Bearskin, Part Seven
Bearskin, Part One
Bearskin, Part Two
Bearskin, Part Three
Bearskin, Part Four
Bearskin, Part Five
Bearskin, Part Six
In which Thomas has a mini-bitch fight with a certain spirit.
This was just rich.
Thomas sat on his hindquarters, watching Kocoum pull the clearly not Thomas out from underneath the tree. She, it, whatever she decided she was had his entire appearance down: hair the right shade and length, freckles in all the right places, right down to the same amount of redness in his cheeks whenever he was frantic or worried. And of course, she had taken all of his clothes.
Kocoum paid him no mind as he helped the illusion to stand, slinging one of her arms around his shoulders and holding her close around the waist. When the spirit stumbled (an act, Thomas bet), she threw herself forward, wrapping both arms around Kocoum’s neck and burying her face into his chest. A sudden, almost foreign rage washed over Thomas, and he fought the urge to march right over and wrest the spirit away from Kocoum with his own teeth. Who knew what sort of spell she was trying on him?
Kocoum held her gingerly, checking the body over for any sign of hurt and the source of the blood, frowning when he couldn’t locate it. “How long were you trapped under there? Are you hurt?” The spirit didn’t answer, just burrowed herself deeper into the expanse of Kocoum’s chest, going as far as to shudder from either the cold or relief. Immediately, Kocoum’s hold on her tightened, and, after a brief hesitation, reached up to stroke her hair in an awkward, though comforting gesture.
“I was so scared,” the spirit said, trembling and making herself as small as she possibly could in Kocoum’s grasp. “I thought I’d die out here alone.”
“You need to keep warm,” Kocoum said, a strange note in his voice. “You’re staying with me until you recover. Can you walk?” When the spirit shook her head, Kocoum gathered her in his arms and set her upon the fallen tree, making sure that she was comfortable and wouldn’t fall over. “I’ll call John and let him know I found you.”
A faint shadow of confusion fell over the spirit’s face before she nodded, earning another frown from Kocoum. As soon as Kocoum turned his back, Thomas stalked the spirit, upper lip curled in a snarl, head low and body completely tense. The spirit’s facade fell sharply and she watched Thomas out of the corner of her narrowed eyes.
Thomas didn’t growl, lest he caught Kocoum’s attention. Instead he rose to his hind legs and rested his weight against the tree, glowering up at the spirit. You’re fooling no one.
Seems like he’s believing me well enough. You humans are terribly stupid.
Before Thomas could stop himself he growled, grabbing at her pant leg and pulled, effectively knocking her over and into the snow. Thomas wasn’t sure how all of this would make Kocoum aware of her illusion. In fact he doubted that his attack had anything to do with it at all. Before she could sit up Thomas landed on her chest, glaring down as she struggled underneath him. He didn’t expect her hands to lash out and tighten around his throat, blunt nails digging underneath the fur and pressing into his skin, growing more and more lightheaded as she squeezed harder.
He also didn’t expect Kocoum to force them apart.
Kocoum set him down and slightly behind him, a strange, bewildered look flashing across his face before warping into one of pure, seething rage. “Just what the hell were you doing?” Thomas flinched. He’d never heard Kocoum’s voice thunder like that before. He didn’t think it was possible.
The spirit propped herself up with her elbows, feigning a look of hurt. “It attacked me!”
Kocoum stared at Thomas for a moment. When given no answer, Kocoum rose to his feet, one hand hovering over the hunting knife strapped to his thigh, eyes never leaving the spirit. “Thomas may be an idiot when it comes to the wilderness, but he isn’t stupid enough to fight a bear.” He said, ignoring the gruff noise Thomas made behind him. He readied himself in a fighting stance. “What are you?”
The spirit said nothing, lowering her head and drawing into herself as the air around them grew colder and the sky darker. Her clothes shriveled into thin, black mist, her red hair darkened and lengthened, spilling onto the snow in a thick, black mass. She rose, towering over Kocoum, round eyes blown wide and teeth and claws bared.
"He is mine," she breathed, voice raspy and grating like nails on a chalkboard, echoing throughout the forest.
Kocoum dodged her blow as she lunged forward, righting himself up quickly with rifle aimed and ready. Thomas skittered off to the side, barely avoiding her claws. She spun around howling, lurching towards the woodsman, one claw raised and the other ready to strike from the side. Kocoum held his ground and fired, striking her in the shoulder. It did little good.
Thomas rushed forward and seized her by the ankle, clamping down hard. Shrieking, the spirit tore Thomas off her leg and flung him back before turning her attention on Kocoum. Thomas collided with a tree and tumbled into the snow, cringing as the pain shot its way through his body. He struggled to stand, but his legs refused to work with him, causing him to slump forward and roll over his back. The pain now worked its way to his head, a steady beat countering the cacophony of howls and gunshots before him.
Thomas heard a single gunshot, and then he could neither hear nor see anything else.
###
Thomas awoke to sound of meat sizzling in a skillet.
