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The wet crunch of melting snow filled the forest as a lone traveler marched forward. The sun hung high in the spring sky, its warming glow slowly brushing away the icy grip of winter. All throughout the woods creatures slowly woke from their winter homes, creeping their way through the thawing world. Wild deer grazed on the now exposed grass, ears perking at the approaching pawsteps before they darted into the treeline.
It was Baal’s first spring in the mortal world, and every day brought a new wonder to observe. When he and his brother were pulled from their imprisonment in the gateway, snow had covered every surface in the cult town, but now plantlife bloomed in abundance. So while Aym preferred to spend his freetime at home with his partner Mimi, Baal explored the new world.
It was a welcome reprieve from his duties in the temple. His master, working side by side with the lamb, handled many of the administrative tasks that the large cult required. Everything from managing petitions, granting requests, distributing news, and so on. While Aym had quickly found his place tending to the crypts and graves, Baal instead passed his time aiding their lord with paperwork. It wasn’t a boring job, far from it. The requests could often be bizarre, and occasionally some follower would come storming in to voice their complaints. Thankfully his lord handled those ones, but that didn’t stop the job from feeling stuffy. One could only sit and scribble for so long, and the outside world was so full of excitement and wonder.
Thus Baal spent his time outdoors. The cult town was loud and crowded, a far cry from the silent gateway he had grown up in. The forest in the surrounding area was far more relaxed, even if it did have the occasional wandering monster. It was the perfect place to escape the hustle and bustle and stretch his legs.
And on some occasions, scream at the top of his lungs.
Down the temple steps, through the eastern gate, over the river bridge, and past the lumber mill. Past the clearcut, into the winding lumberjack roads, and left at the rock shaped like a carrot. The clearing was an hour’s walk away from town, deep in the towering pines at what once was the border of darkwood. A small pond filled the space, fed by a babbling spring that still flowed despite the cold. It was the perfect place to meditate or pray. Nobody would ever find him here.
“INSOLENT VILE WRETCH!” Baal screamed, filling the air with curses. “YOU SPEAK TOWARDS ME WITH SUCH DISRESPECT? I WOULD RIP YOUR NECK FROM YOUR SHOULDERS WERE IT NOT FOR MY MASTER’S MERCY.” He struck his staff out, the tip launching a bolt of dark fire into the trees where it detonated with a distant boom. Birds scattered in fright, and Baal took a moment to simmer, teeth grit and jaw set tight.
He wasn’t often pushed to anger, but one could only get chewed out by a stuck up angry weasel lady before his patience wore thin. Normally his master handled such characters with a harsh rebuke, but he had been out for lunch, and thus Baal could only endure the scathing words. It had taken every ounce of his patience to not smite them on the spot, but he knew the Lamb would give him hell for it.
Anger flared once again, and the cat channeled his power for another barrage of spells. Meditation and prayer be damned, he wanted to break something.
“You’re ruining my grove,” a raspy voice said from above him, causing the cat to nearly backflip as he whirled around towards the source. Keen eyes darted through the trees, yet the speaker remained hidden. Heretics would never dare to come this close to the town, so whoever was there could only be one of the flock. The thought of his vulgar words and wild tantrum being seen made Baal twist internally from shame. Clearly the location wasn’t as private as he’d thought…
A leaf floated down from somewhere above, and Baal turned his eyes upwards, just in time to see a figure silently fall from the canopy and softly land before him. An owl, clad in a dark blue cloak with a hood that veiled his eyes in shadow. He held a bow in hand and quiver hung over his shoulders, but for a moment the two watched each other in silence.
“An impressive display, but it's scaring away the prey,” he quietly grumbled, slinging his weapon on his back. Baal simply stared for a moment, watching the stranger’s movements, or lack thereof. How long had he been seeing the cat rage?
“Who are you?” The cat held himself up, refusing to let his embarrassment cloud his appearance. The anger had long since faded, an awkward unfamiliarity taking its place. “What are you doing all the way out here?”
