#book!creature

You and Leshy stood nearby a long road that led to the first village that you had come across. Despite several reassurances, he was anxious that you would abandon him. 

“I will try to leave the town in one day’s time,” you explained again. “Meet me on the other side in the woods. I will leave at night to find you, and no one will see either of us. If I am sure I’m not being followed, I will call out for you. Hopefully we’ll be able to find each other.” 

“I am stealthy,” he replied. “I will be watching.” But he rubbed one of his arms in a slouching posture, clearly unsure of himself. 

“Are you worried about being spotted?” you asked. Perhaps you leaving wasn’t the only thing putting him on his guard. 

“I am…This place is similar to one I had been before. I was starving. When I smelled food, I came near, then…Many screamed…Threw stones. A woman could not bear the sight of me and fainted, causing others to double their efforts to strike me…I did not understand, yet, what I was…But I was made to.” 

You placed your hand gently on his arm. He flinched, and did not look at you. 

“Don’t put yourself in danger for my sake, please. Stay out of sight as much as you can.”

He nodded. 

You slung your pack over your shoulder. “I will be back.” 

During the following day you did your best to make ends meet. With what little money you had, you went to the bakers and bought bread hard enough to keep well. There were other odds and ends for supplies you bought, but it was clearly not enough. Keeping your bag tightly strapped to you, you looked for work for the day, begging people to allow you to do small tasks for some sort of pay. 

Most were not welcoming. 

By sunset, you had gathered only a few coins for helping to unload carts or the luggage of travelers. One man, a blacksmith, had even promised you payment for your services in helping him move baskets of ore-tomorrow. He was expecting a client to pick up some tools that had been made for selling in another city, and only by then he said he would have enough to pay you back. 

This was extremely unlikely, but you were at least going to stay to see if he was trustworthy enough to pay you back. 

 At an inn, you asked the keeper’s wife if there were any tasks you could do for a room. She outright refused, but said if you could help with the washing, you could at least sleep in the stable. 

After days of lying on the beds that your friend had made for you, it wouldn’t be something you weren’t used to, in the very least. 

You thanked her anyway, and did her bidding for that night. She even gave you some of the burnt scraps from the food they served. It was late when she finally released you to rest. Silently, you cursed yourself for not learning any special skills that you could have charged for, like the other people in your band you had travelled with-

You looked up and were taken aback. On a piece of parchment on the wall near the door was an illustration of a man you were all too familiar with. 

Rendered in ink from a wood block print was Kleiner, the leader of the band you had run from. An older gentleman who had acted almost fatherly at first, but claimed he was a scholar outcast from higher society. He spoke several languages fluently, and showed an air of ease and politeness that was uncommon.  He had been welcoming. Then he had been brutal. 

It was only after a few weeks that you knew him as not an old gentleman scholar, but the leader of a band of violent thieves. This group of stragglers had their own wagons and tents, and went from town to town. The injured ones he deployed as beggars and pick-pockets. You had also witnessed him purposefully infecting their faces with sores and dirt to “improve” their wretchedness. Some he taught magic tricks, or gambling games, fortune telling, or far worse employment-but always there was a wicked trick at the end to the buyer. The strongest ones were highwaymen and guards for his camp, and punishers for all who didn’t fall in line. 

Once you were in Kleiner’s band, there was only one way you could leave. And if you didn’t do what he wanted, or if he found no use for you, that would be what he did. That was why he found only the most hopeless and friendless. Because no one would ever look for them if they went missing. 

But you had escaped. And right now it was clear that his reputation had caught up to him. At one point, when you were more naive, you had been seen with his band. With dread you realized that if anyone in this town had figured out that association, something terrible would be done to you in retaliation. 

You couldn’t stay in this town much longer. 

For just one night, you made your way to the stables, and lay down on the only pile of clean straw you could find. But before you could even attempt to close your eyes, a voice called out to you. 

It was an old woman. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she stated. In her hands was a large but extremely worn quilt. “I came to give you this. I’ve seen you out in the streets, and I know it will become very cold tonight. Here,” she offered it to you with a smile. 

“Thank you very much,” you replied. 

Suddenly she stopped, and her head tilted. “You look rather familiar. Perhaps I have seen you before?” 

“I…I’m not sure that you have. At least, I don’t believe we’ve met.” 

“Hmm…how very odd.” 

She was quiet for a bit, and seemed to stare you down. 

“Oh well, no matter.” She smiled again. “I am a forgetful old woman after all,” she teased. Turning away, she wished you a good night. 

It was only after her footsteps had faded away that you even tried to relax. No, you couldn’t stay here any longer. 

Your hand rested against the patchwork blanket. It was extremely large, very worn, and had been pieced together time and time again, as shown by the obvious stitchwork. But despite its appearance, it was comforting. 

Perhaps even, it could be big enough to shield your friend from the cold. He and the blanket shared many attributes. Large, looking almost pieced together, worn.  It would have been a great comfort to have his watchful gaze with you now. 

____________________________________________________________________________

The blacksmith had been honest, and had paid you in full what he promised. But it was clear that he was hoping you’d be intimidated by his gruff demeanor and not ask him again. Little did he know that you had spent a long time with someone much more intimidating than he. 

But that person you were eagerly awaiting to see again. Though no one had ever thrown rocks at you like they had done him, it was clear that suspicions were rising against your very presence. No honest business, no family, and no reason to be in this town other than traveling, you saw people’s smiles vanish as you walk by, and how certain shop owners made it a point to follow you closely as you perused their wares. Especially now that you had in tow a very large quilt over your shoulder, which you made a point of airing it out in the street casually, to make a silent message to those watching that you hadn’t stolen anything beneath its folds. 

You thanked whatever lucky stars you had when the sun set that night. And like you had promised, you left. The moon gave you just enough light to try and make your way into the forest. At moments you paused, listening for following steps. You heard nothing. After minutes more of walking, you decided to test your friend’s stealth that he had boasted of. Maybe he had found you. 

“Leshy! Leshy!” you called. 

Instantly some branches started snapping in the distance, approaching fast. Instinctively you flinched, the sound was so much like a charging bear or wild animal. But when the shape appeared between the trees, it was much too tall. And the sight that once frightened you made you now sigh in relief. 

“Leshy!”

He looked more relieved than you, a wide too-white smile glowing in the moonlight. “You came back!”  

“I promised I would, didn’t I? I am glad you found me so quickly.”

“I had heard you walking from afar off, but did not approach. I could not be sure…” 

He didn’t finish his sentence. You were about to ask him what he had meant to say before he turned to you again. 

“I have made a camp for you, and a new place for you to sleep. May I carry something for you? I can show you the way.” He reached his hands out eagerly. 

“Yes, that would be nice. You can carry this,” you put the blanket in his hands. “An elderly woman gave it to me. I hope it will be large enough for you to use too. We may borrow it from each other, and I hope it gives us both warmth.” 

Leshy slowly took the blanket, his fingers drifting over the stitches. He didn’t say anything, but looked very thoughtful. “That is…may I carry it with one arm? The way is dark, and you may need my guidance to not stumble.” 

You knew his real request. He wanted to hold your hand again. But still, the offer was one that made sense. You had noticed some time ago that your friend’s vision was much more keen in the dark than yours. 

“Yes, that would be alright.”

He bundled the thick quilt in one arm and held his hand out to you. You took it, swaying under the weight of your own pack. His large hand gripped firmly but not too tight. When you steadied yourself he led you forward. 

“Did you have much success in the village?” he asked. 