Groggy, and head still pounding, he made a whiffling noise and rolled over, finding himself on a makeshift bed of plaid shirts that looked a lot like Kocoum’s. He raised his head and spotted Kocoum at the stove, paying him no mind as he prepared the food. He no longer had all of his gear strapped to him, and he'd switched out of his heavy boots for a pair of house shoes.
Thomas looked out the window. He must have slept well into the evening, as faint stars dotted the night sky and surrounded a pale moon. Either way it didn't matter. It was the fourth night and naturally with his luck, he hadn't managed to dispel the curse. He would remain a bear forever.
Hearing Thomas grumble, Kocoum turned away from the stove and crossed the room to where he lay, an odd look on his face. Thomas didn't bother shying away from him when Kocoum crouched down to his level; however he felt towards the man carried no meaning now. Instead he lowered his head when Kocoum scratched behind his ears, leaning into the touch and bumping his head against his hand for more. Whatever happened after Kocoum left the mountains Thomas wasn't sure, but he knew that it would be a long while before he could experience such a wonderful, toe-curling feeling ever again.
Kocoum's hand drifted to the underside of Thomas' chin, and he chuckled when the bear pressed its jaw against his hand. "You've got a lot of bravery for a cub," he said. "But considering what happened today, I beginning to doubt that you're really a bear."
Thomas froze and gave Kocoum the hardest stare he could muster. That lunkhead. Now, only now, after all of this. After all of his griping, dropping clues, all of his stalking, hanging outside his cabin, all of his clearly not normal bear behavior, only now did he get it. This incomprehensible, silent, and daft, kind, and gentle, and worried man only figures out now that he isn't really a bear, only now that he's under a curse, now when it's too bloody late and neither of them can do anything about it. Thomas whined. Of all the rotten luck in the world.
Kocoum held him in place by the jaw and began examining him, as if trying to find some kind of clue that would hint at his identity. "Care to give me a hint?"
Right. Because I suddenly would have the ability to talk now. Instead of the curt remark he whined again, and wriggled out from Kocoum's grasp. He hoped Kocoum would at least recognize his exasperated look; he'd given it to him on one to many accounts whenever the older man informed him of his lack of muscle.
Sighing, Kocoum rose and returned to the stove, muttering to himself that he would just have to call Pocahontas in the morning. Thomas hoped that she would chew her cousin out for him.
After a meal of deer meat (and no peanut butter, this time) and apples, Thomas settled into the pile of shirts and watched Kocoum make preparations to leave in the morning. He wondered, as he slowly drifted off to sleep, what would happen to him, now that he was this. He wondered if Kocoum would follow through and hand him over to the warden, or have Pocahontas sort this all out. Or maybe, as he closed his eyes, he'd let him come along, since they both knew he wouldn't survive out here on his own anyway.
But of course, that was just silly thinking.
Bearskin, Part Two
Bearskin, Part Three
Bearskin, Part Four
Bearskin, Part Five
Bearskin, Part Six
In which Thomas has a mini-bitch fight with a certain spirit.
This was just rich.
Thomas sat on his hindquarters, watching Kocoum pull the clearly not Thomas out from underneath the tree. She, it, whatever she decided she was had his entire appearance down: hair the right shade and length, freckles in all the right places, right down to the same amount of redness in his cheeks whenever he was frantic or worried. And of course, she had taken all of his clothes.
Kocoum paid him no mind as he helped the illusion to stand, slinging one of her arms around his shoulders and holding her close around the waist. When the spirit stumbled (an act, Thomas bet), she threw herself forward, wrapping both arms around Kocoum’s neck and burying her face into his chest. A sudden, almost foreign rage washed over Thomas, and he fought the urge to march right over and wrest the spirit away from Kocoum with his own teeth. Who knew what sort of spell she was trying on him?
Kocoum held her gingerly, checking the body over for any sign of hurt and the source of the blood, frowning when he couldn’t locate it. “How long were you trapped under there? Are you hurt?” The spirit didn’t answer, just burrowed herself deeper into the expanse of Kocoum’s chest, going as far as to shudder from either the cold or relief. Immediately, Kocoum’s hold on her tightened, and, after a brief hesitation, reached up to stroke her hair in an awkward, though comforting gesture.
“I was so scared,” the spirit said, trembling and making herself as small as she possibly could in Kocoum’s grasp. “I thought I’d die out here alone.”
“You need to keep warm,” Kocoum said, a strange note in his voice. “You’re staying with me until you recover. Can you walk?” When the spirit shook her head, Kocoum gathered her in his arms and set her upon the fallen tree, making sure that she was comfortable and wouldn’t fall over. “I’ll call John and let him know I found you.”
A faint shadow of confusion fell over the spirit’s face before she nodded, earning another frown from Kocoum. As soon as Kocoum turned his back, Thomas stalked the spirit, upper lip curled in a snarl, head low and body completely tense. The spirit’s facade fell sharply and she watched Thomas out of the corner of her narrowed eyes.
Thomas didn’t growl, lest he caught Kocoum’s attention. Instead he rose to his hind legs and rested his weight against the tree, glowering up at the spirit. You’re fooling no one.
Seems like he’s believing me well enough. You humans are terribly stupid.