The owl blinked, looking at the cat with a quiet intensity, or maybe it was just how his face was shaped.
“Right, you’re from town,” he said, voice sounding awkward, as if speaking is an unfamiliar task. He bowed his head, looking more like a slow nod than anything. “I’m one of Lady Lamb’s forest wardens. We guard the borders of her realm, though most of our time is spent hunting. Wild game is abundant in these parts, well, it was.” A ghost of a smirk filled his beak, but it's gone a moment later. “My name is Oko.”
“Baal,” the cat returned, unsure of how to describe his own position. “I’m a disciple of Lord Death. I mostly handle paperwork and rituals.” It sounds unimpressive as soon as he says it, but Oko merely blinked again, and a silence filled the space.
“Please respect the woods, Baal,” Oko said, glancing around the clearing at the now disturbed grass and smoldering timber. Embarrassment flared inside Baal, though he tried not to show it.
“I apologize, I normally only come out here to meditate. I didn’t think anyone else was out here.” He scratched his head, tail twitching with a strange nervous excitement.
“Then please do as such. I would appreciate that.” A twig snapped far in the distance, the owl swiveling his long ears and then his entire head to look, before turning back to him. “I must check my snares. Shadows guide you.” He clasped both hands before him and bowed, before spreading his arms, quietly launching into the air before, vanishing into the canopy above.
Baal simply stared for a moment, trying to see the bird through the leaves and failing miserably. The hunter is gone, as invisible as he was before he arrived. With a frustrated sigh the cat turned away, resigning himself to find a quiet place to meditate.
It took hours for the writhing anxiety to leave his body.
Weeks passed, and Baal continued to return to the grove. The snow melted away, fresh wild flowers blooming in the sunlight that bathed the open space. The pond’s ice vanished in the growing heat, exposing crystal clear water where small finger sized fish darted and danced.
There is no sign of Oko, for which Baal is somewhat grateful. The first few days he couldn’t stop looking over his shoulders, or keening his ears to listen for the slightest hint of the silent owl. Meditation became rather difficult, but eventually the memory faded, and peace returned.
Down the temple steps, through the eastern gate, over the river bridge, and past the lumber mill. Along the clearcut, into the winding lumberjack roads, and left at the rock shaped like a carrot.
Routine settled in, until one day as Baal stepped into the grove, a blue figure stood in the center with their back to him. For a moment the cat hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.
“You can come in,” Oko shouted without looking his way, and it occurs to Baal that the hunter likely heard him long before his arrival. Cautiously he stepped forward, that same strange anxiety creeping up into his chest.
“Oko,” Baal greeted him, stepping up to his side. The owl was quiet, head bowed as he intently studied the grass before them. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“Feh, not really,” Oko huffed, rolling his shoulders with irritation. He pointed to the ground. “A herd of deer bedded here last night, and I’ve been trying to find their trail, but the rain has disturbed their tracks.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Baal offered, staring blankly at the disturbed grove. To his untrained eye, it simply looks like an empty field. The owl shrugged, turning away.
“Such is life. Not everything we pursue comes to us. It makes the times we succeed all the better, that’s what my father always used to say.” Baal chuckled, earning the owl’s steady gaze.
“Sounds like my master. He’s always quick to remind us that you can’t appreciate life without the fear of death. The dark makes the faintest light brighter.” It felt strange to parrot his teaching to a complete stranger, but it's all he has for conversation. A slight smile graced Oko’s beak, and he nodded in agreement.
“I think my favorite saying is ‘Hunger is the greatest spice.’ I’ve never enjoyed a meal more than after a long day’s hunt. Today is going to be one of those days, I can already tell…” He sighed wearily and sat on a nearby rock, looking quite defeated. An idea popped into Baal’s mind, and he took a seat across from them.
“Are you in a hurry? I’ve got some food I’d be willing to share.” He reached into his bag, taking out a fresh honey bun and a few slices of salted tuna. The owl eyed them warily, but a moment later hesitantly accepted the gift. Oko took a slow bite of the pastry, eyes widening in amazement, before shoving the entire thing in his mouth.
