A gay story: The Woods Boy Pt. 02 We stepped onto frost white grass as we departed the cabin at first light. The morning was clear and bright and, as we left the woods that surround the cabin, rolling hills of blue green stretched south before us. The way was easy going to start, but while Brook had become a little less clumsy in his oversized boots it still pained me to see him struggle over the rougher ground, and I was all the more eager to get our business at the outpost done.
Bess had joined us for the journey, of course, and was apparently untroubled at having been largely ignored the past day or two. I had made it up to her that morning before we departed with a big bowl of meal mixed with hog’s grease, her favorite thing, and she was now running happily ahead and among us like she had lost five years from her. Brook and she had proven to be fast friends and more often than not when she returned from her gallivanting it was his hand her nose sought. It warmed me more than I can say to see them take to each other so well.
We stopped around noon by a ford across one of the silver streams that thread the land. The sun was warm and we shed our boots to rinse our feet in the cool water as we ate a lunch of bread and berries.
“Tell me about your friend, the one we are to visit.” Brook asked as he lazily splashed his feet at the stream’s glassy surface.
“Asprey? Asprey is a hard man to explain.” I told him. “Most think he’s mad, and sometimes I agree, but I think he just sees things differently, and that don’t always accord with how other folks see them.”
I told Brook how I had met the hermit. I had been staying a while at the village by the lake, fishing mostly and looking out for work as a guide or guard. I was at the inn one evening, nursing a jar, when in comes this tall, skinny, ghast of a man, wearing a smock stained and burned in more ways than I can name. He smelt, too, of smoke and sulphur and something I couldn’t place and didn’t want to. Before I could get over my surprise he approached me. Said he’d heard I was looking for work as a guide, and that he wanted to hire me. The laugh hadn’t yet left me when he produced a small purse and handed it to me. I opened it, and inside were about ten small lumps of what looked like gold. Not believing my eyes I shook one out for a closer look. Now, I’m no assay, but I’ve seen enough gold to know the real deal, and this was it. I turned back to the strange man.
“I made it.” He said. “It’s quite pure. I trust it will be sufficient to secure your services in my, ah, adventure?” Well, as you can imagine my interest was whet, so we sat and he told me of this ‘adventure’ of his.
“What was it?” Asked Brook, warming to the story.
“Rocks.” I told him, and he looked nonplussed.
“Rocks?”
“Asprey wanted a guide north to this cave he had heard about. Said it had some special rocks he wanted to collect. I asked him what was so special about them and he said that that was exactly what he wanted to find out.” I scratched my head at the memory. “I thought he was crazy, but he interested me, and his gold was better than the merchants I usually attended, so I agreed.”
“Was it dangerous?” Brook asked as he idly threw a stick into the water for Bess, who happily loped in after it.
“No, not really.” I said, stroking my beard. “It was still good weather for travelling, and the going was easy as I recall. Asprey proved himself more capable than I would have taken him for at first. Indeed, part of me thought he had hired me for the company and the extra arms as much as a guide.”
“And what about the rocks? Were they special?” I teased out answering, enjoying the look of boyish expectation on Brook’s face.
“Well….” He grinned at me, knowing my game. I relented.
“He seemed to think so. To me they just looked like rocks, but he collected so many of this sort or that, that the journey back was a lot more wearying, but by then we had become good friends and that lightened it a deal.” Brook sat in thought for a moment. I liked that about him, that while his face was an open book, his words were always careful.
“It’s like you said. He looks at things differently. Sees things other people can’t see.” Brook turned to me as he said it, and I sensed something of his meaning. “I look forward to meeting him.”
“Well if we make good time we can be there in three days or so. On my own it would be two, but with you here…” I grinned at him, and he rose up in mock indignation.
“Hey, if it wasn’t for these damn boots I would be there already!” He puffed up boastful, and I took the opportunity to deflate him by tickling his sides. He collapsed giggling into me.
