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I felt guilty last time when the first part ended with the death of a character (spoiler) so, I thought I would add more to it and try and bring a happier ending to it all. I hope you enjoy it.
Themes: death and mortality, moving on, all that depressing stuff.
Genderless reader x Male monster
PART 1
Can’t Pretend Part 2
Skin supple once had aged like curdled milk, the roots of old flowers had brought them to the weeds, just like those and their faces you knew that grew up in their stages – growing then thriving then leaving - all the same, except you were the exception.
Life had been too cruel enough to make you stay to watch everyone leave around you, even when you hadn’t needed them a very long time ago.
Your child first, your womb had quickened into dust and quicksand, the bane of your existence to have a child with your husband and to thrive as a family was taken from you the first and last time; your womb a crypt for your babe that never made it out.
Your husband was next to leave: from when growing old together had brought the good and bad of memories, he was too frail to the end of it all, his lovely trinkets and fishing pole still left on the mantle where he had left it from his youth; the wedding present he had given.
Your days in matrimonial to Erik were sincere and fond, the bricks you both laid one by one to build a foundation of trust had stayed sturdy and upright after he left, the very existence of your home was an example of it all. Even during the building of your marriage, you found yourself thinking to your youth: to the times of thinking you were not desirable, more so now just cursed than lucky to outlive everyone.
Daithi… you thought of him a lot.
You awoke with your bone old and frail as usual, the heartfelt soreness made up for how you wrapped in bundles to fend off the eternal colds of the seasons, leaving with little more than a cane to get you out of your door.
The nature surrounding you hadn’t changed, the people had – in the youthful children running around to young lovers - you kept yourself happy in the best ways as possible, even when everything felt futile.
You tottered but got around as best as you could even in the prime of age, your cane helpful to help you go to the clearing you had gone to many times before. Every day, without fail.
The soil was cold but crunched with each step you took, the path had been covered over in snow and moss as you crossed the small river with its rickety old bridge you had seen built 3 decades ago. And still, no-one had repaired it.
Your head craned upwards suddenly when you heard a caw above your head just to see fly past two crows in a loving pairing, fly to their nest to feed their young. You frowned, your hopes too high once more.
You continued onward, ignoring all signs of what you wanted in it being him, staggering up the hill to reach the top, where the air was at its coldest and you were wheezing and cold.
“Even now, you would love how nothing has changed, Daithi.” You hummed to yourself, onlooking the rows of small stone huts that had been once made of straw and little else, the coal and fires that burnt out and danced above the treeline whilst you looked onward at the large lake.
“Do you remember Dalia? Well, she had her babes in the frail spring. Two boys, bright as rain and bold as fire. She says they always go out into these woods to climb the trees.” You laughed to yourself in thought, “I’d imagine you would give them a good scolding.”
You listened to how the air calmed and surrounded you as one as you leant over a lovely yet old oak tree, as old as you had been or even older, onlooking the view. “I always imagined what it would be like… the other side. How morbid, I know, but… even if it’s cold and lonely, I think—I’d like to think I’m ready.” You rubbed your slender fingers to keep the warmth as best as you could, wincing at the pain in your joints.
“What is it like, Daithi? Is it different for you or do you have all walks of life with you?” You found yourself here to think and pray, pray to any old cold God that was out there to hear your prayers, making you believe that your wishes were all for your own misery.
“I don’t even know if I will ever see you again, or Erik or mother. But that’s okay—I think, I’d like to believe that there is peace out there, away from all of this, and that you are all happy.” The cold nipped harder at your skin, leaving you practically shivering with little to no fibre in your body allowing you to move.
“Will these same cruel Gods be kind enough to give me closure? Is my time now, I wonder?” You closed your eyes, thinking back to the days of youth and skin supple and your legs carrying you long and far enough that you didn’t grow so tired.
You had been 10 when you remembered the distant memory: under a willow tree that wept tears with you, hiding you with its billowing leaves and branches, you cried that day over something so feebly that the other children had laughed over, leaving you to run as far off as you could away from your village that day – in hopes of running away altogether.