“Wow, thanks!” He blurts between loud chewing. It's the most enthusiasm Baal has seen from the bird. “This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever had, it's almost too much.”
“Thanks, I made them myself! My mom’s a great baker, she’s been teaching me.” Oko paused for a moment between bites of tuna, reaching into his own knapsack and pulling out a small bundle of brown mushrooms and handing them over. The sharp smell of roasted food met Baal’s nose, reminding him of the scents from the restaurants in the market square.
“Morels,” Oko explained. “Roasted myself. Townsfolk would pay a sack of coins twice as big as this one for these. They’re everywhere in the spring, but only if you have keen eyes.” He winked, pulling his hood back and removing the shadow from his face for the first time. Baal felt his stomach clench, unable to take his eyes off the bird.
Clearly only because he skipped lunch.
No more words are shared. The two simply sat, quietly chewing on their food as the sound of spring fills the air.
Seasons changed, and the spring chill gives way to summer warmth. Baal continued to travel into the forest, to that hidden grove where flowers bloomed. Some days Oko was there, but more often than not the bird was absent, leaving Baal to meditate in silence, though it became rather difficult with the anxious knot in his chest.
A few weeks passed without seeing the owl, and when Baal finally saw him again, the location was far from ordinary. Walking through the central marketplace at midday, the cat made his way through the crowd. The bakery his mother owned was close to the market square, and it made the perfect stop on his way to the temple for work.
Tents and stands filled the space, merchants from the town mingling with traders from foreign lands. A pair of crabs offered a dizzying array of shells and pearl themed jewelry. Three horses still wearing furs barked about the quality of their leather goods. The market filled with noise, all clustered around the towering statue fountain of the Lamb. Baal had heard her and his master speak about adding him there alongside her, but the budget to rebuild the entire statue was a fierce topic in their meetings. Lord Death was far more keen on repairing walls, strengthening guard patrols, and paving roads, and Lady Lamb was far from eager to find a place in the paperwork for a brand new statue, especially since the cult was still grumbling about new taxation doctrines.
Baal stopped for a moment at the fountain, enjoying the bubble of water flowing that faintly reminded him of somewhere far calmer. Perhaps in the afternoon he would make the hike up there and go for a swim. The heat had been getting rather intense, and the forest was cool and crisp compared to the town square.
A flash of blue appeared before him, and suddenly Baal realized he was once again looking at Oko’s back. He blinked for a moment, mind coming to a screeching halt. The owl was far from the isolated woods, and had frequently spoken of his disdain for the bustle of the cult grounds. What was he doing here?
For a moment, Baal simply watched him. Oko was leaning over the fountain, reaching a hand into the water and splashing it over his face and neck. He stood up, face buried in his hood.
“Oko! What are you doing here?” Baal greeted, stepping forward, but instead of his usual quiet greeting, the owl whirled at the noise with a frantic jump and a startled hoot. If his face didn’t look so alarmed, Baal would have called it cute. Upon seeing his face the bird relaxed, but his expression shifted to one of weariness instead of his normal intense glare. Baal frowned.
“Are you okay?” The owl blinked, shaking his head and running a hand over his face.
“Baal…” He grumbled, wincing as someone shouted nearby. “It’s good to see you.” The cat’s face twisted into a grimace. He’d been in that position before, coming from the near silent gateway to the busy town had been a shock to his entire family, but Oko had ears that could hear a bee fart from a mountain away. The town was probably painful for him.
“What brings you to town?” Baal asked, stepping closer to the bird. Oko groaned, crossing his arms in irritation.
“The forest wardens sent me. The new cult leadership requires all merchants in the town to submit for a permit or something, and being the youngest of them, guess who has the privilege of going into town?” He pointed at himself with a pained smile, only to wince again as a baby shrieked. “I’ve been stuck here all morning trying to find this ‘civic office’ place, but asking for directions is damnably impossible. Someone even demanded I pay them!”