“I only meant….” I pulled him close and kissed him. “….that I might get distracted on the way.” It was true. If we were to get to the lake this year I would have to keep my hands to myself. “Stop being so…”
“So what?” He asked with a smile, knowing damn well what.
“So. Fucking. Hot.” I said, between kisses. Brooks hand found the tent I was already pitching, curling his fingers around what he found there. I wanted nothing more than to take him right there, but I pulled his hand off me.
“If you’re a good boy you can have that later.” I told him, as stern as I could muster. “Now, get your boots on. Sooner we get going the sooner we can make camp.” It was gratifying to see him jump into action at that, and soon enough we were on our way again.
The stop at the outpost was more troublesome than I’d hoped. Seems there had been a lot of travellers on the road of late, most heading south. The troubles we had been having with the game disappearing here abouts were worse up there, or so the word was, with whole villages being abandoned as the lands about became empty but for the wolves and bandits preying on the fleeing. I had Brook and Bess stay close to me as we went about our business there, managing to get most of what I wanted, though the prices were dear, and we also found a good, slim dagger for Brook to wear with his new, better fitting gear. I couldn’t help but admire him as he walked a little ahead, not only did the clothes fit his body better, but he somehow seemed to walk taller in them too.
We left the hassle of the town a few hours later as the sun was lowering, and we managed an hour or so of walking before stopping at a small coppice in the crook between two hills, sheltered from the cool wind that had picked up from the east.
As I had Brook set about arranging our blankets and gear I roamed nearby to gather up some dry twigs and a few likely looking old branches. Bess came along to scout out the area with her nose, returning with no report. Under my direction Brook and I soon had a cozy little camp arranged with a small fire burning. He had put our rolls and blankets together and we lay on them, watching the fire and and hearing the night as it fell, until we were an island of light in a sea of dark. I put my arm around him and pulled him close, and his breath blended with the sound of wind through the trees around us. The fire flickered and danced. Brook’s contentment beat against me, a slow pulse at my side, in time with my heart. Without a word I leant and kissed him, slow and deep as that quiet pounding, his mouth opening to me in long want. I pulled the blankets over us then brought his ear to my lips.
“So, do you think you’ve been good?” I reached around and lay my big hand right on his firm ass and he breathed out hard at the touch and the question.
“Yes.” He said. “I’ve been really good. The best.” I grinned at his cheek, but it had the desired effect on me and I pulled him against me hard, grinding.
“Oh really? And what do you want as your reward?”
“You know.”
“Do I?” I pushed against him again and made sure he felt every inch of me. I knew I was driving him crazy, his body was shouting the answer, but I still loved hearing it from his lips.
“Your cock, Jack. Please, I’ve been good. Give me your cock.”
“Well why didn’t you just say?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. I put my mouth on his again and set to work giving Brook what he had asked so sweetly for. My mouth prowled his face and neck, over his nose, his cheeks, his bliss closed eyes, his sensitive ears, and all the while my hands were at his behind, kneading and clawing at the fabric of his pants until, impatient, my thumb hooked the waistband and I yanked them down over his ass, just enough to expose that tender flesh. No romance for this boy that night, no softness as my finger found his hole, and he yelped in hot delight as I pushed in, feeling his heat.
“Such a good boy.” I told his ear, and I felt him throb. “Turn over.”
I got him on his knees, hands out in front, and his ass bare in front of me. I yanked my own pants down, pulling out my aching dick. I longed to push into the puckered hole waiting so needy for me, I could feel him pulling me to him, but I was not without caution so I leant in to taste him first. He smelled of musk and heat and tasted of salt and a bitterness I found I craved. He groaned as my tongue began staking him, thick and wet inside his soft hole. I let my mouth run, lapping my spit onto him and into him, blending with his day’s sweat until he was slick with it. I knew it was enough when, with clear frustration Brook moaned out.
“Please, Jack. Please.”
