, and Tooru’s entire body seizes when he nearly sprawls flat on his face. Somewhere, hovering over his left shoulder, the crow snickers, and Tooru scowls, refusing to give it the satisfaction of a retort.
They can’t seem to shake this stupid bird. It flutters in front of their faces to poke them with questions. Do they actually think that they’ll find their way out on their own? Do they know how huge and tricky this forest is? Do they think that they’ll find anyone else who would be willing to help them?
It only shuts up when Tobio stops them and points into the trees. There, bleeding through the maze of trunks, is a soft, warm glow, accompanied by faint singing. Tooru smirks.
“There, see?” he says. “Animals don’t use lights, so that has to be a normal person.”
He turns to the crow with a smirk, but the little creature has rocketed higher into the air, circling several feet above Tooru’s head.
“What’s wrong? Scared of a little light?” Tooru laughs.
Yellow lamplight sweeps across the forest like a searchlight, carrying within it the elongated shadow of a man. They whirl around to face him where he stands, a large bundle of sticks bound to his back, a lantern in one hand, and an axe in the other. Even through the loose sleeves of his simple kimono, it is clear he has the muscle to wield it.
The crow squeaks something unintelligible before it shoots away into the night, and Tooru wants to call it back. He was wrong; a talking bird is a much better option for helping them get home.
“You boys shouldn’t be out here,” the woodsman says, his voice gruff. “The Unknown is no place for children.”
“We’re lost,” Tobio blurts. “Can you help us get home?”
Tobio’s parents must not have taught him about stranger danger. That’s the only explanation Tooru can think of for telling a strange man with a very sharp axe that they’re alone and vulnerable.
However, the woodsman’s face softens into something sympathetic. He clears his throat; the gruffness seems to have been more from disuse than temperament.
“I’ll help you any way I can,” he says. “You’re indeed far from home.”
He turns, the light of the lantern sweeping away from the trail, and beckons to them. And what would be scarier, Tooru wonders: a strange man, or strange woods?
He looks back into the dark, and then to the light up ahead, and follows.
The woodsman’s name is Utsui, and he lives in an old water mill with a thatched roof and a traditional sunken hearth. As he coaxes the fire from the embers, he tells them that he found the mill abandoned—luckily, because the adjacent room has the tools needed to grind oil from the edelwood trees that he spends his days felling. (The oil keeps his lantern lit, and he keeps that flickering flame, protected in copper and glass, tucked by his side like a child who is liable to run off.) Tooru has never heard of edelwood trees, but he thinks that their reddish wood is rather pretty.
Just before he leaves for his work space, the woodsman turns back to Tooru and Tobio, a deep crease between his brows.
“I’m glad I found you,” he says, “before the Beast did.”
“The Beast?” Tooru asks and thinks of the snuffling creature they’d heard earlier.
The woodsman nods. “You must not let him claim you. Rest up, now. You’ll be safe here for the night.”
He shuts his workroom door firmly behind him when he leaves.
“Well, that was dramatic,” Tooru says, kneeling beside the fire to banish the unease from his body. The heat makes his cold nose burn.
“Oikawa-san.”
Tooru twists around. Tobio has taken the volleyball out of his bag again and clutches it like a favorite stuffed animal.
“I’m going to go practice outside a little,” he announces.
Tooru scoffs. “Didn’t you hear him? There’s a beast out there.”
“I’ll be careful and stay close to the house!”
“Fine, do what you want, but be careful. If something happens to you, I’ll be the one to get in trouble.”
“Okay, Oikawa-san.”
He knows that Tobio is gone when the door creaks shut. Stupid Tobio and his stupid volleyball obsession. There is clearly something wrong with him to be thinking about a game at a time like this. Tooru hunches into his sweater and banishes the thought that his kouhai doesn’t even need the constant practice to be good at the sport.
The mill smells like wood smoke and leaf mold and acrid oil; the corners of the room look deep and cold, empty but for dusty cobwebs. High on the peaked roof, Tooru can see pale stars through a hole in the thatch, and that breach between the indoors and outdoors makes it impossible for him to pretend that he is anywhere else. It hurts, somewhere in his chest, to know that the rattle in the next room is the mill, not his sister’s sewing machine; the thumping outside is Tobio’s volleyball against the wall, not Iwa-chan knocking on his front door. And he’d always liked the sound of the wind at night when he could crawl under his futon’s covers with the knowledge that he’d wake up to his mother’s cooking, but tonight, it only reminds him of how endless the sea of trees is, looming cold and colossal at his back even as the tiny, crackling fire warms his front.