‘You know, if you had stayed five seconds longer, you would’ve witnessed a small crow threaten them all.’
Your head rose swiftly when you met the comforting smile and light eyes of the skin-walker, ‘Daithi!’ You beamed tears of silver that leaked down your face as you leapt into his arms, his long strong ones wrapping around your sturdily and protectively, never seeming to want to let you go.
‘You gave me quite the scare, little one,’ you breathed in his scent as he gently spoke to you, calming you down quickly, ‘I was worried about you.’ He inspected you of any wounds, except for a few scratches and bruises.
‘Did you do that for me? Did you scare them off for me?’ You whimpered whilst you dried your tears. Daithi seemed to be taken back by your question as if you didn’t believe his words at all. “My dear, I would risk my own life to save you, you know that, don’t you?’
You nodded innocently, not realising his words would seemingly come true. Did you risk your own life for me, Daithi? Why? You could still be living and breathing now, young and never ageing for aeons.
“Daithi, oh, Daithi, how I miss you.” The tears like that day fell down your wrinkly cheeks thickly, dribbling down your chin and dampening your shawl. “Life has been so cruel, and you were taken from me before I had the chance to love you truly. I miss you so.”
By the time you realised, the wind had stilled and there was no cold nor bite that stung your skin when you had been freezing earlier – in fact, you couldn’t feel anything at all. It wasn’t terrifying nor scary, but soothing and calming, as if you had been reunited with an old friend.
When you lifted your head in reaction and realisation to this, the sky had changed in colours, as if you had been up the hill all day, now a sky full of lavender and pink, milky clouds littering the sky in wonder and amazement.
Out of the corner of your eye, a lone ink-black feather floating to land just at the heel of your foot, drifting away in the thin air.
There, in the distance, the faint sound of a bird’s wings fluttering in the distance, a shriek of a caw echoing along the buoyant trees.
“Little one?” You turned your head abruptly, feeling no pain if you had done so earlier, your body picking yourself up as you looked to the person standing before you like a God. “Oh, Gods… it’s you.”
The nature spirit hadn’t looked any different but just as comely as you had remembered in your youth. His skin wasn’t sickly nor wan, no blood blotting your skin as he stood before you like an illusion.
“It’s you, how—it can’t be, not yet.” Were his words of shock as he stumbled his way towards you, gingerly holding out his hand as you brought him into a warm embrace.
“What do you mean ‘not yet?’” You questioned sombrely, “Do you know how many decades have gone by? And now you want me to leave?”
“No—no, I don’t, but it is not your time to leave.” He cradled you, and when you met his gaze, his eyes were glassy, as if the fog of his pupils were dissipating. He was taking you in, silently marvelling you, “You’re still incredible like I remember, little one.”
“What, even in my wrinkled state?” You laughed dryly, stroking his hair back, as smooth as if he was real. “Are you… dead?”
“Yes, but your memory of me has kept me alive all this time.” He smiled through his tears, “ I’ve been here with you all this time, watching you grow through the good and bad. I was there when you laughed when you cried, I never left.”
You finally allowed more tears to fall, your hands shakily trailing over his flesh, when he halted you. “But you cannot stay here, you must go back.”
“I do not want to, Daithi. Please, I don’t want to go back, not again. Never have I felt a day so warm here with you in front of me right now.”
Daithi brought his fingers to cradle the back of your neck, his long fingers stroking at your jaw. “Are you sure?”
“Is it… terrifying?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he assured you in what you believed was acceptance, “look around you, dear. Everything has to die soon: the little flowers, the trees, those of your village. But there are things that still stay, the moon, the sun, the rain that doesn’t stop dripping. The fear eventually stops, and the calm comes after the storm. And it’s beautiful.”
You smiled sadly, breathing in his scent of mint and pine. “If this is what the afterlife is like then, why would I want to leave so soon?”
Daithi smiled in comfort, hugging you back with no intention of letting you go. “It’s been too long, dear.”
You nodded, and when your hand came to cradle his fingers, you found yourself looking to the flesh of your own. Your skin was no longer wrinkly and there was no joint pain: your skin was smooth and supple once more, the sudden realisation had taken a toll on you as you leant up to kiss the skin-walker against his lips. “I know, but I’m here now.”