“Oh! Allow me to assist, I work there with my master. I’ll escort you there now.” Oko looked up at him with weak eyes, like a prisoner being freed from years of torture, and Baal felt his heart melt at the sight of the normally handsome stoic bird being so miserable. With a surge of vindication, he stamped his staff against the ground, loud enough to turn the heads of the otherwise dull followers.
“Make way you whelps! Make way for divine business!” Baal barked, using a small blessing his master had taught him to project his voice. He pointed his staff towards the temple steps and marched forwards. Followers quickly scrambled to the sides, as nobody was eager to get in the way of a disciple of Death. “This way!”
Minutes later they had climbed the steps, the din of the square vanishing behind the thick dark stone. Oko sighed in relief, rubbing his temples and looking at Baal with a thankful smile.
“You’re a lifesaver, I swear,” he said as they stepped through the quiet halls. Nobody would dare make noise in the temple, it was a quick way to get hit by Gemma’s walking stick. The pair made their way up to the second level, Baal leading the bird to his office. Already a line had formed, followers eager to make their complaints known, beg for something, or ask for Death’s blessing. Heads bowed as the cat walked past, though a few shot rueful glances at Oko for cutting the line. If the bird cared for the angry glares shot his way, he didn’t show it.
“Baal, you’re late,” Lord Death barked from his desk, already up to his ears in various paperwork. His third eye glanced up at them, and then the rest of his face as he raised an angry brow. “Which of those witless cretins is this? I told you I don’t take requests until noon.”
“My lord!” Baal bowed deeply, and Oko seemed to take the hint and join him. “This is Oko, emissary of Lady Lamb’s forest wardens! I’m assisting him with a merchant permit.” His master’s glare persisted, and Baal felt an anxious blush creep onto his cheeks. “He’s also my friend.”
“Ah, your friend… Fine. But be quiet and make sure to finish your work before lunch.”
And with that, the god was appeased, returning to his work.
Wordlessly the two sat down at Baal’s own desk, the cat bringing a fresh page of paper and ink.
“It's easy,” he whispered, placing a quill before Oko. “Just write out your intentions, average supply, and say how much you love the gods. I can get it approved pretty quickly, and after that you just wear a necklace when in the market that lets the guard know you’ve been approved. It's one of Lord Death’s commandments, we had a big issue with merchants outside flooding the area with cheap trinkets and the locals had nowhere to sell.”
For a long moment the bird simply stared at the parchment, before looking up at Baal with a strange shy look. He’d never seen the owl look so vulnerable.
“I… I don’t know how to write. Or read, for that matter.”
Baal blinked.
“Ok,” he hummed, tail swishing as his mind worked. “I know! I’ll write it for you, just tell me what to put down.” He snatched up the quill, beaming a reassuring smile at Oko. The bashful bird took a deep breath, and began to softly speak.
The summer heat continued, but the forest was cool. Baal made the hike every weekend, and sometimes even on the weekdays. Oko showed more frequently, the owl sometimes meeting him on the trail near carrot rock. Sometimes when they don’t cross paths, they nestle bundles under the stone. Baal left sweet pastries and salted fish, while Oko offered game meat and foraging findings.
One day the heat rose to a crescendo, and they both decide to throw off their robes and dive in the pond, and Baal is far too hot to care about being seen in the nude.
Oko’s body is covered in vicious scars, but Baal resists the urge to let his eyes wander, even if he swore he sees the owl cast his own curious looks. They both simply floated in the chill spring water, letting it carry away the smothering heat. Eventually the sun relented, and they relaxed under the shade of the pines in their usual quietness, Baal reading a book as Oko whittled an arrowhead.
“What’s that one about?” The owl asked, breaking the silence. Baal flicked an ear, not looking up from the text.
“An old tale about a warrior who was so skilled that even the gods feared him. Eventually he gets tricked into fighting his own reflection in an endless unwinnable battle. I’m reading it a second time since the combat scenes are well done, and I want to write my own.”