“Yes and no. It’s…complicated. I can tell you the full story once we reach the camp.” 

He hummed in agreement. 

“Have you fared well enough out here? I realize I did not leave you with much food.”

“I did not eat it,” he said, almost proudly. “You will find there is enough for you.” 

“That was almost three days ago. I understand you do not like meat but surely you didn’t starve yourself?”

“Worry not,” he replied. “I am sturdy. I had found some roots to suffice.” 

With his tendency to eat nearly poisonous plants that was a worrying statement in itself.

“I have also found many berries and dried them in the sun for you as well.” 

Then, while he was walking, he unexpectedly stumbled. The hand that had been grasping the quilt shot up to his forehead for a moment, and he stilled. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes. I only…lost my footing.” 

He resumed walking, but this time, you noticed, much more slowly. 

In all the time you had known him, he had been strangely lithe and agile. Even despite his size, he moved with balance and speed. Something was wrong. 

Before you had a chance to ask, there was a small light before you. 

“Here we are!” he announced. “I have discovered how to keep a fire hot but still conceal its light. I will add more fuel to it for you, so we both may enjoy it.” 

He carefully wrapped the blanket in itself and handed it to you. True to his word, he stoked the coals of the fire and added more fuel. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you saw now just how much work he had done. 

Another crude bed, but this one was piled even higher with softer grasses and leaves than before. A lean-to shelter was constructed over it. On a flatter rock was some sort of roughly woven basket: the show of color underneath was the berries that he had been drying. Some thin sticks stripped of bark were nearby, and some of them had been tied with young inner growth bark to make crude cooking skewers. A pile of dry kindling was near the pit was dug for the fire, and large, dry rocks surrounded it.

“This is…impressive. All that work must have taken hours.”

“Days,” Leshy said, crouching by the fire to stoke it. 

The firelight fell on his face and you were taken aback. Even with all of his deformities and scars, he looked worse than usual. The dark circles around his eyes seemed deeper, more purplish. His hair was tangled, and had some pieces of twigs and leaves stuck in it. Most alarming of all was a deep reddish-brown stain on the back of his neck, and you had suspected that the hood covered most of it. 

“Leshy! Are you hurt?” 

The giant’s hand gripped his cloak, pulling it up to conceal the mark. “It is nothing to be concerned about.” 

“I’m concerned nonetheless. Answer me honestly, during the time I was gone, did you actually eat, sleep, or take care of yourself?”

He turned his face away from you, and rubbed his hands together. “I was restless. I understand you promised you would return, but…I was still uncertain. Civilization, with its warm houses and plentiful food, and the companionship of normal people, is alluring, even to me. If you did come back to me, I wanted you to…see that I, perhaps would still be of benefit to you. I cannot offer you much more than my service. So that is what I did offer.” 

“You did all this because you thought I would regret coming back to you?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. 

Knowing he was sensitive to touch, you put a hand on his shoulder. “Leshy, you cannot earn my friendship or loyalty.” 

He looked at you, sunken eyes wide. 

You put your hand up placatingly. “Nor should you have to. No one should. I said we were friends. We are. I said I would come back. I did. And more than the things you made for me, it would make me feel more at peace that you were well. If you have services to offer, I ask that you make that one most important. Now, tell me honestly, did you eat while I was gone?”

“I had some roots…”

“Alright. Did you sleep?”

“I do not require-”

“Not what I asked. Did you sleep?”

“No.” 

“It’s fairly obvious you didn’t take care of your hair either. But what happened to your neck? May I see it?” 

As you moved closer to tug at his cloak, he shied away. “I have…many scars. Sometimes, they open. It is a common occurrence, though, I have never had one bleed this badly. It is not harmful to me, and you may not wish to see it.” 

“Unfortunately for you I do. I need to make sure it’s cleaned and cared for. And the next town I visit I will buy you a comb big enough for your hands-perhaps ones used for a horse, if I have to. Now if you really want to please me, you will do as I say: I will look at and clean that wound, I am going to get the leaves out of your hair, and you are going to eat some bread and sleep under that quilt tonight, and put as much of yourself on that bed you made.” 

“But you-”

“Leshy. You are not a burden, if that is what you are worried about. Whatever needs you have to keep you well do not make you unworthy of my time or friendship.” 

His shoulders softened and he relented. You pulled a roll of bread from your pack and pressed it into his hands. Then, pulling down the collar of his crude clothing, you used a cloth and water to dab away at the blood. You could tell it was uncomfortable. He hissed between bites, and it seemed that he was having some issues swallowing. You gave him another full water skin you had purchased and continued your work. Luckily, there was no swelling or any other concerns, and it seemed to have already closed itself up. 

“I’m going to add this ointment over your scar,” you explained. “It’s been infused with some herbs that should help. And perhaps it will keep it from re-opening.” 

It was lucky that you had bought some more medical supplies. He seemed to squirm slightly as you applied the ointment, and took the leaves and twigs from his tangled locks. 

“I am very sorry,” he said. “You are…kinder than you should be. I should have known you’d try to help…” he seemed to choke up slightly, but recovered. “It must be disturbing for you to be this close to me. I will take care of myself so you do not feel obligated to.” 

“That was not the meaning behind my request. Now please, you are overtired, go and rest now. I will keep watch tonight. I will not accept any objections.” 

You handed him the quilt, and he wrapped it around his shoulders in a shaky, unsteady motion, and nodded, his now loose black waves swaying as he did so.  

You saw him awkwardly curl up on the bed of leaves he had prepared for you, his feet far over the edge. But at least you were thankful that the quilt covered most of his torso.

“Bonne nuit,” he said in a shaky whisper. “And thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “And good night.” 

He had not had much experience with other people, outside of being left alone or attacked. He was viewed as monstrous, and because of that he tended to view others in the same way. But despite that, he was still capable of showing sympathy towards you. He begged you for some humanity. You hoped he could grant you the same.

The days went by in a rhythmic pattern. Waking up on the hard ground, eating a little preserved food, washing up as best possible with what little water you brought, and trudging on.

You followed the side of the road, but not the road itself. It would have been nicer to stay on the path, but you did not want your companion to become even more lonely and anxious.

He seemed grateful for this decision, though he never spoke it out loud.

One day he was walking beside you, in the same way he had always done. He loped through the forest like a large stag, though he always stayed patient and waited for you to stagger along. He was preoccupied with something in his hand, rubbing his fingers back and forth.

"What are you holding that interests you so much?" you asked, good-naturedly.

"I am not holding anything. A part of last night's firewood has become lodged in my skin. It is a bothersome thing that often troubles me," he grumbled.

"Well why didn't you say anything? I have some tweezers in my pack, and my fingers are smaller than yours. I could try and pull it out for you, if you like."

"That would be a relief," he admitted. You thought you saw the top of his cheekbones color a bit. He was not yet used to small acts of kindness done towards him.

You had him sit down on the ground in front of you. He was still tall enough that you did not need to bend far to hold his hand. Sure enough, raw and red, there was a splinter. After fetching your tweezers, you held the back of his large hand, and steadied yourself.

"Now I am going to do my best, but this may hurt a bit. I apologize beforehand. But you have to stay absolutely still."

He nodded shyly. He winced as you dug for it, but said nothing.

"There! I have it."

He breathed a sigh of relief, but hesitatingly started to pull his hand back from your grasp.

"Wait just a minute! I have some clean water here. I think I should rinse it off just in case."

He did as he was told and waited for you. You poured the cold water over his fingers.

"There! Does that feel better?"

"Yes, yes it does," he said with a small smile, looking at his wet fingertips.