Warm, reassuring and tender. You had missed him so.
In Navajo culture a skin-walker is a person who has the ability to transform themselves into whatever animal they desire, usually wolves, coyotes, bears and owls. They gain their abilities by committing some kind of cultural taboo and are mostly men, though it is possible to get the occasional female skin-walker.
Once a person becomes a skin-walker they usually start to hate people and this can drive them to attack and kill humans. In some stories a skin-walker will go as far as breaking into people’s houses and cars in order to attack people. Skin-walkers have also been noted to turn into other people. A simple thing like making eye contact with a skin-walker can allow them to transform into you. A tell-tale sign of a person being a skin-walker is their eyes. They will glint in light like animal eyes when they are in a human form but not when they are disguised as an animal.
To prevent skin-walkers from obtaining animal skins to change themselves the Navajo tattoo the pelts of any wolves, coyotes or bears that they obtain in order to keep track of them. Skin-walkers are near impossible to kill. They are fast, agile and impossible to catch. The only two ways to shoot a skin-walker is to dip the bullets into white ash beforehand or to shoot them while in their real, human form.
The campfire glowed in a bright orange and warmed the two people sitting there. The long shadows cast by the fire danced around them, thrown from cacti and dusty rocks. Their camp was set near the bottom of a gorge, close enough to the Colorado River that the sound of flowing water mingled serenely with the occasional crackle and pop of the fire.
The brim of Ezrah McPherson’s hat bathed his face in darkness. A crumpled cigarette drooped out of the corner of his mouth and occasionally flared up with its own tiny glow whenever he took a deep drag from it. He cocked his head and scratched the stubble on his chin while he stared into the flames, lost in thought.
Across from him sat Warner Watkins, garbed in black and wearing a wider-brimmed hat. He grabbed a steaming bowl from its seat next to the fireplace and dug in with a battered old spoon. One of the horses whinnied, and he looked back over his shoulder at the beast, giving it a long glare. The horse neighed louder and reared away from him.
Revealing matted greasy hair from the long days and nights that had led them here, Ezrah took off his hat and placed it on a rock next to him. He folded his hands and hunched over, leaning onto his knees. He focused his gaze and full attention on Warner. The man in black chewed his bean stew, and the sound of his metal spoon making contact with his teeth rung out to Ezrah in a way that grated on his nerves. In a way that felt wrong.
Warner finished chewing another mouthful and audibly gulped it down. His spoon rested in the bowl when he spoke up and asked, “I am curious. Why pay a man like me to accompany you all the way out here?”
Ezrah sat there while a long silence followed that question. Not taking his eyes off of Warner, he unlocked his fingers from each other and removed the cigarette from his mouth after taking a final drag from it.
“Three days,” Ezrah said. He flicked the butt of his cigarette into the campfire as if to accentuate the words. “Three days, and you never asked me once. I told you that we’re not ridin’ out here to chat.”
Warner took another greedy spoonful of stew into his mouth and stared back at Ezrah. The irritating sound of the metal and Warner’s teeth connecting unnerved Ezrah much more than the man in black now smacking his lips and chewing loudly. It was almost as if he was trying to provoke Ezrah by being obnoxious.
“I told you back in Cochise County, and the job hasn’t changed. We’re here to find and kill a man,” Ezrah said.
With half a mouth full, Warner stopped chewing and asked, “Revenge?”
Ezrah’s facial expression darkened, and he slowly nodded.
Warner swallowed again and dropped the empty bowl onto the dusty ground between him and the fire. The spoon clattered around in it. Demonstrating how isolated they were out here and suggesting how far away any living souls might be, Warner swiveled his head around and swept his gaze over the dancing shadows around them.
“Nobody out here. Just one stupid man who pays another to do dirty work for him,” he said. Following the words, Warner smirked.
Ezrah sensed something sinister behind that smirk and fought the urge to let his hand wander to the holstered gun by his side.
“Maybe Navajo. Is it one of them you want to kill?”