I was more than ready, so when I knelt behind and lined up with him I was done teasing, and he took me gasping and straining, not stopping until he felt my balls on his, rooted like the tree we were fucking under. Holding on to his hips I let him feel it, how it pulsed inside of him, how it made him feel both safe and vulnerable, loved and used. I let him feel how we craved the same thing, to give to the other that which they need. And I gave fully that night, rutting him like a wolf under the stars, our breaths coming as gouts of hot noise and steam and stink in the cool, still night. That stillness that surrounded us only magnified the intensity of life that we brewed by our fire, and as I spilled my part into him, my teeth on his neck, he howled.
I collapsed onto him, my chest heaving at his back, slow rocking my hips, feeling my seed stirring in him, another part of me I had given him to keep. He purred under me, his mind abuzz with sensation, the earth in his hands, the cool air on his skin, the warmth and weight of my body on his. I shared it with him and, relaxing to the ground, we lay and explored it together, finding the way into sleep.
We dreamt.
We were running through a forest. Fear drove us, but we could feel safety ahead, salvation just a few more, exhausted strides away. If we fall now we will never land. We stumbled. We fell, through echoing dark. Then a voice, a light, and the sound of a dog barking…
The sound of a dog barking.
I woke with a start, unsure for a moment that I had. Bess was at the edge of the camp, eyes out into the darkness, her heckles raised and issuing that bark that I knew meant “stranger”. My body moved of its own accord and, reaching for my knife, I pulled myself free from the blankets and from Brook, who by now was stirring too. I put my finger to my lips and whispered.
“Get your knife but stay here. Could be nothing could be something.” In the dim light I saw him nod in understanding. Carefully I crouched over to Bess. She quieted now and we listened and looked. Nothing could be seen or heard but that didn’t mean I didn’t perceive anything, and what I felt froze me. Weaker though it was, I didn’t mistake the same deep, fearful scrutiny I had felt from the beast the day I found Brook. That feeling that I was being pulled apart and examined. It shook me hard but somehow I managed to maintain my composure enough to look towards Brook. I could see he felt something too, his eyes wide and staring, his knife held shaking in front of him. I cursed myself. This was my fault. I had led him from safety, and the menace had followed, striking when we were exposed. I felt hopeless and stupid, undeserving of being his protector. So lost was I in my regret that I hadn’t noticed him come to my side and reach his fingers around my clenched fist.
It was like his touch untied the thread that held the moment. With it the fear lifted and the beast, if indeed it had been there, was gone. We stood still and silent like that a good while longer, not trusting to our senses, but by the time that even Bess had become bored with the task and had gone to lie down, we finally relaxed.
“Was that…?” Brook didn’t need to finish the question.
“I think so. It….felt the same, anyways.” I didn’t want to linger on that feeling longer than necessary.
“Do you think it’s gone?” There was fear in his voice.
“I think so. I don’t know why, but when you took my hand it….I don’t know if that scared it but after that it disappeared.” He gripped me a little harder. “Either way I don’t think I’ll sleep again tonight.”
“Me either.” He said, so we added another log and some more twigs to the fire, and sat against the tree as the sky purpled.
The night had hardened my resolve to keep Brook near to me. Twice we had met that creature, and twice it had fled, and it seemed to have something to do with the connection that he and I shared. If holding him is how I can save him, I thought, then that would suit me fine.
A lone blackbird saw the dawn before we did and it sang it in as Brook and I sat watched the stars go out. Soon the east sky was silver and we went about breaking camp. Neither of us wanted to linger here, even if the threat seemed to have passed, and within half an hour we were on our way again.
The day grew to be warm, and the increasingly difficult terrain we crossed had us sweating and Bess panting as we slumped to a stop at noontime by another ford. I had visited the place before and was pleased to see that our early start and steady pace had brought us further than I had anticipated. If we kept to this pace we could be at the lake before the next evening, which meant one more night out in the open.
Brook and I sat a while by the ford as before. I had gotten a whetstone along with his knife and was showing him how to keep it sharp.
“That’s right, you got it. Not too hard, remember.” He was a good student, bringing a seriousness to the things he did, even if it was tying his boot laces. We had both been on edge all that day, and the task seemed to soothe him.