He has always loathed feeling small.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he buries his head in his arms. Even his sweater smells like cold air now.
“It’s going to be okay,” he mutters. “Utsui-san will help us get home. In a few days, this will just feel like a bad dream.”
Outside, something thuds, crack, splinters, and Tooru stiffens as it fades to a ringing silence. He can no longer hear the volleyball thumping against the house.
“Tobio-chan?”
His mind conjures up images of fangs and claws and glowing eyes. With prickling fear, he cracks the door open and calls quietly again. He gets a quick glimpse of the moonlit clearing before he is bowled over, his back slamming into the floor and his face full of black hair. His kouhai is sprawled on his chest, the volleyball large and awkward between them.
“It’s—it’s—” Tobio pants, his blue eyes huge.
A jet black, hulking mass blots out all the light of the moon. It looms above Tobio, consuming the doorway, lupine eyes flickering in the firelight—a massive, monstrous hound. Its tongue lolls between boning-knife teeth as it stalks inside the mill.
They are face to face with the Beast.
Tooru’s scream evaporates in his throat; when he scrabbles to his feet, he drags Tobio with him. The hound lunges, and Tooru throws himself to the side, only to feel Tobio’s jacket slip from his fingers as Tobio runs the other direction.
The door to Utsui’s work room flies open with a bang that makes the hound flinch back, its tail smacking Tooru in the face. He grabs it tight and digs his heels into the floor, holding it back with all his might.
“What’s going on here?” Utsui shouts, bursting into the room with his axe in hand, just as Tobio trips and tumbles over.
The ball goes flying from his grasp and rolls right into Utsui’s path. His heel comes down on the top of the leather, and his face turns stricken with shock as his feet are thrown out from under him. He crashes down, head striking the doorjamb.
He doesn’t get up. The hound whips its tail from Tooru’s hands.
With the Beast at his back, Tobio has nowhere to run but into the mill room, and that is exactly what he does. He scoops up the volleyball on his way, nearly putting himself under the creature’s paws, evading the swinging maw by a hair’s breadth, and then, Tooru can no longer see him behind the hound’s mammoth form, but he can hear glass breaking. Adrenaline sings in his veins as he swipes Utsui’s axe and follows, the weapon heavy in his hand.
He finds the hound cornering a terrified Tobio against the back wall, drool dripping from its tongue. There is nowhere for Tobio to run; the only way out of the mill room is the door through which they entered.
Tooru yanks its tail again and smacks its hindquarters with the flat of the axe, making it whine.
“Hey, over here! Look at me, stupid!” he shouts. Tobio’s eyes snap to him, and Tooru huffs. “No, not you!”
The hound whips a glance back at him before returning its attention to Tobio. It dances in place, tail wagging like an oversized house pet, and Tooru hesitates. He has never owned a dog, but he’s spent time watching them at the park. This isn’t the body language of a predator about to strike; this is a puppy that wants to play. He follows its gaze and realizes—Tobio practicing in the woods, the creature stalking them—all this time, the Beast has been after the ball.
Tooru searches around them. The roof here in the mill room is as perforated as it is above the living space, one hole close to where it meets the wall. Through it, he can see the first pastels of dawn and the fading stars.
He drops the axe at his feet.
“Tobio, pass to me,” he says, “As fast as you can.”
Tobio blinks his wide, wide eyes and nods. The hound tracks his every movement as he raises the ball to his chest. Tooru puts his hands up, ready to catch. He almost doesn’t see the ball fly before he feels it smack against his palms, and he grips it tight, muscle memory taking over as his brain struggles to catch up to the infuriating speed and accuracy. The hound whips around, spittle flying from its tongue and falling wet on Tooru’s cheek, and he finds himself once again staring into those huge yellow eyes.
“You want the ball? Huh?” His heart beats out of his chest as the hound pants. “Then go get it!”