Ezrah’s only response to that was a slow shrug. He stared dead into Warner’s eyes. He had now spotted what was off about the man. Something tangible. Until now, it had just been gut instinct. But this, this was something.
Warner had the wrong eye color. For the past few days, Warner Watkins’ eyes had been an icy blue. This Warner’s eyes were a deep, dark brown. They also had more awareness, more wit behind them. And something evil.
Ezrah drew his revolver in a flash and pulled the trigger. The weapon just emitted a useless clicking sound. It fired nothing. The smirk on the face of the man in black widened into a grin—one that was far too wide for his face, with more teeth than what a human mouth should naturally display.
A deep chuckle resounded from Warner’s throat and it transitioned into a guttural, unnatural laugh.
“Got your bullets right here, little man,” Not-Warner said at the end of the inhuman laughter. He dug a hand into his pocket and produced a handful of bullets which he dropped on the ground.
Before Not-Warner could even attempt to draw his own pistol, Ezrah had flung himself over the fire at his enemy. The flames licked at him but found no purchase. The disturbed firewood caused the flames to spill in different directions and a cloud of embers rose into the sky like a swarm of fireflies dispersing into the night. The horses whinnied and strained against their bonds as the beasts tried to break free and flee.
Ezrah grunted and struggled to wrestle Not-Warner to the ground. They rolled over each other, and the human-looking creature broke out of Ezrah’s chokehold. Before he could get back up, Ezrah kicked the weapon out of Not-Warner’s hand. The gun flew away in a high arch and disappeared into the darkness.
Not-Warner’s eyes followed it, and they flashed with a strange light when the campfire’s light reflected off of them mid-movement. Spotting this strange phenomenon froze Ezrah in his tracks for just long enough that he was caught off guard. Hands with super-human strength clamped down around Ezrah’s neck and Not-Warner started strangling the life out of him. Malevolent, monstrous eyes stared into his soul while he gasped for air.
Ezrah gagged and choked and lashed out in a sudden surge of power. Fueled by despair, he threw his weight over the edge of the rocks nearby and dragged Not-Warner along with him, sending them tumbling down the slope towards the riverside. Not-Warner snarled when he hit his head, and the death-grip around Ezrah’s neck was released.
Driven by survival instinct, Ezrah pushed himself off the ground. The pain of being strangled and possibly breaking a rib only now faintly registered in Ezrah’s conscious thoughts. He scrambled back up the slope and felt a hand grip his right boot.
“I killed your brother, and I killed your companion, little man,” Not-Warner hissed. “Now you die.”
Ezrah’s fingers got bruised and bloodied as he dug them into gravel and dirt while the creature dragged him back a few steps. The thing had the strength of a horse. The lone man kicked blindly with his free leg and felt his heel connect, followed by a loud crunching sound. The hold on his ankle released and he continued to scramble back up the slope.
Not-Warner screeched and spat and then howled a horrible howl that curdled Ezrah’s blood. It only sped him up, and he reached the campfire. He did not even dare to look back. Ignoring and leaving behind anything he had set down there, he ran to his horse and unfastened it from the trunk.
No second too soon, Ezrah had mounted his steed. In a burst of speed, he rode off into the night. He heard inhuman growls behind him, triggering more panicked neighs from his horse. The man looked over his shoulder and saw Not-Warner giving chase, keeping pace with the horse galloping at full speed—the thing that pursued them did not move like a human. What little Ezrah could glimpse of it revealed hands and feet that looked too large and like they had grown knife-like claws. Not-Warner moved on all fours like a wildcat. Ezrah’s heart almost skipped a beat when he saw that flash again, that stark white light in the creature’s eyes as it stared at him. He sensed the intent of murder in its eyes. He felt like prey.
He gave his horse the spurs and felt at least as much panic as his mount. They ascended from the gorge and crossed the desert. Not-Warner had gained on them during the ascent but was now falling behind. Ezrah prayed that the thing was getting winded and that his horse could outrun it. When he noticed a warm light in the distance, he steered the animal in that direction, hoping he might find any sort of help.