Rested and fed we continued east. The afternoon took us to lower ground as we crossed into the valley of one of the rivers that fed the lake. This was cultivated land and we made for the road that followed the river to the lakeshore, not far from Asprey”s home. Here, too, the land looked drained of life. We passed half empty paddocks lined with thin, balding grass, and saw farmlands bringing in the last of a meagre harvest, faces dark with toil and worry. We were able to trade with one farmhand some salted pork for a drink of his ale and a word of the road.
“Folks is wary.” He had said, through a mouthful of pork. “Don’t expect a welcome, ‘less you’re friend.” He swallowed. “Ain’t like when you could knock on any door and get a bed and bite in need.”
I asked of the lakeside, and of the hermit.
“I know the man, but can’t say I look for his company. Comes up here sometimes to pick around in the reeds, looking for frogs or something.”
That sounded about right. “When did you last see him?” He sucked through his teeth.
“Prob’ly two months ago. I remember ‘cos it was just after Hetty calved.” He nodded, as if settling the matter.
This news gave me some hope and so it was with a lighter pack we thanked the farmhand and marched on. The flat road sped our way so that before the light began to fade we caught our first glimpse of the lake, a smudge against the horizon. As fortune had it we soon after came upon an empty barn just off the road. It belonged to one of the abandoned farmsteads that were a depressingly frequent sight, but it was solid enough and would provide better shelter than the roadside. Brook set about our gear, unasked for, while I went to whistle in Bess and then examine the door to the barn. I figured on avoiding making a fire that night, but a door would be a comfort.
The hinges had rusted but the wood was solid and so with some effort and a noise to wake the dead I managed to ease it closed. In a corner of the barn were some discarded fence posts, and I was able prop one against the door to hold it shut. Brook watched me as I worked.
“Just a precaution.” I told him and while he smiled he couldn’t entirely hide his fear, not from me. I walked over and took the blanket he was holding from his hands and he dropped them to his sides. I wrapped my arms around him. “You are safe as long as you are with me.” He softened, letting me take his weight.
“I know.” He spoke into my chest, and I stroked his head.
“We should eat.” I told him. “Everything is better after food.” Brook agreed, and so we made as good a meal as could be for the three of us from our supplies and the sound of happy chewing soon filled the gathering gloom. When we had eaten I searched in my pack again and pulled out a stoppered jar of the the rich, strong ale we had shared with the farmland earlier. I had taken a liking to it and a copper slip had persuaded the man to part with his last. I pulled the stopper with my teeth and, taking a deep draught, I handed the jar to Brook. The food and ale made that damp, dark old barn seem almost cozy, and we hunkered under our blankets with Bess lying lengthwise at our feet, her wise old snout set towards the door.
Night came and neither of us was quick to sleep, tired though we were. Brook huddled against me and I filled the hours and his ears with talk, of small and harmless things. I talked about Bess when she had been a pup, small enough she fit in the pocket of my coat.
“I carried her home that way.” I told him. “Just her head peaking out the top. When I set her down in the cabin she ran about, nose in everything, tail going like I thought she would take off.”
I felt Brook smile at the memory as I shared it with him, and as I told him of the fed that Bess soon began with one of the big, wiley squirrels that lived in the woods about the cabin.
“The damn thing loved nothing more than skittering up behind Bess and taunting her until she would turn and chase it, her struggling on those gangly legs she wasn’t used to yet. She never caught the thing of course, but I don’t think she wanted to.”
The wind blew in through the small window high in the wall of the barn, bringing the night sounds, the distant flow of the river, but nothing else came. The strain of fear was still dim in us, despite the ale and our closeness, but if we were being pursued or watched that night it was from a distance, and we cuddled in a fitful sleep, and if we dreamt then only snatches of it remained to us as the fingers of morning crept in to tug on our blankets. I lay there in the slow growing light as Brook dozed against me, and felt that light bathe me in relief. Brook woke soon after, sleep still in his face, the same look he had that first night on my hearth when he opened those dark eyes to me, pure and full of trust to give.