With all his might, he flings it high towards the hole in the roof and hopes his aim is true. Tobio cries out. The ball smacks the thatch around the hole’s edge, but the hound leaps after it, crashing through as straw and dried mud rain down on their heads. It scrabbles for purchase as more chunks of the roof cave in, pulling its massive body onto the top of the wall before toppling over the outside edge with a yelp. They hear the crunch of splintering wood and a splash, then silence.
With the lightening sky visible through decimated roof, the mess they’ve made of the mill comes into dim clarity. There are clumps of thatch strewn across the floor, mixing with shattered bottles and black oil in oozing puddles. Tooru winces and catches a glimpse of Utsui as he crawls to his knees, head in his hands.
Turning back to Tobio, Tooru asks: “Do you think that took care of it?”
Scowling, Tobio shoves past Tooru and rushes outside so that Tooru has no choice but to follow him.
Lying in the river are the remains of the waterwheel, ripped from the side of the building, and some of the paddles splintered and floating downstream. Amongst it all is a white and brown dog, nosing at the bobbing volleyball. Tobio races to the bank, shucking his shoes and splashing barefoot into the river.
“Hey, wait a minute!” Tooru calls, only to be ignored.
The dog yips when it sees Tobio and paddles towards him, delivering the ball to his outstretched hands. It climbs onto the bank and shakes itself dry before licking Tobio’s cheek.
“Nice doggy,” Tooru hears him say as he retreats to dry land, where his shoes are waiting.
The hound is nowhere to be found, although watching Tobio scratch this dog behind the ears, Tooru’s gut tells him that its appearance here isn’t coincidental. This friendly mutt and the black hound must be one and the same—dog by day, Beast by moonlight, like some strange werewolf-dog. Tooru almost feels like laughing. The old woodsman is a doddering fool. If this is all the Beast amounts to, then maybe the rest of the forest isn’t so scary, either. He sighs, feeling the last of his tension release.
“Heh, this is all because you couldn’t stop playing with that ball,” he says as he approaches his kouhai. “Looks like Tobio-chan isn’t so perfect after all.”
“Oikawa-san.” Tobio is cradling it to his chest where it’s making a miserable wet spot on his jacket. There is so much hurt in his eyes. “Please don’t ever do that again.”
For a moment, Tooru actually feels the hot slick of shame. “Uh, sure. I won’t touch your volleyball again. Whatever.”
What a weirdo his kouhai is. As if he can’t just get another ball when they get home.
“Don’t act flippant,” Utsui says from the doorway, “when you are both responsible for this damage.”
There is oil staining his hands, perhaps mixed with blood—Tooru isn’t sure. What he does know is that this means the oil that the man has toiled so hard for is unsalvageable, and his mill is now a wreck.
“I—I’m sorry. We really didn’t mean to. But we know the Beast isn’t so scary now! So that’s good, right?”
“Do you think this is the Beast? Something that can be tamed by the light of day?” the woodsman cries, and Tooru flinches. “He is far too sinister for that. He lurks everywhere in the forest. He knows all who come and go. He watches and waits to steal your children away—” The man climbs to his feet. “Keep to the path. You’ll come across a town soon. And boys, please, leave this place as fast as you can.”
It is not a warm send-off as Tooru would have liked, but then, they barely know the man. The forest obscures the horizon in front of them. As he and Tobio hop onto rocks to cross the stream, he finds that beneath the shame, beneath the fear, the knowledge that there is a town out there in this vast forest eases his heart, just a little bit, just enough to keep forward.
They walk for hours.
Morning has dawned bright and misty, shrouding the woods in cloud. In the light of day, the trees don’t seem as twisted, and birds twitter from the canopy. Tooru breathes in the fresh smell of dew and feels some of last night’s anxieties settle, although there’s no sign of a town; by the way Utsui had described it, Tooru would have thought that they’d come across one by now. Still, they’ll have a much better chance of finding their bearings now that they can actually see.
Tobio’s stomach growls.
“Oikawa-san, I’m hungry.”
Tooru is, too, so much that his stomach feels like it has curled in on itself.
“Any idea about what we can eat out here? Maybe chestnuts?” Tooru asks, toeing at a fallen acorn. He’s heard that those could be edible, too, but he has no idea how to prepare them.
