Chapter Text
A' quiet thumbing of heavy marching boots cascaded against roots that prodded from the earth, on that little dirt path who rose and fell down the valley, cutting through thick and thistle. Sheathed on his thigh a little silver dagger, a short fur jacket draped across his torso, glossy black curls locked in loose, little bands of iron ring, about the size of his pinky finger.
It was a warm fall night — that early part of the season where the sun still refused to set 'til twilight's edge, where the sun bounced off his shining, dark skin in rays of oily gold and ambrosia.
Caspian nigh often made his way through here, these deep woods dawned Fr'Bunús, as no one person truly ever did. It always seemed a little darker here — when Samhain rises in the east to come, and when those fae festivities began, it was deemed popular to stay en route, to stay in those towns and those outskirts and away from the warm, long left abandoned golden wheat fields and patches of wild gourd, and the woods that seemed to giggle with delight each leaf that tumbled from it's branches and back into the hearty, reddened earth.
But regardless — he was focused to get back to his 'loved Calypso, the woman who shone like the hearth, and taking to quickest route from her letter path seemed too slow altogether.
A hum slipped from his lips and teeth to fill the silence. He was safe, armed with silver, and lord be merciful if a troll or a spirit dared to cross his path, for he was no stranger to hunting the ugly, to pushing his way through treks of wilderness.
A strong scent of cedar and sickly sweet honey rushed into his nose as the sun began to set downwards, eyes scanning the forest in front of him as the trees began to change from oaks to tall twisting pines and thick, nimbled sycamores.
About a few dozen footfalls around a patch of prickle bushes, his attention pricked to the sound of quiet, clicking footfalls behind him, turning his head to see a sunlit silhouette catching up to his pace, alarm lurching In his throat.
But as he was lit by the dark, he was nothing but a man, reddened curls pulled back in a bun against sun-kissed, tanned skin, blue eyes smiling with his face in a kindly, meek little manner.
“You’re far, aren’t you?” He spoke, not even beginning with a hello, seeming quite just as shocked as Caspian himself.
“From Home? Yes, I am.” His hands groped the handle of the little dagger in his hidden sheath, voice gruff and wary, glancing at the man now keeping pace beside him, ogling him with curious eyes. “Are you from here yourself?”
“Oh, yes. A little rocking off by the hills. I leap down to the valley for my walks.” He shifted his posture, hands behind his back, eyes squinting with a little charismatic chuckle.
He followed with a crook in his back, popping his knuckles idly in the quick silence, a squint of an eye and a shifting grin of amusement.
“Oh, you think me a Fey, don’t you?” He itched the side of his nose cheekily, running a finger down its hooked and crooked tip. “I’ll tell you, queer little thing, There’s no fae here. What beasts would linger in a wood so quiet?”
Caspian’s vision idly shifted to the man with suspicions, though he relaxed a little, folding his arms up to himself.
“I suppose you’re right.” He glanced around, noting the lack of calling fowl, and the silence of the brush. What forest Fae liked silence, truly?
He grinned back slightly at the man, baring his teeth with an awkward snarl of forced content for a quick lick of a moment, before turning away.
“Are you hungry?” Caspian’s head swiveled around at this like a needing dog, curious. Of course he’d packed food — but he wasn’t going to pass up an extra of rations.
“Very much so.”
“All curses, you must be. Milling about out here at the sunned twilight. You must’ve been walking here for long.” He peeled something out of a sack at his side, a plump yellow and green fruit, some sort of crooked looking, spiky pear.
“You eat Fae fruit?!” he called in concern, looking at the strange little morsel in the man’s hand, watching as a pursed frown of concern spread across his tanned lips.
“Fey fruit? Of course not. The fruit the forest bears is still fruit, is it not?” He held it out to the man in his palm as they walked, shoving it at him a little impatiently, brow furrowing as he watched the gears turn In the man’s head.
Caspian could feel his stomach sink looking at the thing, nose wrinkling in distaste, before shaking his head In suspicion. Seeing the man’s face contort into one of impatience, he began
To walk faster, putting a jump of space between them.
“I’m not much of a fruit fellow. I’m sorry.”
He politely declined, walking with purpose. If the man carried fae fruit — Well, precise to say Caspian was no fool.
“I have jerky, if you’d like.” He followed behind, catching with the man’s pace, refusing to budge as they moved over roots and stones that jutted from the mossing dirt.
“Really, I’d say I’m fine.” He said more adamantly, trying to keep his polite composure. He could hear the man’s tongue click against his teeth in impatience, annoyance, eyes wrinkling up into crow’s feet.
“I never got your name, did I?”
“My name doesn’t feel too important.”
“Oh, you’re no fun, are you? Too concerned with your little southern myths of the north.” He frowned outwardly, continuing. “I told you, I live right up there on the ledges.”