“You’re writing your own book?” Oko raised a brow, suddenly far more interested.
“Yeah, working with my… grandparent is the word that fits best, I guess. Shamura, they’re the lead librarian and best scribe I know, when they’re focused that is. I do a lot of the development, they’re mostly doing editing.” Oko said nothing and paused his work, before he took a deep unsteady breath.
“Baal?” The cat hummed, looking upwards to wide anxious eyes. “Could you teach me to read?”
Who could say no to that face?
They meet every weekend, Baal’s pack stuffed with various books, writing materials, and as always, pastries. Oko’s progress is slow, the hunter far more adept at managing the bow on a string or a knife under a pelt than any quill, but the cat doesn’t mind. It’s a great way to spend time with a friend.
The heat eventually faded, summer shifting towards autumn as the leaves shifted toward an orange hue. The chill air returned, and Baal made his hikes in new woolen robes gifted from the Lamb. Occasionally they meet in town, when Oko has his turn managing the market stall selling meat and pelts. He eventually got used to the noise, though his discomfort never truly faded. Baal especially enjoyed those days, as when the market closed at sundown, Oko joined him in the library, the two sitting together quietly reading.
Though the night his mom invited the owl to dinner will never leave Baal’s mind. Even weeks later, the embarrassment of his mother’s teasing hints still makes his face burn. Being the spirit of love didn’t exactly make hiding a crush easy, though luckily Oko didn’t seem to notice.
Baal couldn’t imagine saying anything. The stoic owl is just a friend, nothing more. He could remember in the gateway with Aym and Mimi. They were friends once, but then around when they turned into teens everything changed, and the cat and mouse became fused at the lips. Oko was completely different, clearly not the same situation, at least that’s what Baal said to himself. The days of autumn move on in a steady routine. Another week, another Saturday hike with a bag full of books and bread.
It's only once he walked past carrot rock that smelled it.
Blood. It’s fresh, like the flowing rivulets that ooze from the neck of sacrificed heretics in his master’s rituals, though the stench was far fainter. Baal picked his pace up, following the odor as it began to mingle with the familiar hints of smoke, feathers, and pine. There, in the middle of the clearing, a figure clad in blue laid. Baal's anxious pace breaks into a full on sprint.
“Oko!” He shouted, and nearly dived on the owl as he frantically looked him over. “What in damnation happened?!” He doesn’t have to look far. Below the knee on his left leg, white bone poked out from torn flesh, a pool of blood puddled beneath the limb despite the torn clothing used for a flimsy bandage. Oko, thankfully still conscious, looked up at him with a tired, shameful expression. His face was pale, and the smell coming from his limb made Baal’s stomach squirm.
“I… I fucked up,” he begrudgingly admitted, trying and failing to sit up. “I was hunting a boar up the mountain a few days ago. Stuck it with three arrows. Thought it was dead.” He gestured to his leg. “It wasn’t.”
Baal can only blink, frantic. This was nothing like the gateway. They were mere spirits, and the most brutal of spars could be mended without any effort. He remembered when he cut Aym in half, only for his brother to fuse back together a moment later. If only the mortal world worked the same way.
“Does nobody else know you’re out here?” Oko simply shrugged, a dizzy smile filling his face.
“Not really, no. That’s why I crawled down here. I knew you’d come eventually, I just had to be patient. That’s what hunting is all about, you know? Patience.” His words slurred as his head bobbed, and Baal felt his heart scream in agony at the sight. His only friend in the mortal world, the one person he felt close to, who understood him, was dying in his arms.
But he wasn’t dead yet.
Baal grabbed Oko by the arms, grunting as he pulled the owl over his shoulders and back, doing his best to ignore the hissed curse of pain from his cargo. Thankfully the bird was lighter than he looked, though already Baal knew the hike down was going to be a long one.
Right at carrot rock, down the winding lumberjack roads, past the clearcut. The lumber mill was empty at this hour, and Baal felt his legs tremble as he marched across the river bridge, the east gate in sight.