"We'll have to keep an eye on it and keep it clean. It was not that deep, but one can never be too careful."

He chuckled darkly. "I have endured worse. But have never been cared for so well. Thank you, little friend. That was very kind."

"You're welcome..." You cleaned your tweezers and put them away.

"I...considered what you have said about your family and home..."

"Oh?" Something in his voice made him sound a bit fragile.

"I...find myself at odds with my own past. My...father...thought himself as more of a god to me. I think he wanted me to think the same."

You nodded. "Parents, no matter who they are, can be like that at times. For some people, when we're young, our parents are like gods. We only know good things can come from them, and they are our whole world for a while. It is only when we grow older that we see they were never divine at all, but more like us. Human and full of flaws. And we often find ourselves in need of things that they could never have given us. Perhaps because of those flaws, or...something else. But I suppose the worst of our parents never want to give up their godhood."

Leshy scoffed. "Some god he was. Unlike others of yo-others, I could not seek for companionship outside of him. I could not even seek companionship from him! What god makes a being he cannot bear?"

"Not a god at all," you said gently. "Just a man. That is a hollow and sad thing but...I hope that...both you and I can also find happiness outside of who made us."

He gave a broken laugh. "My hope for such a thing had nearly died. But your presence alone is evidence that miracles do exist. I am thankful for small mercies. Like my beloved books and my cloak, I have found many precious things under the cover of trees." He smiled and gave you a playful poke in the arm.

To your own surprise, you gave a small laugh. It was rare to see him jest. Perhaps this only meant that he was becoming more at ease with you.

He leaned back and looked almost apologetic, resting his hands on his knees.

"You must forgive me, from time to time I am afraid. The wounds left by others have long marred me. Betrayal has sickened my heart, and it is that fear that causes me to forget myself."

"Leshy," you cautioned. "If we are to be together as friends, it would be best if you calmed yourself in times like those. I want to help you, but I cannot if you become too borne away by your feelings. Be calm. Talk to me about what is troubling you. Then both of us can work together."

"It is a near impossible thing you ask!" he replied, shaking his head. "I swear to you, I am a rational creature. And I do not mean to frighten you. Perhaps if you had felt pain as I had, you would understand."

"I do understand, really. And I am not saying this because I am upset with you. I am only trying to help. When we are both calm, together, it will lead to both of us being more at peace. If you are troubled, I will counsel you. And further more, you may ask me what I am truly thinking, instead of assuming. I will not deceive you either."

"Despite your reassurance, it is still a difficult thing. How am I to remain calm when the threat of what I fear the most seems so near?"

"Perhaps...you could try to think of something else for a time. Only for a moment, and it would help, I believe. Remember when we saw the river together? And how the water sparkled in the moonlight?"

"Yes, I remember..."

"Was that not lovely to see? Try to think on that, if only for a moment. It may help you."

"Or it may not."

"Or it may not," you conceded. "But at least try it, for my sake and yours."

Leshy didn't agree right away, but seemed to slouch, hugging himself in thought.

He could be stubborn, it seemed.

"It may help you to know," you began, "that two people can disagree on a matter, and still be friends. Arguments don't always mean ends, if that concerns you."

"Truly now?" he said lightly, almost as if he didn't believe you. "I had thought all companionship was peaceable..." he muttered, frowning. Leshy appeared as though he were almost pouting. And it was almost endearing, at times, how young in mind he could be.

"They can be!" you replied with a smile. "Many arguments are only little matters, and they don't tarnish the whole friendship. Perhaps they only seem worse to you, since you have had so few experiences. For that I am truly sorry. But I promise, two people can still be peaceable and still have two different opinions, as long as both parties wish to remain together."

Leshy stood, and held his hand for you to take. "I hope you always wish this. Despite my countenance and many pains."

You took his hand, and he pulled you up to your feet. You didn't need his support anymore, but he always seemed to need yours. He closed his palm slowly, trying not to grip too hard. He sighed.

"I will try to not panic, when faced with difficulties. If it makes me more peaceable to be your friend, it is a sufficient sacrifice."

You looked at his sad eyes, gazing downwards to his own scarred hand. He let go of yours.

"I appreciate it," you said gently. "And I will try to help you in any way I can. It is not something you need to do alone."

Your friend said nothing, but gave a small, tired smile.

That was something you shared right now. This morning had been cooler than all the others. Good or bad, it was time to tell him.

“Please, sit down,” you asked, motioning to the log across the fire.

He was completely silent. You saw a slight tremble in his left hand. You swallowed.

“I can’t stay here.”

“Why? What do you mean by this?”

“I’m running out of food. It’s getting colder. Neither of us has adequate shelter-”

“I can get you more! I can build you better!” His voice became higher and choked. “I understand your fame is not as sturdy as my own, but I can provide!”

“Please, calm yourself. It’s not something that is your fault-”

“I can go farther. We can go up the river. We can travel south to test the fare there!”

“That’s not something I can-”

“So you do intend to leave me!” he rasped. His already pallid face paled. You saw his other hand grip the log he sat on. The bark cracked in his grasp.

“No! I didn’t say that-”

“You! As all of mankind, wish to abandon me! Is this how my kindness is repaid?!” The paleness of his face changed for meaty pink, as his expression contorted the skin on his face in grotesque directions. He was quickly spiraling out of control, and to your own surprise, you did the unthinkable.

“You stop that! I don’t want to leave you! I want you to come with me!”

He was quiet, but his shoulders hunched, muscles locked. You could see the subtle pulsing in his jaw that indicated he was grinding his teeth.

“You said that all the world assumes your intentions without knowing you. That you are judged harshly and quickly before you have a chance to advocate for yourself. And look what you are doing to me! You misunderstand me the same as you are often misunderstood: you said you were my friend but you judge me just as quickly!”

He looked as though he were about to object, black brows furrowing as he readied his response, but you raised your hand.

“I am not finished. Please, listen to me. I want you to come with me. I cannot live in these forests forever, but neither can you. You too, have no shelter, no food, no clothing. If it is in my power, I do want to repay you for saving my life, by giving you a home. Somehow, I’m not sure yet. I intend to travel back to my family’s home, to see where the course of my future may run. It may be that they take me in, or they may not. But when I am back in the company of other people, I may still be able to provide for both of us, as meager as it may be. I can only see.”

Leshy shook his head and rested his forehead in his palms.

“What you wish is impossible! I cannot be near the habitations of man. They would only strike and harm me. My body bears the marks of such encounters.”

“I know.”

“Then what do you propose?”

“I am not sure. I want us both to travel together. It may be that when I reach a village, we will separate for a time to allow me to find work and provisions. Then at the appointed time, we will both meet again and continue our journey. When I get home…well…I’m not sure. We can start anew, somehow. Perhaps I can find a place to live far in the forests to hide us both and find some sort of employment for myself. But we cannot live like this forever.”

“And when you get to the villages, how do I know that you won’t flee entirely, and leave me behind?”

“Friendship involves trust. I have grown to trust you for my own care for a very long time, you must learn to do the same with me. If I truly wanted to leave you, I could have done so while you foraged.”

He rested his hand over his mouth, his brows knotted in worry.

You swallowed, and walked over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You saved me in the forest, when I was alone and uncared for. I want to help you. To give you food, clothing, warmth. Trust me, please. I know I am asking you to take a risk, and that my plan may be foolish, but if I stay here, I will eventually die.”

“I would not let that happen.”

“How could you prevent it? The winters here are harsh, and there is no more fish for me.”