“Morning.” I stroked the hair from his brow and kissed it. His arm snaked across my chest, fingers tracing the lines of my body as if to content himself that I was there.
“Morning.” He answered, and we lay there a while, no longer in such a haste as we had been the day before. We would be at the lake by afternoon, and it would be an easy walk the rest of the way, so we were in no hurry to leave our warm little nest. I looked at his face and saw the beginnings of his beard showing. I guessed that his people, whoever they were, had the practice of shaving their faces as some do in the north, but now the dark hairs showed a little about his lips and chin, and I imagined how he would look with it left to grow, and by turns imagined too what kind of future that would be in. I thought of him and me returning to the cabin once all these questions had been answered, and when the threat on us was gone, and living a life there. Him, me and Bess and, in time, another pup and a sad stone out back. It was idle thought, but called to me like a sweet song, like the smell of bread cooking and that smile of his. Brook smelt the bread and his belly rumbled, so we ate a small breakfast for the last leg of our journey, and packed up our gear. Abandoned though it was, we made sure to leave the barn as we had found it, and it was through an overcast morning that we then made our way to the lake.
Both of our spirits were higher that day, despite the drab sky and the small flies from the river that harassed our steps. Though we had slept little, the otherwise quiet night left us more rested than the day before, and as it grew before us the shimmering silver lake welcomed us ahead like a friend.
“We’ll make a stop at the village.” I said as the distant buildings came into view. “I wish to hear more news of the goings on, and I’m sure you won’t say no to a bite of something hot.” Brook sniggered at that, and I knew that any trace of the fear from the road had evaporated for now. I took the moment to pull him close, letting him know that I had caught the sly look in his eye. “Enough of that. I meant a meal, something I’ll be wanting before anything else, whatever your appetites are.”
The village was no bigger than the outpost, but more ordered. It was older too, which showed in the good, old stone from which many of its buildings were made. While not one for socialising much, I could abide this place and its people better than most. They were proud, and you were wise to watch your manners with them, but I had met few more generous either, and had been a guest in a few of the homes we passed at some time or other. We came to the main street, the only street really, where could be found the inn, along with the chief’s small manse and the near ruins of a temple older than the village. Folks were still milling about in the afternoon as we made our way to the inn, a few fishermen pulling their skiff up from the water waved a hello in suspicious greeting, and I nodded and helloed back in the way of their custom. They nodded appeased and went about their task unbothered.
The inn was near empty as we entered. The innkeep, a stout man of middle years, stood in his spot at the end of the bar, and turned to give me a familiar nod, his eyes grazing just a moment over Brook before returning to mine.
“Good to see you, Jack.” He said, putting down the cup he had been worrying at with his rag and stepping behind the bar.
“Good day, George.” I nodded in reply, pulling a stood out for Brook and one for myself. George regarded us as we put our packs on the floor next to us and sat. Bess, as is her custom, had sought the hearthside and was already making friends with an old duffer sat there. I left her to it.
“What’ll it be?” George asked. “Beer, bite or bed?” That was his usual refrain and I smiled at it.
“Some of all three, if it please you George.” His eyebrows lifted at that. While I often came to the inn during my stays in the area, I had never before asked for a room, preferring to keep my own camp just outside of town. He considered the request and continued.
“It pleases me indeed, Jack.” He pulled out two jars and filled them from the great, oak cask behind him, the sudsy ale overtopping them. They landed on the bar with a splash. “Vera has a mutton stew on, and bread from this morning.” It sounded good after our travels and soon our ales were joined by two, steaming bowls and a hefty hunk of soft, white bread each. George even found a bone for Bess and she chomped happily on it at her place by the hearth. As we sat and ate George told us the news.
“Oh, yes, old Asprey is still abouts somewhere. Was in here about a week ago, prattling his usual nonsense.” The innkeep’s voice was irked but he was smiling still. I wondered what the hermit’s current fascination was. After the trip to collect rocks, I had joined him on a number of other such excursions, often in search of some plant or scroll or rubbings from some temple carving. He never settled at one thing for long.