Mound-shaped huts lit with fires inside of them became Ezrah’s beacon of hope. He figured they might be Navajo homes. As they neared, he saw he had guessed right. A group of three hogans stood there amidst the sprawling desert. Before he had drawn close enough to slow his horse down, Ezrah looked over his shoulder and saw that the creature had stopped chasing them. It now prowled at a distance, pacing back and forth in patterns like a hungry predator preparing to pounce.
Another flash of light from its eyes flared up as it stared at Ezrah. He failed to tear his own gaze off of it and tried to calm his horse, having it come to a halt just outside the hogans.
An old man with a red bandanna around his head and an elaborate-looking necklace stepped out of one of the hogans, and he raised a hand in greeting to Ezrah. Curious eyes of other people peering out from the other homes observed quietly. The old man then looked past the rider. His wizened face fell, and he narrowed his eyes as he stared out into the distance.
“Come inside, stranger,” the old man said with an unusual intonation. He did not even look at Ezrah as he spoke, his gaze instead focused on the thing out there. “A skin-walker troubles you and us both, and together, we will find a way to end it.”
Ezrah’s heart beat so fast that he wondered if it would explode. The blood rushed in his ears as loudly as the river in the gorge had earlier. Even though this old medicine man exuded an air of calm, he still feared for his life and remained wary of the creature out there. Ezrah dismounted and guided his horse over to the old man. They both looked back out into the darkness.
A pair of white eyes flashed again, and a ghastly howl echoed through the desert.
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Skinwalkers are malicious witches in Navajo culture who possess the ability to take the form of an animal. It is said to gain these powers, one must commit the ultimate sin of killing a family member.
Skinwalkers are said to wear the hides of the animals they transform into. Their most common animal forms are wolves, owls, crows, foxes and coyotes.
Little is known about skinwalkers outside of the Navajo people, but they have recently become the subject of many creepypastas and online stories.
Warning: mentions of bullying, blood and death of a character.
PART 2
Can’t Pretend
You had been six when you had first witnessed something called magic, or anything from an otherworldly order.
Your village that you had been born and raised from was very aware of the myths and legends that fell amongst the land; where the ties between mortals and spirits crossed.
You had been a simple child, one easily picked on for you innocent looks, someone who could be pushed around and not tell a soul.
The other children were cruel and heartless, yet your poor beloved mother had thought otherwise and tried getting you to mix with them and befriend them.
You had been beaten and shoved into the river closeby where the younglings went to play, far away from any adult’s supervision. It was where you had first seen anything or anyone who was associated with sorcery.
Those around you whispered and danced along your skin when you felt the ridicule and laughter surround you, like demons tormenting your very soul. They had been so fascinated in bullying another one their age to not know of their own surroundings.
You had seen the bird first, a crow to be exact, land on a broken log close by to you, its obsidian wings fluttering once, then twice as they stilled, tucking away as its beady black eyes stared and watched the scene unfold.
One of the boys was first of the tormentors to spot the bird, mocking it first as it cawed quietly, stretching its wings as if to fly away, but remaining on the spot.
Their little minds had grown to drive the winged creature off and out the area, but you had been mildly surprised by how this small bird could have the bravery to stand its ground when small pebbles and sticks and abuse was thrown its way.
“Stupid bird, get out of here!” The same boy shouted in absolute badinage.
“Are you really sure about that?” Came a disembodied sing-song voice that carried itself around you all.
Everyone halted on their spots, rigid in fear of the voice that had caught them, the panic that had washed their skin clean with life and made them look like walking ghosts.
They scattered and ran from the clearing, leaving you there to defend for yourself as they ran back to the village. They didn’t care for you, but their parents would be annoyed by them not watching over you.
Your breathing came out ragged, as if you had just finished running a 5-mile run uphill, and there before you, as you turned to face the crow, to stare into its beady eyes, did you see something else.
When did crows have grey eyes?
The small winged creature, fluttered its wings to land just a couple of inches to you, staring up at you. “You’re not hurt?”
You blinked perplexed at the words, and the way any animal with a beak was able to annunciate words with not being able to properly pronounce certain words without having a human mouth.