That scent of cedar, pine and honey seemed to intensify, burning his nostrils like pepper spices, causing his eyes to wince a little.
He jumped a little when the man set his hand in his locs, ruffling then In his fingers without consent, pulling away from the man’s touch with a huff.
“I don’t like being touched.”
“Why so Prickly? What’s with you?” The man hissed a little, brow furrowing down into his sockets, squishing at the end of his nose’s bridge.
He made an attempt once more, laying a nimble hand down on the man’s shoulder, jumping back with a shriek as the man pushed him off himself, Pulling that little silver glint from its sheath.
“Crude thing!” He spat, a few feet away from the man, those bright blue eyes widening in panic as he saw the little ornate dagger soak in the blossoming twilight stars.
“Back!” Caspian barked at the man like a misbehaving animal, who’s hands flew up to shield himself no matter the far distance between them, terrified of the seemingly harmless little blade. It wasn’t even sharpened, dull from cutting up bread and dishing butter.
“Calm yourself, now!” He hissed from his throat, attempting to ward the man to kindness and docility, but the scent the man radiated was a dead giveaway, a crude, dead giveaway.
“Back, Fey! Shoo!” He spat on the ground beside the man’s shoe, causing him to step back another footfall away from the phlegm in the moss, looking between it and Capsian.
“You’ve got it all wrong! What’s with you, so paranoid!” He squeaked back, frozen by Caspian’s forcefully stoic expression.
He steadied himself, taking a step forward back towards the black haired man, trying to nervously grin.
“Calm yourself, now. Don’t be so meek.”
But as Capsian pressed the little blade of silver against the man’s skin, not even drawing blood, a sizzling shriek erupted from the man’s lungs like an animal, searing the flesh and pushing down the glamor that wrought over the man’s true appearance, dropping to all fours in a sinister sight and darting into the crack between two sycamores off the trail.
Caspian practically jumped out of his shoes, his eyes wide too, dropping his own facade of stoicism and breathing in heavily. Christ, was it an eerie sight, his heart thumping wildly as he turned and glanced around, the brush surrounding him now seeming more deep and imposing.
“Fool! Fool!” A crooked, shrieking voice spat out somewhere from inside the dark woods, echoing all around Caspian in a pained, furious whimper.
“A cruel, cruel fool you are! I’ll kill you! Kill you!” He — No, It — cried; a sound of wood scuffling against wood following.
“Shoo! Get out of here, Oaf!” Caspian shouted back in defiance, the fire licking at his soul drowning out his panic, the threats of the thing in the brush sound empty, whether by truth or his ego.
“I’m no Oaf! Stupid thing, Stupid thing!” It spat back from the trees, offended beyond belief. It was probably rude to call a fae by another fae as an insult, but — what did it matter?
His heart dropped as the scuffling stopped, and a piece of peeling bark fell from above him, dropping onto his head and into the earth below, slowly glancing up.
Wide, furious red eyes met his, the thing now perched atop the branch of a sycamore, shaded by the leaves and little purple berries of the branches above.
A long, crooked and hooked nose fell under his vision, stretched down the thing’s face with flared nostrils, lips peeled back into a permanent, though now accentuated snarl, piles of auburn curls billowing down its head and forearms, long, eerie fingers and toes tipped with thick nails digging into the bark for support. The ragged ears of a wild hare flicked straight up to the sky, every inch of the thing’s skin looking as though it were carved from wood, gnarls and swirls of dark wood grains visible on its face.
“Oaf? Oaf?!” He shrieked again, adjusting himself on the branch, seemingly intensely offended by being called the wrong name.
“Lord, Shut up! You’re obnoxious!” Capsian screeched back up at the thing, covering his ears with his palms, eyes squinted half shut. This seemed to quiet the thing down, though it still groveled and grunted in distaste, gingerly rubbing the burn on its arm with care.
“Pretty but cruel thing you are, Aren't you?” It hissed, shuffling itself on the branch, curling its spine to look down at the man like the upholstery of a fresco. It's face crinkled in agitation, flattened nostrils flaring
It clicked between its teeth with a whistling hiss, for some form of mocking emphasis, those grotesque toenails gripping into the bark.
“Christ, You're insane!” Caspian spat, cringing back at the perverse comment, seeing the thing's face stretch into a wrinkle, toothy grin.
“Christ?” It cooed, clicking teeth against tongue once more, drumming its fingers on the length of its knee.
“You're a Phookah, aren't you?” He frowned in his stress. Politeness was how to get by these strange folk, 'mals grouped with the likes of trolls and hobs, but how was he supposed to be nice to something this obnoxious?