You waited in silence as he wrestled with himself. He took a shaky breath in, clearly under duress.

“I will come with you, as you desire. Provided only that you always come back, and that I may always be able to stay hidden.”

“Thank you.” You sat on the log next to him.

The giant, once erratic with emotion, turned to you and spoke in a town low and cautious. “You…you have asked me many questions about my past. I wish to know more about yours, if that is all right.”

You swallowed. “That is only fair.”

“Please, tell me again what happened. Why were you alone? Why did you leave your family?”

“It is…a difficult thing to tell.”

You spent a while revealing yourself, your own personal story. Slowly you unfolded events and emotions that you had thought you had put away behind you. Thoughts about who you were, who your family was, and the environment that made you. You described the moments you were proud of, the moments you weren’t. What you did and what you should have done. Your friend listened patiently.

You realized it was…cathartic. He believed in you, and your perspective. When you expressed something, you could see concern crossing over his face, as if his own heart was mimicking yours. Sadness for sadness. Anger for anger. He did not seem to be building a case in his mind of how to correct you, or devising a plan to talk down to you, to assert his own authority. He just listened, as if your own life was one of his precious books.

Despite being afraid of this giant man, you realized with a start that this might have been the first time in a long while that someone showed you deep sympathy. Sometimes the thought crossed your mind that it may have mattered more to you than the care you received to let your ankle heal. This type of injury he was mending now was one you didn’t know you had, one that festered and ached.

You thanked him again. It was much different than when you thanked him for traveling with you.

He left you to prepare for the journey and pack while he promised to find the last of what the forest had to offer. In the evening, you planned your route back home.

You had lost the protection of a larger group of people, and if your friend was going to be in your care, you had to provide for him too, if he would allow it. You could go back to doing the odd tasks for people along the way. Begging for money to help them carry or mend or tend. But the giant, he required stealth. You couldn’t live like this and provide for him at the same time.

A lump rose in your throat.

You might have to go back home. If you still had a home. But your family would reject the poor creature, that you were sure of. If you couldn’t convince them to understand your own causes, there was no hope of convincing them to accept your new traveling companion. But perhaps there was another way, just another way…

You wished you could speak your mind to him. To hear another person’s thoughts and consolations. But “now” never seemed like the right time. Instead, you waited just a little while longer to gauge your new friend’s moods, especially now that he had been more open with you than ever.

It was painfully obvious he had not been accustomed to being around people for long stretches of time in his life.

For one thing he stood close to you whenever he could. Too close. You had to be careful not to bump into him. He was close to you in the way a freezing man nearly throws himself on a fire. If he sat down, he sat next to you, often leaning his great head towards you. If you spoke to him, he would crouch to hear you. But if you asked him to retreat to allow you to move, even in the most gentle way you could, his face would fall, though he would obey. Unfortunately this would also lead to him shrinking back into himself, and not speaking as much. It took a great deal to coax him out again.

How much he talked would rise and fall according to his moods. He was still chatty, and now eagerly applied his knowledge of your language, often ending many of his sentences in questions. All throughout the day.

Sitting with you at night.

“The moon, beautiful, yes?”

“Yes it is.”

“Beautiful above the trees. La lune. Giving light to all. Regardless. This is pleasant, do you not think such?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” he said. Catching your eye, he pointed to the river, the moonlight sparkling on it as it flowed by. “And the river, it is a happy thing to have its light shone on it, do you not think as such?” His tattered, scared face crinkled into a smile.

“Yes?” you said, trying to match him. On occasion he was hard to follow.

Your instinct still told you to be disturbed by his face. But the way his eyes softened, the wrinkles folding at their corners, and the large smile as if he saw paradise itself, that would have been enough to rouse any heart, if they had been brave enough to let it.

He wanted you to come with him foraging now. It seemed as though losing the mask made him less wary of you instead of the other way around.

“You…have enough fish for today?”

“I suppose so. I haven’t yet caught anymore to smoke on the fire.”

“Could you come with me?”

“Where are you going?”

“To look for your food. I…I wished you to come to speak to.”

“Alright. As long as we don’t go too far. I don’t think I have your endurance.”

“I will not tire you.” He held out his hand to you from where you sat. Even though you had fully healed, and no longer stumbled, he kept his habit of helping you up and over objects. It was a strange habit, but you kept it along with him. It was harmless enough. He was cold to the touch, but he did not entirely clasp your hand in his, but kept his palm open just enough to let you grip his fingers in support. There was something jarring in the way he moved. Too quickly at once, then not all at all in the next moment. You suspected he did not know his own strength at times, and this might have led him to not want to grip your hand in his too tightly.

You noticed that at times he still hid his face from you, though he clearly wanted your attention. He visited the river more often, washing the exposed skin of his limbs and face in the water. You couldn’t help but notice how he stopped and stared at his own reflection often. Once you even saw him strike it and walk away, while he thought you weren’t looking. Some days, despite the weather being nice, he drew his hood over his head, and hid his expressions in its shadow.

It was this push and pull that perplexed you. Some days he followed you like a dog, trying desperately to catch your eye, and explain the plots of his favorite books and share their stories with you. Other days he withdrew and hardly said a word. There always seemed to be some sort of internal war raging within his mind that you were not privy to.

But he did want to please you. Of that right now you were certain. And in order to be able to speak with him, you needed to understand him. But that required knowledge.

It was on one of your long walks that you began asking your questions.

“My friend, why do you never tell me your true name?”

He slowed his pace even further.

“I…had none. My father never named me.”

This was a shock. He was grown now. What was he called in all those years?

“Never?”

“Never.”

And what had you called him?

“I…I want to apologize,” you said.

“Apologize? For what?”

“For what I’ve been calling you. I have done you a disservice I…when I first saw you I thought…I have been calling you by the name of a creature of myth. Not a human name.”

“Leshy? What does this word mean?”

“A Leshy is a giant that lives in forests. Or so I was told.”

“That is not untrue of me,” he gave a grim laugh. But his next question was almost a whisper. “Are they evil?”

“No, well, they can be. It entirely depends on if one disrespects their forest. They can be kind, and leave gifts for others, or lead them back home if they are lost. But they also may chase off intruders or trick them.”

“They reflect the intentions they are shown. I understand.”

“I am sorry. I don’t want my mistake to be your name forever.”

He paused for a moment. “I…have often envied those among your-others. I have often envied those who are named. Not only for being known, but being loved enough to be known. To be a part of the ties around each other. That I envy more than a name. I wish to be named by someone who loves me. Who has ties to me.”

You were silent for a moment, unsure of how to answer. He turned to you.

“I forgive you. Your friendship was repayment enough for any hurt. I would like a name, someday. Although, it is good to be called anything in fondness and familiarity. I don’t despise being called Leshe, as long as I am also named your friend.”

You nodded. “Perhaps, we can find you a name together? It is not often one gets to pick their own name.”

“I should like that.”

You couldn’t help but notice how his voice cracked.

You were both quiet, walking on for a while. You pried a bit more about his past.

“Can…can you tell me how you got your scars?”

He took a deep, shuddering sigh, and looked away from you. But he still answered.

“My father he…tried to make me beautiful. When he failed, he abandoned me.”

Make him beautiful?