“Y-Yes,” you breathed quietly, watching it vigilantly, not sure as to whether to call this intelligent animal an animal for it was able to speak your language.
The crow - who you could only assume was male from its voice - titled its head to look up at you, its small claws tapping restlessly against the pebbled stones of the bank. “Good, you best be leaving, before they find you again, and it doesn’t get too late.”
“Okay.” You didn’t know whether you had called it magic or the mind playing tricks on you, as when you had turned, the same little crow with its grey eyes were not there anymore, now replaced with the same black ones.
It cawed at you once, before fluttering its wings to take off, and drifting away with the use of no wind away from you.
By the time you had returned to your village, every child that had been there had been stories told by their parents, and none of them was believing it over the fact that they had heard a crow speak. The mind played tricks on the vulnerable, you had learnt on that harsh day, never forget it.
You had been thirteen when you had met the same little black crow once again, and this time, you had been lucky to of not been harassed nor bullied when you had been found.
You were sat by the riverbank, watching the stream as you threw pebbles and rocks to see if they floated or sunk. You had grown older and although seen in the eyes of your village as an adult, you didn’t feel like one.
Perhaps, your mind had aged, but you didn’t feel like an adult in the slightest. “Picking rocks alone, no-one to throw them at?” Your ears picked up on the oddly familiar voice as you dropped the one over your shoulder to thud into the ground behind you.
You could’ve been dreaming once again, or one of the other boys could’ve been tricking you into teasing you once more, it wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“Who’s there?” Your voice carried itself over the air, shaking like the autumnal leaves that had fallen a few seasons ago. “You’re shaking like a leaf, little one.” It soothed you with a hint of whimsical mirth to his tone.
“Show yourself.” You Impatiently asked to the wind, and to that, it gave you the chance of seeing you once again.
That was when you saw it, the same black crow and its beady eyes, a little larger than the last time to make you believe it was a different one, but you were certain that it was the same brave little one when it had stood up against the children years ago.
You sighed, a tut to resemble more of a sigh in frustration. “Just as I think, a little crow, not some hermit who lives in the woods.”
“Well, that’s not very nice, coming from you.” The same voice mused. You blinked, looking down to the crow as it stared up at you. Oh, it had been the same one from all those years ago.
“Hi,” You shyly said, watching its head tilt from side to side, and suddenly, its black eyes changing back to those grey ones.
“Hi, little one.” The crow approached with little offence taken his way at your words before, jumping onto a tree to look you properly in the eye. “What are you doing here?”
“Killing time, what else?” You quipped. “I like being out here. Do you too?”
“Well, for someone who lives here, I assume I have to.” A small breezed picked up behind the back of your neck, tickling your skin like a teasing friend or lover kissing his wife’s skin in adoration. Whatever it was, it felt confusing at best, odd in touch.
You squinted down at the bird for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Why did you save me that time before?”
“Younglings aren’t very nice when they’re with those their own age. I would know.” The crow contemplated. “They don’t like something they can’t understand.”
“Right, but that doesn’t answer my question, crow.” You observed its movements and behaviour carefully. “You're a bright soul, I could tell. It’s not the first time the trees have spotted a brave one in the lands.”
“A bright soul? And what do you mean the trees told you of me?” You were mildly left in bewilderment.
The crow if possible could’ve given you a smirk in knowing of what it was, with you not having a damn clue. “I’m a nature spirit, little one. I live in these lands protecting it from those who want to destroy it or harm anything.
Your nose scrunched up as you snorted, “So, a swindler then?”
“You humans would call me that, but I would call it skin-changing.”
“How does it work? The fact that you can live out here?”
“I know every soul, every breath, every life and every death that takes place. I have been tied to this land longer than you have been around, before your village’s existence, or even before the foundation of man. I am eternal.”
“Very wise, but what are you? You seem to be a smart crow.” You mused. The crow cawed in the tone of any human you knew, but the cadence was off, and it was oddly uncomfortable to hear.
“This form isn’t my truest, but it helps me to blend in properly, to see the world where the world cannot see me.” The crow shifted on its legs. “Would you like to see?”