“GUARDS!” He screamed, voice ragged from hours of huffing and wheezing. “Guards to me, damn it!” The red clad troops came storming out of the guardhouse, a burly oxen and tall elephant taking the heavy body from his shoulders. The pair carefully cradled the owl as another guard in the small hut rang a bell four times. In the distance from the center of town, a reply echoed, and not even a minute later a wagon came to meet them. The guards laid Oko on the flatbed, Baal watching him disappear down the streets towards the clinic.
His legs trembled, and the oxen offered him a waterskin. Baal drank it all in one go, before falling to his knees and puking.
“Your friend is very lucky,” Kallamar said. The clinic room smelled of camellias and cleaning chemicals. The tall squid rubbed his tentacles together anxiously, as though he wanted to be anywhere but there. Baal couldn’t blame him. “Sepsis is a very deadly condition, a-as I’m sure you know! Nothing a little penicillin and blessed camelia oil can’t fix! He’ll be fine, I promise!” Baal stared at him, feeling exhausted beyond all measure. Half of what Kallamar said never made any sense. The formed god of pestilence had also been the god of health, and his thousands of years of experience was far too much for the young cat to swallow, at least right now.
So instead he simply nodded, and returned to watching the shallow breathing of his friend.
Leaves fell to the ground, leaving bare trees as the winter approached. Snow soon blanketed every surface, the roofs of townhomes and the forest both draped with a thick cover of white powder.
Down the temple steps.
Baal settled into the routine of winter. His master became a strange object of obsession during the cold season, followers flocking to his door as they prayed for his blessing to ward away sickness and death.
Through the eastern gate.
He and Shamura had nearly finished the final touches on their book. The spider could be distant some days, but the busy work seemed to help their mental condition. Inside the confines of the library, they almost seemed normal. Every now and again Baal would see his master sitting by the fire with the spider, the two speaking in quiet soft voices.
Over the river bridge.
Aym and Mimi were on their second pair of twins, somehow. Baal didn’t mind the silly little kids, though they had a perchance for making a mess all over his home everytime he babysat. It was worth it when he wanted his brother to cover some of his work for him, but his lord always said Aym’s writing was ‘a wretched insult against the art of calligraphy.’
Past the lumber mill.
His mother was teaching him how to make more complicated dishes recently. The bakery was a welcome place in the cold winter months, the huge ovens warming the space to a pleasant heat so strong it forced Baal to step outside lest he overheat in his wool robes. It was strange to see Heket there, silently kneading dough or fussing over the oven, but the way she made his mother smile dispelled any distaste he might have felt for the frog. Perhaps the ex-bishops had imprisoned his master, but if he had forgiven them, Baal could too.
Along the clear cut.
Occasionally he and his brother find the time to go on their own adventures, like they did in the days right after their return. At the time it had felt right, running away from the treasonous lamb that had somehow captured their old master and forced him to her side. Now they actually planned their trips, though the winter made it difficult to travel, next spring they wanted to climb some of the western mountains. Aym already spoke about bringing along a small set of paints to capture the view.
Down the winding lumber roads.
Part of him was glad they’d never followed their original plan, where they had run all the way to Pilgrim’s Passage and asked the local captains if they could charter a boat to the mainland. It had been Aym to stop him, telling Baal that there was no way they could just leave behind their master, who was ‘so obviously brainwashed.’ Now that they knew the truth, it almost felt silly to remember.
Left at carrot rock.
The grove was covered in a thick layer of snow, the powder falling much heavier in the hills than down in the valley of the town. The pond froze over long ago, but with a few good chops from his staff, a hole for ice fishing could be made. The little fish made decent snacks, but it was nothing like salted tuna.
The ground crunched under Baal’s paws as he sat down along the edge of the ice, taking a long breath and watching the steam puff. The rock under his tail was freezing cold, but the wool provided a decent layer to protect his fur.
A figure in blue silently landed beside him, taking a seat at the rock.
“How are you feeling today?” Baal asked, turning to face Oko. The owl returned the same familiar stoic gaze he always did, though a hint of irritation crossed over it.