I had introduced Brook as my prentice, and with an innkeeper’s discretion George sensed not to ask too much, but guided us to the room he picked for us after we finished up our meal and talk. I made to hand him a silver, but he turned my hand away.
“It’s on me.” He said, but looked at me sternly. “Don’t go telling anyone or they will think I’ve gone soft. It’s hard enough getting old Gerrick to pay his tab.” I promised that I wouldn’t and he left us to settle and rest a while.
We sloughed our packs and sat on the wide feather bed, slumping back until we were half lying on the welcomed softness. George and Vera kept a clean house, and the woolen blankets felt good under our hands after the grime of the road. George had brought a basin of warm water and some clean, dry cloths for us and Brook then I took a turn, washing what we could from our hands and faces, stopping short of stripping down. As much as I wanted to pull Brook into that wide, welcoming bed, I had a mind to visit Asprey as soon as could be, so once refreshed we left the room and descended the stairs.
The bar was more lively now, and I noted with a wave the fishermen we had seen as we arrived at the village, and who were now tucking into bowls of the fine stew. We didn’t linger, and with another wave to George we set out to the home of the hermit.
Asprey lived about two miles from the village, in a ramshackle stone house half built into the caves of a cliffside that overlooked one of the lake’s rocky beaches. It had been a residence of sorts, a smuggler’s den or such I surmised, before his arrival, but over the years he had appended and modified it so that it was quite as usual as the man himself. The ground out front was littered with the remains of some of Asprey’s many unfinished endeavours, tangles of rope and wood and metal resembling to me the skeletons of strange beasts, and Brook picked his way through them with me with obvious curiosity. The house itself was adorned with other objects of his invention, cryptic boxes with glass faces that Asprey claimed helped him to predict the weather, a complicated pulley he used to move his larger creations, and my favourite of all, a handle which, when pulled, would rattle a bell on the wall of his work space. Brook’s face lit up as I demonstrated it, and we heard the faint tinkling from within.
We waited patiently at the door, not expecting a quick answer, and it was some moments before we heard an approaching commotion and the door was thrown open in one swift pull, revealing a tall, wirey man dressed in a long, grey woollen smock. His wild hair and beard were similarly grey, though lined with streaks of the red they had been, and they framed a face that was weather worn but somehow still youthful, the effect making it difficult to judge his age. In his hand he held a cup of something that smoked, and on his face he wore a look of clear delight.
“At last!” He said, taking in the sight of Brook and me stood in front of him. “Come in. You are just in time!”
Asprey had begged excuse for the mess inside, though to my eyes it looked much the same as it always had, a great disorder of books and scrolls, bottles and jars, mismatched furniture and the ever present smell off…something. After clearing a few chairs of their burdens, he arranged us around the emptiest table and, fetching wine and cups for us, pulled his own seat up.
“Yes it this is very fortuitous. Very fortuitous indeed.” Asprey poured as he talked. “I really was hoping I would see you before the end of the year.” He pushed the cups to Brook and me, taking his own and raising it. We followed his lead.
“To good friends.” He announced, and we drank. Asprey smacked his lips and sighed. “I have a job for you. A little trip north, that’s all, but I simply must go this year.” He took a breath, about to launch into whatever adventure he had planned when he paused, holding the breath a moment, a frown playing at his brow. “Wait.” Another pause. “That isn’t why you are here, is it?” He looked at me and then at Brook, seemingly noticing him properly for the first time. He fixed him with a quizzical look. “And who are you?”
Finally I could interject. “Asprey, this is Brook. And we are here because we hoped that you could help us.” His eyebrows rose.
“Indeed?” He looked at me. “In all our years of friendship I believe this is a first.” And he smiled and looked between Brook and me. “Now, I take it this will be a long tale?”
“Somewhat.” I told him and looked to Brook, sitting straight with his hands on his lap.
“In that case,” said Asprey. “I shall prepare us some supper and we shall retire to the dining room.”