“I don’t know, what can you turn into?” You asked carefully. “I can turn into a form most familiar to yours if that makes you most sufficient.”
You agreed and watched the crow hop down from the rock and fly over the river to stand on the opposite side to you. You watched in scepticism at first, crossing your arms over your chest in bated breath.
The same wind picked up in the area where there was no true concept of it from how the leaves didn’t move along the trees. But the same leaves that already fallen grew and became rejuvenated once more as if just fallen in the season of autumn.
They were picked up by the wind, taking the form inside a mini-tornado, forming and surrounding the crow as if to sweep it up and take off with it. You were about to step in to see if the little thing needed saving when you watched at the transformation.
The tornado grew in size and so did miraculously the crow. They swirled and drifted in the air, and before you, ink-black feather morphed and changed into bare pale arms, hooked claws became feet with long legs.
His skin was porcelain, a lithe body forming as it emerged like a magic trick being performed in front of you. A human was now forming in front of your eyes, with his head and neck present to be human, the wings and many black feathers had formed to be made into his clothing, the unruly feathers becoming so trademark cape that tapered around his pale neck and shoulders.
His skin was smooth, almost translucent like snow, the contrast between his pale skin and his sable hair was surprising and eyecatching, long his hair was and plaited, reaching down his waist in beautiful leafy ornaments and decorations, a crown of some sorts planted on top of his head to make him resemble a king of the forests; something of the many elf royalties you had heard of in your village.
From his gleaming white teeth, his straight nose, high cheekbones and visible Adam’s apple, nothing could tell you it was him until you saw his eyes. Those eyes, as beautiful as fog, mixed in with the wilderness.
He stood before you like a living God on this land, and you were merely a worshipper of his body. He was breathtakingly beautiful. “Well, how does it do?” He held his arms forth in confidence, awaiting your verdict.
You looked like a dying fish with your mouth opening and shutting and yet, now words forming. “You look... beautiful.”
His laughter and everything to him was beautiful, a melody played along with the winds as he fluttered almost on air towards you, closer than you had expected. “Hardly of the looks of some humans, but I have tried to pull the best one out the bag.”
You watched him with the fascination of a young child, too naive to know of the world of sorcery nor of this eternal being in front of you. It nonetheless, left you very charmed by him more and more.
You spent those days young with him every day, leant up against a tree as he told you of his old tales and his travels, of the people he met during his time and of how not much to do with humankind had changed greatly.
You were very surprised in grasping that he was older in ways you didn’t realise. He had you wrapped around his little finger, and he knew it in many ways.
“Will you be back again, little one?” He asked, your body leant into his shoulder as the sky was darkening, the day coming to an end.
“As long as I get to know your name?” You beamed curiously. He hummed in appreciation, his eyes looking you over, staring down at you. “ Didn’t your mother not tell you it’s rude to ask for another’s age much older than you?”
You couldn’t help but snort some laughter, rolling your eyes to him. “I’ll tell you my name if you want to know it?” You leant up towards his ear, whispering it closely your name, aware that you watched his eyes widen, his skin bring up shivers along his pale skin.
“That is a lovely name, dear. I shan’t leave you any longer in knowing mine. I guess it has been a while.” He leant up into your ear himself, so close, you could feel the raspiness of his voice, how rough his breathing was as he told you what it was:
“My name is Daithi.”
“Daithi. How quaint.” You hummed his name out softly, getting back up onto your feet after a pause of your introductions. “I best be leaving, Daithi. My mother will be most worried that I’m not home yet.”
“Yes, best be leaving, before you get those worried about you.” In a blink, he was stood before you, towering over you with the charm and ability to make you swoon quicker than you had realised.
He took your hand into his, the feel of the calloused feel he had on you was opposite to how gentle his hold was, his lips coming to press against you bare knuckles, a fluttering kiss to your skin to make you feel as if you had been brandished with an iron rod.
“Until next time, dear,” Daithi whispered your name in a farewell, taking off with a dramatic flutter of his feather-cape that had turned back it the form of crow wings, his form changing back into the bird as he flew off and into the void of the woods with a beat of his silent wings.