“Are you going to ask me that every time we meet?” He rolled his eyes at Baal’s chuckle. “Nevermind, I should know better than to ask. So, what is it today?” With a pleasant hum the cat opened his bag, removing two objects from within.
“Well, this is something Heket made. It's a sausage between a long slice of bread, covered in pickled vegetables. She says it's an experiment, but it tasted pretty good to me! Careful, it's kinda spicy.” Oko eyed the strange dish as he took it into his hands, unsure of how to approach the meal. With a moment to ponder it, he bit down directly in the middle, getting a splattering of onion and mustard on his feathers. Baal didn’t bother to hide his giggle as the bird chewed.
“I don’t taste much spice, but it's good otherwise.” The bird reached into his bag, grabbing a hefty bundle of his own that smelled faintly of feathers. “Here’s my part, Ptarmigan meat. It's incredibly tender and filling. I imagine it’d make a great soup.”
“That sounds good.” Baal raised a brow. “Does it feel strange to eat birds, being a bird? I’ve read so many books about the philosophy, but it's not like cats are something people regularly eat.” The owl merely shrugged.
“They’re just animals. The old ones blessed us with intelligence, right? Well we don’t get much choice in being meat eaters, so seeing as I never agreed to this I’m not going to feel guilty about it. Besides, it’s tasty… Which one is that?” He pointed to the book in Baal’s hands.
“Oh! It's my story, this is the final version.” Oko raised both brows, jumping to his feet.
“You finished it and didn’t tell me?! How dare you!” He swallowed the rest of his meal in a single bite, wiping his hands on the worn fabric of his cloak. “May I see it? You never did tell me what it was about.”
“Well…” Baal began, feeling somewhat shy. “At first you never seemed interested, but then I wanted it to be a surprise. I’d hate to make you wait so long for me to finish it, and it gave you more time to learn!” With a twinge of reluctance he handed the book over, feeling a surge of nervous energy flood his chest. “I hope you like it…”
“Baal, please,” Oko started, shooting a wry grin his way. “You’re one of the best writers I know. I’m sure it's great.” Baal could only weakly laugh at the compliment, cheeks flushing. The cold air only made the warmth even more noticeable, but thankfully Oko was locked into the first pages of the story. If the owl could ever see some of Shamura’s work, Baal was sure that compliment would quickly fade away.
Familiar silence settled in, the two simply sitting side by side as the forest gently creaked around them.
Baal stared at the owl, watching his eyes travel slowly across the pages. It was impossible to deny that he’d put extra care into every word, wanting to impress the bird. It was only a month ago that he’d found Oko on death’s door, and the memory still made his heart ache.
Oko had said hunting was about patience, and waiting for the right moment. But as Baal sat there, his friend’s feathers mere inches from his fur, he felt paralyzed. This moment felt right, all he needed to do was open his mouth, yet it would be easier to call his master rude names that say what he wanted to say to Oko.
So instead he simply stared, feeling his heart drum in his chest, the blush burning on his face, and the cold rock under his tail. The moment stretched into an eternity.
“Oko…” He began, voice cracking as Baal suddenly realized how dry his mouth had become. The owl looked up at him with a soft hoot, blinking. The cat swallowed, but shot his shot. “I like… hanging out with you…”
Oko blinked, and Baal tore his eyes away in embarrassment. The trees, the pond, the sky, anywhere but his friend’s face.
But a soft feathery hand gently touched his own, and Baal felt like his heart was going to crawl out of his chest.
“...I do too…”
Oko scooted closer, their feathers and fur brushed against each other, and Baal could feel the pulse in the owl’s hand beating just as quickly. Silence swept back between them, but somehow it felt right. Nothing more needed to be said, and Baal slowly leaned against the owl, feeling the touch of the owl’s shoulder against his own, and closed his eyes.
The wind blew through the creaking pines as the two sat side by side , feeling their racing hearts slowly learn that everything, despite everything, was going to be ok.