“I prefer Puca. More quaint sounding, I'd say.” It remarked with a chitter, relaxing onto its side.
“Well, Puca, You know the quickest way out of here, Don't you?” He paced back a little, fumbling with the hilt between his index and thumb.
“Don't call me that, it's demeaning.” It chuckled at its own strange amusement, reaching a hand down its throat in a sickly manner, pulling out a tooth that very clearly didn't seem to come from its jaw.
“And yes, I quite do, I do.” It hummed, flipping over the little white pearl in its hands.
“Then do tell. I know you can't lie.” Caspian knew much of the favor of fey, their kins, their habits, and their mischief. Though, he prayed the man -- No, the thing -- Would not dance around his query like a changeling's child.
“Well, It would cost you, should it not?” It let its arm roll down the branch to the height of Caspian nose, stretching its unkempt fingers and palm toward him.
“Come on now.” It squeezed its palm open and shut with a chuckle, Promptly shrieking and tugging itself away when Caspian once more brandished the dagger.
“You're not getting anything!” He waved it around at the figurative man, watching in amusement as he inched back on the branch.
“Oh, Come on now!” He whined abhorrently, an obnoxious chitter of the throat, watching as the man slowly sheathed the blade back. ”Just a tooth, Just a little memory! It doesn't have to be your name, No --”
He peeled down his hand once more, reaching for where the man's locs parted on his scalp, the scent of burning honey sifting into the man's nose.
“Oh, My, Just a tuft of that --”
It let out a gurgling shriek, pulling back and almost falling off, birds from a few miles away sifting up into the air with speed and flying far off, the thing crying out in agony as it's left ring finger hit the brandished dagger, slicing with gurgling and gutting and bubbling, the digit dropping to the earth below and melting into the soil like wax.
“Bastardous -- Bastardous Fiend! Fiend!” it screamed off its own ears, practically convulsing as it scuttered further up the tree, eyes wide and manic and hateful as all before.
“So help me god, do not lay a Finger on me – you freak! There's something wrong with you! I'm getting to Calypso If it's the last --”
Then, there was a beat.
The thing's shrieks stopped abruptly, eyes widening down at the man, jaw slacking, before curling up to a cruel grin, its heckling cackle filling the air.
“Calypso! Calypso, oh, Calypso!” It shrieked out in its mania, gripping its face with its hands, throwing its chin back.
“Callyypsssoo, Calypso... Ca-lyp-so!“ It quieted a little, repeating itself as if tasting the name, the smell of cedar and sycamore now flooding Caspian's senses with excruciating intensity.
”Look at that! The Lover, the Dreamer, and the Slip of the tongue!“ It cried out, face contorted into laughter, snorting and chortling.
”What? What's wrong with you?”
“Down the path, Down the path and then a right! Stop at the sea's cliff face -- Then, Then you're out of the woods!” It sat itself back up, still laughing its poor head off.
Caspian felt his stomach drop, churning into circlets in his spine, as though it were flipping itself from the inside out.
“Trading your lover's name, how selfish! I think I like you, I do!” It cackled out, slapping its knee.
“No! You can’t do that!” He spat, eyes wide and glossy with panic, pointing the little blade up at the thing above him, waving it harshly. Though the thing didn’t stop its mocking.
“Oh, Be a dear to your poor Calypso, won’t you? Shan’t you?” It cried out in an amorphous shriek of laughter and hiss. “I think I might pay her a visit – Won’t I? Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“No! You can’t!” He parroted himself, stumbling back over roots, jaw slacked slightly.
“Oh, But I can.” It hissed, bending down to look at the man with one of those glossy red eyes, those pinprick pupils.
Caspian felt his body freeze up, unable to move, watching those grotesque fingers reach down like branches themself, stiff and gnarled, and dance themselves in between his open lips.
He croaked out a shriek, a shiver of disgust running down his spine, like he’d just fallen into a vat of rats, pulling away – not before those fingers pulled a little morsel of light from under his tongue, turning it over between its dirt piled nails.
“Look at that.” It cooed out, tilting its head like an owl, slowly reaching it’s hand back and slipping the thing under its own tongue, behind two rows of yellowed and cramped teeth, closing its mouth into a devious grin.
Caspian, tripping himself at this, tried to croak out his lover’s name, to shriek it, but all that came out was a squeak of silence, falling backwards onto the dirt.
All Caspian could do, overrun by embarrassment -- No, what a fool he was! Guilt! Guilt! He scooped himself up, ran down the path, the echoing cries of the beast lingering behind, the rancid stench of wood fading, there well was one simple shriek back to him.
“Don’t be a stranger, little friend! We don’t tolerate those.”
And as he ran, The silence fell again, once more leaving only the heart, the soul, and the thumbing of his hunter’s boots in this neck of the woods.