His skin was so discolored and covered in scars, some thick like corded rope, as if they had been cut roughly, or burned into existence. Others thin and spidery, as if they were made by miniscule blades thinner than a fingernail. He was muscular, but gaunt. Starvation clearly wracked his frame. He looked as though he had spent a lifetime mouldering in darkness and sickness, only to be ravaged by cold and the beating heat of the sun alike, without clothing or shelter. When you first met him his hair was long and unkempt, as though he had no memory of care. What torture had your friend endured? You pictured in your mind, a boy growing too quickly into a gigantic man, chained up somewhere as some madman cut and burned his own son, trying to reshape the living flesh into something acceptable to him. Perhaps that was why his voice was so coarse. From years of screaming into darkness for help and relief that would never come.

You were horrified.

“And you…submitted to that?”

“I had no choice,” he spat bitterly. “I pay the consequence. He flees away, happy and ignorant of his crimes. No pain did he know. Man that knew family, love, kindness, and companionship. I suffer, cast out from all who see me. I was built with a heart. I longed for connection, but my body is too hideous to ever receive it! And it shall never heal. I will never awake one day clean and whole. This is my face, forevermore. It is more than I can bear.”

Pain had poured from him as molten metal, hot and scorching and all-devouring. In so short a time he went from not understanding your language to being able to cut to the bone with it. An expansive poetic mind and soul, bound mortally to a body that couldn’t begin to show the beauty and intelligence in it. He deserved more than this.

Slowly you reached to him, and gently placed a hand on his arm. He stilled, his hand covering yours, but still he looked away. Another long, shuddering breath came from him.

You decided it was best to leave that memory be, for now. But while he was still open, you wanted to ask him another question. It was about something you had not thought of in a while.

“When I was traveling in this area, I heard a story. Partially, it was the reason I was so afraid of you. I do not know if it is true, but, there was a French family who lived nearby. Did…was that where your father was?”

“No. I am not from this region.” You saw him tense.

“The people at the inn, they say they saw someone of large stature, the day before their farm burnt to the ground.”

He didn’t answer.

“Was that you?”

“...What did these stories say?”

“I don’t understand what you mean-”

“Did these stories say a monster attacked them?” He turned around quickly, his eyes blazing. “Or did they speak of a wretch begging for aid? Which was it?!”

For a moment you were stunned, and took a step back, stammering. “I-they-”

“You need not answer. I know already. Do not ask any more about them.”

With that he quickly walked away.

After a few moments, you followed, but gave him his distance. As far out as you were in these woods today, you needed his guidance to get back to the river.

His swaying moods between docile and hostile were unnerving. Despite all he had done for you, a creeping doubt came into your mind. He hadn’t meant to, but his answer almost confirmed that the monster from the story was him. If that was true, he had implied that he was only begging for help. Maybe that was only how the interaction had started.

Did he burn down their farm, hoping they were inside?

Because they rejected him?

Were you in danger, even now?

You gave him a wide berth the rest of the day. Now it seemed it was your turn to grow quiet, and draw into yourself. You kept your comments to a minimum, and so did he.

When the moon started to rise above the trees, you had lain down to sleep. Leshy was sitting further away, facing the river. Through a gap in the bushes, you could see him now.

He pulled something out of the pocket of his cloak.

It was a bundle of papers, wrapped in hide. A loose journal. Something you had never seen him read in front of you. Or even speak of.

You saw his withered fingers trace over their pages. Then he flipped to only the first page, and his mouth seemed to form a word silently. Then he closed it, and seemed to fold in on himself, his hand clasped in a fist to his forehead. He started rocking back and forth, clearly distressed.

He had always been eager to speak about his books to you. His only possessions. But this one was clearly different than the rest. You watched him for a little while longer. He rose, stuffing the papers back into the innermost pocket of his coat. He began to pace up and down the bank, his arms clasped around himself. When he took a look back towards you, you froze.

You feared that you had been caught spying. With a pang, you realized that you had gone back to fearing him.

He began to walk back up the bank, but his eyes were not locked on you. There was a chance he hadn’t even seen you. Scrambling, you got yourself back into a sleeping position, your back towards the fire. Hopefully he would believe that you were still asleep.

Your heart stopped when you heard him step in the dry leaves right behind you.

A large hand rested on your shoulder, and started to shake you. He started calling your name in a panicked whisper, over and over.

You pretended to wake from sleep, hoping it would save you.

“What is the matter?”

“My friend I am sorry. I am sorry I woke you but-I should not have raised my voice to you. Are you angry with me? Please do not be angry with me. I do not want you afraid of me, I want us to talk how we used to-I cannot bear you being angry with me. It…it was painful to speak on. A painful thing. I’m sorry!”

He was nearly hyperventilating. There was a wild, panicked look in his eyes as he had crouched down to the ground near you. His mood had swung back again, and it was as though he was physically trying to make himself smaller, to disappear into the ground in front of you.

For a moment, you didn’t say anything.

“Do you hate me?” he rasped.

“No I don’t hate you I…you did startle me earlier today.”

“I did not hurt anyone! I do not want you to believe I am a monster. Please believe me!”

“I believe you.”

He didn’t seem convinced.

“I promise you have no need to fear me. Not ever, gentle friend. A am sorry. I forget myself. Please forgive me, and be happy with me once more!”

You put your hands lightly on his shoulders, and that stilled him.

“Listen, be calm. I do forgive you, I do. Truly. You did scare me today. I understand speaking about the past may be difficult for you. But I do forgive you. There is no need for all this panic of yours.”

“Then we are still friends?” he asked, hopefully.

You searched your own mind. And you made your commitment. For better or worse.

“Yes. We never stopped being friends.”

His shoulders sagged in relief. He looked as though he wanted to reach forward for you, but he stopped himself, and dug his palms in the dirt. He took a few deep breaths. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Despite his height and intellect, there was something so young about him. You had supposed that perhaps he never had the opportunity to be friends with others, even as a boy. This new experience must have been daunting for him. Something he had to learn anew when all other people had moved far beyond what had just been distant points in childhood memory.

You removed your hands from his shoulders, and for a moment he looked bereaved. But he quickly tried to replace that expression in a worried yet grateful smile.

“Let us rest tonight, yes? Tomorrow we can talk again. All is well, don’t worry.”

“Yes. Yes I would like that.” He rose and went back to his usual seat-a tree he often rested his back against and read near the fire. “Bonne nuit,” he said gently. “I am thankful for you.”

You nodded and curled back up in your own usual position. You don’t know why you had said that you both would rest. Your friend was flighty, and ever vigilant, and you rarely saw him sleep. If he was to ever acclimate to a normal life, or something near it, he would need to learn to control himself. There was something convincing in his voice-you no longer believed that he did hurt anyone. But he must have burned down those buildings.

He needed to be somewhere safe. Around someone safe. His body may never heal from his scars, but maybe in the right place and time, his soul could. Perhaps that was something you could give him. It would be a new goal in your life, rather than running away from your own pain and problems.

Weeks had passed, that much you knew. He had not strayed from your side or from caring for you. But he had also not revealed anything about himself.

All you had were vague guesses: he was born deformed and now had no mother. He grew up away from human eyes and possibly even neglected. His father had abandoned him, and, judging by his actions of choosing a remote location to make camp, he had an intense fear of being seen or discovered.

You didn’t know his name, and you hadn’t seen his face.

The giant seemed to be under the impression that you would stay in the forest forever. He spent vast amounts of time reinforcing your shelter from the wind and bringing you what he could find for food, urging you to fish more. At some point you would have to tell him you needed to leave. To quit the forest and go back to a village somewhere…

And do what? You were just as desolate as he was.

All of your thoughts came to a halt one fateful morning. Something new had happened, and you weren’t sure how to reckon with it.

The giant was asleep. His mask had slipped off.