The dining room was a small room off the workshop that Asprey had managed to keep somewhat clear of detritus, three of the chairs even matched. He left Brook and me with topped up cups before hurrying away to the larder, and returned with a board of bread, butter, cheese, smoked sausage and a kind of paste of his own concoction made of crushed peas and garlic. As we ate we talked, or I talked, though Asprey asked many questions as I recounted what had happened, from finding Brook to the moment we arrived at his door. The talk lasted late, but despite the hour and the wine none of us was tired by the end.
“And that’s why we are here.” I concluded, and Asprey sat for a long while, his bright eyes gazing into the hearth, considering what I had told him. He stirred and looked at me.
“Let’s take things in order.” He turned to Brook. “Young man, would you show me your tattoo?” After a glance at me Brook complied and pulled his shirt off. Asprey leaned into inspect it. As he did he hummed to himself, muttering the occasional word. He looked up.
“I cannot decipher it.” He said, frowning. “However, with work I may be able to translate it.” He paused and examined the mark again. “This lettering, for that is what it is, is familiar. I have seen it’s like somewhere before.”
Asprey stood suddenly and hurried through the door to his workshop. Several moments of noisy fumbling later he appeared with an armful of scrolls. After placing them on the table he took one and unrolled it. It was a series of sketches in Asprey’s own hand of markings similar to Brook’s, the same abstract, intertwining lines that at first seem chaotic, before slowly revealing their pattern to the eye.
“I took these some years ago, on an excursion north to the ruins of a crude but ancient temple on the far side of the mountains.” His fingers traced the images. “I had a thought to translate them, but lacked sufficient examples at the time. With your tattoo, Brook, it might be done.” Brook smiled cautiously.
“Do you think it could be my name?” He asked. “My real name?”
“I imagine it is more than that, given the intricacy of the design, but we can only try.” He looked up to us. “Perhaps you would care to stay the night, and tomorrow I shall make a drawing of it, if you permit it.”
“Of course!” Said Brook, enthusiastically. Then he looked to me. “That’s okay isn’t it, Jack?” Like I could say no.
“We’d be happy to stay. Thank you.” I confirmed. I was a keen as anyone to finally unpick that knot.
“Excellent!” Asprey said. “Now, the second problem. Your beast.” Brook’s face darkened at the mention of it, but if Asprey noticed he didn’t tell. “You say you have met it twice now. Correct?”
“That’s right.” I said.
“Both times the creature subjected you to some kind of, how did you put it, scrutiny?”
“Yes. It was as if it was looking straight into me.” I shuddered at the memory despite myself.
“Indeed. But otherwise you were unharmed?”
“Yes. I was shaken but….”
“And the boy. Sorry, you, Brook.” He turned. “You were unharmed, physically I mean?”
Brook paused for a moment. “Yes. Apart from my memory we’ve…I’ve been well.” He smiled towards me.
Asprey turned back to me. “When you found the boy, you say the creature was on top of him. Describe precisely what you remember.”
“Like I said, Bess and me ran down the bank and there was Brook, and the beast was crouching over him, face low towards him.”
“Was that all? Was it moving? Was it attacking?”
“I…no. It was just kind of looking down at him. Then it noticed me.” Asprey’s frown deepened and he was silent, leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled over his chest.
“Very interesting.” He said, more to himself as go us. Brook and I sat and watched him, rapt.
Finally he spoke.
“I believe,” He began, measuring his words. “That you may have been looking at this all wrong.” A curious smile began playing on his lips.
“What do you mean? This isn’t funny, Asprey.”
“Oh, but it is.” He even giggled. It’s finally happened, I thought, he’s completely cracked, but if my consternation showed he ignored it as he stood. “I believe that this beast, this horror, might not be hunting you at all. Indeed I think it may bear you no malice whatsoever, quite the opposite, perhaps.”
“Speak plainly!” I flashed in anger, and Asprey did notice that. He sat.
“I think that it’s possible that rather than hunting you.” He turned to Brook.”This creature has been guarding you.”