You had hurried to your village and when your mother had scolded you about your messy clothes, you had been too giddy in laughter and drunk love to realise it.
You had slept that night and many nights after thinking of your new friend, thinking about when it would be lovely to see him again.
The seasons had come and gone, and you had aged, time never slowed down for anyone; growing into the older person you were today.
You had always remembered Daithi from those years before, your memories vividly reminding you of what he looked like, and any time you had heard the flutter of wings fly past, your mind made you think of him and his wellbeing.
Your mother had arranged a marriage for you with one of the butcher’s boys, one of the same boys who had grown up bullying and abusing you; now a man as burly as a bull, and effectively to be your husband.
You had gone off to collect your thoughts once more in the woods where you had spent your childhood, thinking back to the days of youth when you hadn’t been so aware of the presence of time and your life on earth.
You had now been in your late twenties, now thinking back to the times when you weren’t as smart nor aware of anything; had you wished you could go back.
You stopped off at the middle of the clearing when you had spotted Daithi again, except, something had been off.
He was in his human form, lying in a bed of weeds with his back facing towards you. His feathers cape was shattered and torn down the middle, his pale back so stark white made you believe you were seeing a ghost for the first time.
There was black and white and then there was red, lots of it... too much of it. You had thrown your things down before you, hurrying with all the speed left in you to get to him.
You crashed to his side, pulling him so you cradled his head into your lap, watching in horror. “Daithi...”
His eyes were bloodshot red, dried tears leaking down his already pale skin, making him look now like a walking corpse than a living being. His long black hair was dishevelled and unkempt as if he had rolled out of bed and hadn’t had time to brush it out.
When you had gone to touch his skin, you bit back a yelp from the touch, his skin so cold it almost felt hot to burn you.
His eyes were such a pale grey that you thought he was already dead, staring to nothing in particular, but soon looking slowly your way when he felt the presence of you beside him.
He silently took hold of your hand, squeezing it tightly in his own.
He was afraid, and he knew something more than you did.
“What happened?” You felt the stiffness in your throat at your words, something bubbling inside you to make you want to cry or throw up. The sight of the blood was a horrid sight and seeing your friend on death’s door made you want to scream up at the sky.
“Poachers... they found me, slashed a-and shot at me.” He groaned, and you avoid touching his back at the feel of the blood seeping into your fingers like water flowing. It was not stopping.
You were trying to find the right words to not sound like you were nervously rambling. “I can get you to my village... I’ll heal you and you can stay as long as you need to properly heal-”
“No.” His voice cut you off sharply, gulping heavily as if drowning. “I cannot go there, they will kill me and you before t-they find out.”
“What can I do--- you’ll die out here!” You felt the tears forming in thick droplets down your face, and shaking hand coming to wipe them away.
“My dear, I lived a-a very long time. I’m ready.”
“But Daithi--”
“Look at you, crying for me, I don’t want you to ruin your pretty skin for me. You go and l-live your life, go old and enjoy it all before it’s gone.”
You blubbered and cried for him, an old friend you didn’t know you had, but you knew there was nothing you could do that was to save him. If he wanted to go, he wanted to go.
“I wanted to at least save you, after all those years when you had done the very same for me.” You wept.
“But dear, you already did. You saved me from never knowing of true life, of knowing what it was like to love.” Daithi smiled up at you, his soft features cutting grim with a sharp pain from his wounds as he hissed in torture.
“I ask of one thing, my dear.”
“Anything.” You swept his messy locks out of his face, leaning down into him, chests together as you felt his heart race.
“A kiss, to feel you here one last time.”
You didn’t need to be told otherwise, leaning down, nose bumping as you pressed your lips to his quivering ones, a final gasp coming from his when you kissed him deeper.
You hadn’t felt him slip from you, his body was heavy on your lap, but you didn’t care, and when you had pulled back you had thought you would look down upon his smiling face and words of endearment; the ones to hear from someone in your life.
But nothing.
There was nothing as if he had never existed, to begin with. You were left there in a bed of weeds, a lone black feather the only thing to remember him by.