You had woken up in your makeshift bed that morning to a sound you couldn’t identify. Soft, constant, rhythmic. You panicked for a moment-you fully expected to be alone since the giant often slipped away at the first light of dawn to forage. Then you looked over to the source of the sound.

There, on the ground, a mass of rags and skin, was the giant. The sound was his deep breathing as he slept. Your heart stopped when you saw his face.

Had he not been breathing, you would have believed he was dead. His eyes were barely closed as he lay curled up on his side in front of the smoking fire. His jaw was slack, and air rushed in and out between teeth that were like bleached pieces of bone. The lips over them contrasted their color greatly - purpled to the point of almost being black, they crowned the gaunt tight skin that barely covered the skull underneath. Skin almost too thin. Too thin, as though you could count each artery and muscle underneath.

You imagined what he would look like when his eyes would snap open. You could imagine a terrible scream, him rushing at you, all too close. Too close.

It all made sense now. This was why he had stayed hidden.

The mask lay on the ground near his cheek, the ends of the cloth still showing the wrinkles from where they were tied. He must have not secured it as tightly this time.

In the corner of your eye, you saw a fresh pile of lumber for your growing shelter.

He was exhausted.

You had a choice now. You had seen him.

When you first saw him, you had treated him as a monster. You thought he was a monster. But despite your rejection and fear, he had fed you. He had helped you. Brought you to water. Kept you warm. He calmed your nightmares. He read to you. He cared for you. He didn’t have to, and as far as you knew you weren’t his captive. He didn’t hurt you even when it would have been easy to. He didn’t hurt you when others clearly would have.

He had no mother. His father left him. He had no shelter. He had no clothing. He had no help, no care. He was alone. He was abandoned.

What would happen to your companion?

You couldn’t abandon him too. No matter what he looked like, no matter where he came from, or what his name was, he needed help. He needed you.

Were you going to still treat him as a monster?

Or as a man?

Suddenly, he stirred in his sleep. This was your moment to act, and was best not to startle him.

You looked around the camp for something to do while he woke up. But you still wanted to make it clear that you had seen him. This game had to end.

You looked over to the little rack of twigs you had built over the fire to smoke fish. You could turn those over to let them continue to dry, and stoke the fire while you were at it.

The giant woke up with a groan at first. You suspected he was sore.

You looked over to him. He seemed confused, and was blinking in the early morning sunlight.

“Good morning,” you said softly, trying to unstick some thin filets of fish from their grill.

He jolted upright, and brought a hand to his face, and cried aloud in horror. His other hand thumped on the dirt as it felt around for the mask.

“Wait, be calm,” you soothed. “I’ve seen your face already.”

He looked at you with wide eyes that searched your features. One hand was still desperately trying to cover his face, the other gripped the cloth in a fist. There was something dangerous in the look he gave you, halfway between grief and rage. He was breathing heavily.

You had to tread cautiously.

“It is alright my friend,” you stated. You were going to be truthful. “I have already seen what you look like. You can choose to wear the mask if you wish-if it makes you more comfortable. But you need not do so only on my account. I still don’t know who you are, or what has happened to you in full. But we are friends. You need not hide yourself from me.”

The hand on his face slipped a little bit away from his mouth, just to allow him to talk. “Then…then you do not reject me?”

“I do not,” you said calmly.

That intense stare that had been on you softened. “Do…do you swear to it?” his voice cracked. He buried his face in his hands again, but you knew it was not to hide this time. “I have been alone…” he sobbed. “I have had the help of no one… No one has ever looked upon me and stayed…and not hurt…Please, I beg of you, do not leave me.”

You could not say you were not surprised at his outburst. Now that he had the words in your language, the words to speak to you, everything tumbled from him.

“I will not leave you, it is alright my friend.” You repeated those words to him again. My friend. That seemed to be what he feared most. Losing you.

He looked up from his hands, tears falling down the sallowed skin you just saw, now wrinkled and twisted in agony. His cheeks and eyes were tinged with a purplish red, the watery, jaundiced eyes looking at you in a mix of overwhelm and disbelief. He looked unreal, unnatural in motion, just as you had thought he would. One part of his face looked as though it had almost become detached from the muscles underneath. The muscles themselves twitched, pulled, and wrinkled in tiny convulsive motions, as if pins underneath were all that were moving the flesh above. You prayed that any look of fear or unease would be wiped from your face.

You crouched down from where you had been previously working, and looked back at him.

“I will not leave you just as you did not leave me.”

He took a shaky breath in. “I promise…I will do my best…to be of help to you. Everything I can give, I will. I will!”

“I think you already have.”

His breath slowed, and he fully raised his face from his hands. “You do not lie?” he whispered. “Even when you see? You ran from me when you first saw me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” You took another careful breath in. He was hard to reassure. And as you looked through your own memories, you could understand why. “I am sorry for the pain I have caused you. How you must have felt. And I have told you before, and I will tell you again, I will not leave you. You can show your face in the sunlight, with me.”

He gave a small puff of breath, his eyebrows creased together. A tiny, broken laugh of relief. He looked up to the sky briefly. You almost wondered if it was in prayer. He looked at you again, a grateful smile pulling at his black lips.

“It is alright. My friend, thank you.”

You smiled back at him. “You are more than welcome.”

You both were quiet for a moment. Unsure of what to do, you tended to your fish again. He was staring at you still, seemingly in awe, his hands on his knees as he knelt on the ground. You cleared your throat.

“You uh…you might feel more refreshed, if you washed your face in the river. I found that it has helped me, at least.” You caught yourself for a second. That might have been offensive.

He gave another small laugh and a smile. “I will.”

As he rose up to his full height and walked away, you wondered if now you could begin to get more answers from him.

But if his reaction to you knowing his face was so intense for him, what would he do if you asked about his past?

It was a cold and miserable task, bare skin both exposed to the air and the frigid, slow moving river water. You had just enough soap left in your belongings to do the bare minimum and scrape away all the grime. It was just too bad that you didn't have many spare clean clothes to change back into.

But still, you were clean. And you bet you smelled a whole lot better. Not good, but better.

You spent the rest of the day doing your routine survival tasks, which included fishing up the river and foraging what the giant had possibly missed.

He took even longer to come back that day. You suspected that he was still wandering further to try to find anything at all. That must be when he was eating too, you suspected. Though you had noticed that his form was also becoming very lean, and still he resisted eating your supplies.

It was dark when he came back. You made sure a roaring fire was ready, and you tried your hand at smoking the excess fish you had caught on a rack near the fire. If you ever made it out of this forest, it would probably be best to be more curious about the practices of hunters and other village folk who lived off the land.

The Leshe came back with what little he had gathered. He was so quiet when he moved at times that he almost surprised you. But it seems in turn that you had surprised him.

"You are...you have been in the river? Did you fall?" he said with some concern. He must have seen the dampness still on your head and clothing.

"No," you said with a small laugh. "I was only bathing today. I cannot tell you how much of a relief it is to be clean again."

He gave a nervous chuckle in response, more of a mimic of your own tones. "Of course..." he mumbled through the cloth of his mask. He placed his findings down in their customary spot, but his other hand was brought to his chest where it fitted with the rags covering his body. His longer nails pulling at the threads and tearing them ever so slightly. He seemed pensive, somehow.

You tried to chat with him over your own dinner. Once again offering some to him, and once again he refused. He was quiet. Experience told you that was usually not a good sign.

Nevertheless, when the sun slid into darkness, and you curled up for sleep, he was still there. You wished him a good night, and he replied the same. You didn't know what was troubling him, and even if he was fluent in your language, you doubted he would tell you. He was a creature of mysteries.