His volleyball fool of a kouhai only shrugs. Of course he has no idea.
“I like eggs better,” Tobio says.
“Well, we can’t exactly be picky, can we?” Tooru sighs. “Let’s just look for some nuts.”
Tobio nods firmly and scampers away, crouching beside a bush to inspect the ground beneath; Tooru makes sure to search in the opposite direction. He toes aside leaves sodden with dew, reluctant to get his fingers wet. As he wanders down the path, going from tree to tree, he finds mud and webbed white fungus and mushrooms starting to unfurl, but he doesn’t dare touch those. So far, they seem doomed to be hungry until they find this mysterious town.
That is, until he finds something carved into the smooth bark of a beech tree, a cryptic 1 kilometer scratched above an arrow—Tooru thinks that it can’t be anything other than a town marker.
“I found something,” Tobio calls, face half stuck in the bush, and Tooru perks up. Berries would be more welcome than strange nuts.
“What is it?” he asks.
Tobio is busy with whatever is in the bush but soon leans back to allow something free.
“Thanks!” chirps a little voice. “Man, I was really stuck there. I owe you a favor now!”
It’s the crow from last night, the annoying one with the bright crown of feathers.
“That’s alright; there’s no need,” he says at the same moment that Tobio replies: “A favor? That’s cool.”
The crow nestles itself into Tobio’s hair, and Tobio’s mouth falls open in adoration.
“I’m Hinata Shoyo,” it says, “and you two are lost, right?”
Tobio, of course, confirms it without a second thought. Tooru scowls.
“You’re in luck! I’m on my way to see Washijou-san, the good man of the Wood! He can help you get home.”
“Thanks, but there’s no need,” Tooru says. “There’s a village that way, so we’re going to check that out instead.”
“You found it?” Tobio asks.
Tooru smiles beatifically and puts of a peace sign. “Of course I did! You can always count on your senpai.”
“And you’re suuuure this village is your way home?” Hinata asks. “You’re positive?”
A bird has no right to be such a brat. Tooru’s judgment is one of his greatest strengths.
“Tell me, chibi-chan,” he says, making Hinata squawk, “how far away is this Washijou-san?”
The little crow splutters something along the lines of “not that far” and “don’t be stupid” and “I still owe you anyway!”
Tooru snickers. “Uh-huh. Sorry, but I’m not going on some wild goose chase when I could be home later today. Come on, Tobio, we’re going to the village.”
Sunlight sparkles golden on the path ahead of him, paving his way forward. It’s a beautiful morning in the woods, and things are finally looking up.
“Are you coming, since you still owe us a favor?” he hears Tobio ask, and he grits his teeth.
He’ll make this village the way home if it’s the last thing he does.
Tooru skids to a stop, hands on his knees as he pants. He can still hear the shouting and jeering from the village below, and he’s sure that if he looks back, he’ll see those two giant straw creatures brawling. It isn’t a normal village—not at all.
Little talons grip his shoulder as Hinata lands; he’s probably putting pulls in the wool. Tobio, who was the first to escape, is doing wall sets against a tree, but he stops when he realizes he’s not alone anymore.
“So,” Hinata says, smugness dripping from his voice, “you were kinda wrong, huh? The village was a bust.”
“Shut up,” Tooru huffs.
“So, you should definitely come with me to see Washijou-san!”
Tooru growls and swipes at him, but the little crow has already lifted off.
“No way. You helped us back there, so you’ve fulfilled your weird little debt, right? So shoo, please.”
“That’s not how it works! You weren’t in danger back there, so it doesn’t count!”
“Oikawa-san, I think we should go.”
Tobio has actually bagged his volleyball for once, and he adjusts the strap across his shoulders as if he’s preparing to head out. Hinata does an excited little loop. Tooru is outnumbered, and really, his last hope was this village; he has no other idea where to go from here.
“Fine,” Tooru says, straightening up and pushing his hair out of his face. “I suppose we can humor chibi-chan. But only since, you know, we’ve already exhausted our reasonable options.”
The crow’s indignant squawk is beautiful to his ears.
“Well, then,” he says, striding ahead of them, back straight and proud. “Why don’t you tell us where we’re going?”