You drifted off into a blank, dreamless sleep.

Some time had elapsed. Then you woke up to the sound of something crashing through the bushes.

You woke with a start, just in time to see the looming form of your companion walking back into the light of the fire. He was dripping wet. His black locks clung to his cheekbones. He looked at you, with an expression of someone who had been caught in the act of a crime.

"Sorry. I did not mean to wake you." He shakily sat down by the fire as close as he could, gangling limbs folding like a spider. His voice had sounded smothered.

"It's alright," you replied quickly. "What happened?"

"I ah...bathing..." he avoided eye contact with you. There seemed to be a tinge of color underneath his eyes and above his mask. It wasn't a healthy color, but it made you wonder. Was he blushing?

"In the dark?"

"Yes." He still sounded muffled. You saw the cause. His cloth mask was plastered onto his face, soaked with water. The rags he wore clung to his body tightly, showing the musculature underneath. He shivered very slightly. But you did not suspect it was from the cold.

"While wearing your clothes?" That might have been a rather inappropriate question to ask, but the strangeness of the situation provoked more daring on your part.

"They were...also filthy." He still was not looking at you. His large hands were attempting to rake through his hair, the locks knotting and tangling even further. You thought you even saw a small twig that had been embedded in the mats. The cloth puffed in and out as he breathed. It seemed to take great effort.

"Did you mean to wet the cloth on your face?"

His eyebrows scrunched, perhaps a bit annoyed at all of your questions. "Accident," he muttered. At one last horrible tug, he gave up his efforts and slapped his hand on his thigh in resignation.

Hesitatingly, you tried to gently ask another question. “Were…were you trying to comb your hair?”

The giant gave an exasperated sigh. “Yes I do not…I do not want to look…like this.” He gestured with his hands open while he stared into the fire. That must have meant that he did not want to be seen as dirty or unkempt, but there was some other sting in his voice that could have meant something greater.

“Here,” you said, reaching into your pack. You took out a small wooden traveling comb. It was not the best instrument for the job, but it was small and easy to store, so you had kept it. You walked over and handed it to him. “Try this.”

Shakily, he reached out and took it. His hand almost completely swallowed it up. In the firelight, you could see how tightly the cloth clung to his face and mouth, revealing the outlines of his nose, his gaunt cheekbones, and his lips, as every inhale sucked the cloth into his parted mouth. So he did have a face. He gripped his hair again, trying to run the teeth through, but he started from the top of his head, and the comb only caught further. It twisted and flipped in his hands, and it stuck there. He plucked it out and handed it back to you. “I cannot…I fear it breaking.” Slowly, you took it back.

Somehow his breathing had become even more labored than before. And faster.

“You’re smothering yourself!” you chided. “Take off your mask!”

“No!” he bellowed in between breaths. The outburst took you off guard. He crumpled, his hands over his eyes. “I cannot!”

“I think you can,” you said. “You’re going to suffocate if you don’t.”

The response was only more labored breathing. His sides stretched in and out, desperate for air. He removed his face from his hands, and looked upwards as he gasped, as if that would help.

“Are you afraid that I will see you?”

“Yes!” There was so much misery in that reply.

“You can turn around, or I can turn around, whichever you want. Just take off the mask and breathe!”

He shook his head in refusal.

You lay a hand on his shoulder, to get him to look at you, to get him to stop panicking and focus on you. He nearly flinched.

“I promise,” you began. “That if you don’t want me to do something, if you don’t want me to look at you, I will not. You are safe enough to do that. I will keep my word.”

A large hand gripped yours on his own shoulder. “Promise me,” he said.

“I promise.”

Unable to bear it anymore, he turned his back towards you. You stepped back at the sudden movement. His hand reached up and pulled the tied cloth over his head, and his wet, knotted hair fell freely where it had been pinned against his skull before. He started coughing loudly before gasping, taking in deep breaths. His shoulders shuddered with effort.

When his breathing slowed, you looked down at the small comb in your hand. An errant impulse came over you, and you walked slowly over to him. He must have sensed your movement, for in an instant he seized up where he sat, and once again covered his face with his hands.

“You promised,” he hissed.

“I did,” you reassured gently. “And I will keep it. But…if you wanted…I could help you. With your hair. The comb is small enough that it fits my hand quite well. I can untangle your hair, if you like.”

He was silent. Maybe this had been a very bad idea.

“It’s not a trick, I promise. And if you say no, I’ll understand. I won’t do anything to you that you don’t approve of.”

“Yes.” The answer was so quiet that you scarcely heard it.

“Pardon?” you asked.

“Yes…I would like help.”

“Alright,” you conceded. You took a black lock in your hand, from where it trailed down to his back. It was best to start here, away from his face. Perhaps that would give him time to calm down and trust you.

His hair was still far from clean. But combing would help. You started by separating the larger pieces, the hair holding onto itself like spider webbing. The sight of the mess on his head made you wonder if it had ever been cared for at all. You gripped the middle lock near the base of his head, and began combing from the bottom section up.

His shoulders were tense, you could tell. You could see the tip of a bluish finger near his ear. It turned almost a lighter shade of yellow, so hard did he press down on his skin, determined not to let his grip on his own face slip.

Gradually you worked up towards his scalp. It was actually a blessing he was so tall. There was no need for you to bend far down or hurt your back. You plucked out a twig here, a leaf there. Unfortunately his hair reminded you of a dog that had been left outside most of its life. You were almost lost in thought when his shoulders began to shake.

You stopped, pulling your hands away. “What’s wrong?” you asked. “Do you want me to stop?”

Air hissed inwards through the Leshy’s fingers. You thought you heard a drop of moisture pat on the leaves on the ground, and you doubted very much that it was still water from his hair. “No,” he replied, quietly, shaking his head, his face still buried in his hands.

“Alright…if you’re sure…” You reached back out to his hair and began again. Taking the locks apart, starting from the bottom, up to the roots, trying to be as gentle as you could. Once or twice you had to reach forward over his head to finish the edges of his scalp, but you kept your promise, and did not peer at his face as he had asked. Once you accidentally went over his ear-where you awkwardly apologized. There was something like a twisted scar behind it, as though the skin had been tucked and pinned back. You said nothing, and Leshy still held on.

Eventually you had finished, and you gathered all the hair together and inspected your work as it laid on his back. It was surprisingly smooth despite all the damage it had endured. It almost could have been quite beautiful. But there was always something about your companion that stopped short of beauty, and instead boasted of strangeness and neglect.

He was a poor, pitiful creature. Even now, his shoulders shook slightly, although he seemed to have calmed some.

You reached out and tried to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I’m finished. And I think it looks quite good. I am going over to my bed now. I’ll turn away from you, if you want privacy. Is that alright with you?”

The giant gave a small nod, and you stood to leave. True to your word, you tucked away your comb, and lay down with your back towards the fire and him. Once you had settled in the boughs, you heard the quiet muffled gasp of air. Then a deep, low, and appreciative voice as you faded off to sleep.

Always still his appetite to learn your language was voracious. He wanted to catch your eye, to interact with you whenever given the chance. You kept obliging him through little "lessons" all throughout the days that you were together. His sentences were getting longer, and more complex, though he still tended to drop certain words or accidentally mix their order, his accent still thick. You corrected him gently. He would give a little huff of air in disappointment, but that would soon be cleared away with your encouragement.  And still, you were in awe of how quickly he learned, doubling or tripling the speed that you would have expected from anyone. 

Tonight you were both sitting near the fire again, your day's work done. The moonlight was especially bright, and glittered off of the nearby river. There was a flat sandy area that you had made your slate for teaching him. You drew pictures of animals, plants, scenes and signs with a thin stick while he sat, hand to his chin,  studying both the images and you. 

You took a little inhaled breath inwards as you prepared to go through with your plan. Sometimes, the best way to gain information from someone was to give it first. If you told him about yourself, and your origins, he may be more open to sharing about himself. Perhaps tonight you would even get his name.

"I have...a story to tell you," you began, uncertain how to start. "It's about me, where I come from." You drew a human figure, and pointed to it and yourself. "This, this is me." 

And you started your tale.

You drew yourself, your family. The place you had grown up in. You filled in details, adding more drawings in the sand. 

He was enraptured. 

But soon you came to a different part of the story. Unexpectedly, this was a part that was difficult for you to tell.

"One day, I...I left." You wiped away your home, your family, everything you had drawn before. "I wandered, a long time. With many different people." You drew figures all around your own. None of them were close. There was a knot in your throat, and you coughed. "Then um...I traveled with one particular group. And, they were not good...they were going to hurt me...um...injure me." 

The giant leaned forward, his head cocked ever so slightly. His muscles seemed to tense under his clothes. "Why?" he asked, his voice husky and slightly sharp. 

"Well I...I suppose it was because I was alone... " Absentmindedly, you drew a circle around the drawing of yourself, closing it off from all other people. "...and it would have been easy to do." You rubbed your hands on your clothes. "They could, take what I had, I suppose. No one would find me."

The Leshy was still, his forehead creased in an expression you could not yet understand. You gave a quick sigh and continued. "So I ran..." You wiped away the group figures, changing your own to indicate running. "And, I stepped into a hole, and injured my ankle. And, you found me." You pointed to him.

He nodded, looking away for in thought. He was quiet for a moment before he asked a question. "Your family. Why you leave them?"

The question caught you off guard. "Why did I leave them?" 

The giant tutted his own mistake with a roll of his eyes, but still listened. 

"I um...we...we had a disagreement. I..." this was becoming more difficult than you expected. "I'm sorry, I cannot...I can't quite draw that..." you said with a sad chuckle. "It's...hard to say, I'm sorry."

"No. I am sorry. I will learn your speech better."

"No, no, it's not your fault, you are doing wonderful," you deflected. Your mouth had gone dry and you were still nervous. This was the first time you had spoken to anyone in a long time of your situation. "Thank you for listening."

He cocked his head again, but did not respond. 

You wiped away the scene of you running, and drew a new family in the sand. A mother, a father, and a son. "Here." You handed the Leshy your stick. "Can you tell me about you?" You pointed to the son figure. 

The giant seemed to look at the stick and the drawing with a worried expression. His shoulders bent inward, almost trying to make himself smaller. He hesitated on taking the stick, looking quickly between you and the scene in front of him. It was strange to you how a being so big could switch between looking so intimidating to almost cowering and shy, as if you were the one scaring him.

He gently took the stick, and held it slack in one hand. And for once in a long while, you companion didn't say a word. 

With a large withered hand, he wiped away the mother. 

With a frown, you imagined that perhaps she had died giving birth to him. Perhaps he always had a form of gigantism that made him look this way. 

But then he wiped away the son. 

In it's place, he drew a very tall figure, taller than the father. "This...I..." his voice was only a whisper. With another wipe of his hand, the father was gone as well. Far off into a corner of the sand filled with darkness, he drew a similar figure running, just as you had drawn yourself. 

Then all around the largest one, himself, he drew people. But none of them were close to him. And just as you had done, he drew a circle around himself. 

All alone.

His hands were shaking, and he dropped the stick. His eyes had become wet and he curled in on himself, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. He was breathing deep and shuddering breaths, clearly trying to contain himself. 

You looked at him in shock. As much as your story had been hard to tell, his seemed to have been harder. 

You waited for his breathing to slow down, for him to gather himself. Pushing him any farther may have been a bad idea, but you felt the question leave your mouth before you could check yourself. 

"Can...can you tell me your name?"

He shook his great shaggy head. But he answered. "Leshy."

"Leshy...all right..."

You let the giant calm himself, and awkwardly tended the fire the rest of that night. He seemed morose, and wouldn't look at you any further, avoiding your gaze. 

"Goodnight," you called softly, lowering yourself onto the nest he had built you.

"Bonne nuit," he whispered back, just a shadow of himself. 

________________________________________________________________________________

Fear. Unshakable fear. 

You whole body shook and jolted, contorting as your nightmares overtook your mind. Flashes of shouting voices, hunger, never ending hunger, pain, running, loss, regret, fear. Fear. Fear. Above all the scenes was a blackened sky. A dark storm cloud. The thunder rumbled, and the thunder stated your name. 

You jolted awake, panting. For a moment you were disoriented, seeing the fire and the darkness but not knowing how you got there. Then you heard your name again.

You turned your widened eyes to the source. The ragged giant, who had been seated nearby, his book in his hands. 

Had. Right now he was in a frozen position, and had been in the act of slightly crawling towards you, his hand slowly outreaching to your form. This had startled you badly for a moment, until your shock ebbed away, and your mind once again joined the waking world. 

He lowered his hand slowly. His brows above his cloth mask were knit with concern, and his voice soft. "You are...unwell?" 

Your heart was still beating quickly, and you struggled to steady your breath. The night had been cold but you were sticky with sweat. "I am alright, it was...just a nightmare...a bad dream." Pain was radiating from your leg, deep in your muscles and bones. Obviously you were not done healing completely yet. That and the hunger must have caused your dreams. And you were finding it hard to calm down. 

"Ah..." the giant mused. You weren't sure if he understood the words you had said exactly. But he was intelligent, and something in the way his head tilted downwards suggested he already knew well what had happened. "You are..." he struggled, "...not ah...hunted..."

"Safe?" 

"You are safe?"

You knew he was asking if that was the right sentence for him to use. But the question also gave you pause as well. Your answer came with some hesitation. "Y...yes."

"Yes. You are safe," he rumbled, returning to his original position. He made a motion of tilting his head on the back of his hand, and pointing to you. He wanted you to lay back down. 

Slowly you did so, unsure if you could ever relax again. Leshy shuffled through his books carefully. "Paradis Perdu" was carefully wrapped up and put aside, before he examined the two other tomes and selected one. He opened it slowly, and to your surprise, he started reading it out loud. 

His language was foreign to you, and he knew that. You would not be able to understand. But his extremely low raspy voice was brought down to but a whisper. Occasionally he would stop and look at you. But you gave him no indication to stop, or that he was bothering you. 

True, his voice was not the most melodious. But there was a hypnotic and almost calming quality to it. The way it lingered over certain sounds, barely audible in the next, repeating in patterns like falling rain. He was reading to you. 

You shut your eyes, willing your breathing and heart to slow back down. 

There was so much about him that you didn't understand. No mother, no father or family. No possessions, no home. Not even a name he would admit out loud. Not even his face he would he fully reveal to you. He was alone, truly alone. And you knew the likely reason why. When you first met him, you were filled with terror. Everything about him was strange and horrifying to you, from his size to his skin. Had he always looked this way? Was he protected and sheltered by his father, until at a point, he was left alone by him?

You knew that no village or people would tolerate him. Heavens knew they were already cruel enough to those who were too unwell or disfigured. And as his gentle tones washed over you, and he performed this one kind act, you had to ask yourself if you were really any different. 

This wasn't a monster. This was a man.