Before Thomas could stop himself he growled, grabbing at her pant leg and pulled, effectively knocking her over and into the snow. Thomas wasn’t sure how all of this would make Kocoum aware of her illusion. In fact he doubted that his attack had anything to do with it at all. Before she could sit up Thomas landed on her chest, glaring down as she struggled underneath him. He didn’t expect her hands to lash out and tighten around his throat, blunt nails digging underneath the fur and pressing into his skin, growing more and more lightheaded as she squeezed harder.
He also didn’t expect Kocoum to force them apart.
Kocoum set him down and slightly behind him, a strange, bewildered look flashing across his face before warping into one of pure, seething rage. “Just what the hell were you doing?” Thomas flinched. He’d never heard Kocoum’s voice thunder like that before. He didn’t think it was possible.
The spirit propped herself up with her elbows, feigning a look of hurt. “It attacked me!”
Kocoum stared at Thomas for a moment. When given no answer, Kocoum rose to his feet, one hand hovering over the hunting knife strapped to his thigh, eyes never leaving the spirit. “Thomas may be an idiot when it comes to the wilderness, but he isn’t stupid enough to fight a bear.” He said, ignoring the gruff noise Thomas made behind him. He readied himself in a fighting stance. “What are you?”
The spirit said nothing, lowering her head and drawing into herself as the air around them grew colder and the sky darker. Her clothes shriveled into thin, black mist, her red hair darkened and lengthened, spilling onto the snow in a thick, black mass. She rose, towering over Kocoum, round eyes blown wide and teeth and claws bared.
"He is mine," she breathed, voice raspy and grating like nails on a chalkboard, echoing throughout the forest.
Kocoum dodged her blow as she lunged forward, righting himself up quickly with rifle aimed and ready. Thomas skittered off to the side, barely avoiding her claws. She spun around howling, lurching towards the woodsman, one claw raised and the other ready to strike from the side. Kocoum held his ground and fired, striking her in the shoulder. It did little good.
Thomas rushed forward and seized her by the ankle, clamping down hard. Shrieking, the spirit tore Thomas off her leg and flung him back before turning her attention on Kocoum. Thomas collided with a tree and tumbled into the snow, cringing as the pain shot its way through his body. He struggled to stand, but his legs refused to work with him, causing him to slump forward and roll over his back. The pain now worked its way to his head, a steady beat countering the cacophony of howls and gunshots before him.
Thomas heard a single gunshot, and then he could neither hear nor see anything else.
###
Thomas awoke to sound of meat sizzling in a skillet.
Groggy, and head still pounding, he made a whiffling noise and rolled over, finding himself on a makeshift bed of plaid shirts that looked a lot like Kocoum’s. He raised his head and spotted Kocoum at the stove, paying him no mind as he prepared the food. He no longer had all of his gear strapped to him, and he'd switched out of his heavy boots for a pair of house shoes.
Thomas looked out the window. He must have slept well into the evening, as faint stars dotted the night sky and surrounded a pale moon. Either way it didn't matter. It was the fourth night and naturally with his luck, he hadn't managed to dispel the curse. He would remain a bear forever.
Hearing Thomas grumble, Kocoum turned away from the stove and crossed the room to where he lay, an odd look on his face. Thomas didn't bother shying away from him when Kocoum crouched down to his level; however he felt towards the man carried no meaning now. Instead he lowered his head when Kocoum scratched behind his ears, leaning into the touch and bumping his head against his hand for more. Whatever happened after Kocoum left the mountains Thomas wasn't sure, but he knew that it would be a long while before he could experience such a wonderful, toe-curling feeling ever again.
Kocoum's hand drifted to the underside of Thomas' chin, and he chuckled when the bear pressed its jaw against his hand. "You've got a lot of bravery for a cub," he said. "But considering what happened today, I beginning to doubt that you're really a bear."
Thomas froze and gave Kocoum the hardest stare he could muster. That lunkhead. Now, only now, after all of this. After all of his griping, dropping clues, all of his stalking, hanging outside his cabin, all of his clearly not normal bear behavior, only now did he get it. This incomprehensible, silent, and daft, kind, and gentle, and worried man only figures out now that he isn't really a bear, only now that he's under a curse, now when it's too bloody late and neither of them can do anything about it. Thomas whined. Of all the rotten luck in the world.
Kocoum held him in place by the jaw and began examining him, as if trying to find some kind of clue that would hint at his identity. "Care to give me a hint?"
Right. Because I suddenly would have the ability to talk now. Instead of the curt remark he whined again, and wriggled out from Kocoum's grasp. He hoped Kocoum would at least recognize his exasperated look; he'd given it to him on one to many accounts whenever the older man informed him of his lack of muscle.
Sighing, Kocoum rose and returned to the stove, muttering to himself that he would just have to call Pocahontas in the morning. Thomas hoped that she would chew her cousin out for him.
After a meal of deer meat (and no peanut butter, this time) and apples, Thomas settled into the pile of shirts and watched Kocoum make preparations to leave in the morning. He wondered, as he slowly drifted off to sleep, what would happen to him, now that he was this. He wondered if Kocoum would follow through and hand him over to the warden, or have Pocahontas sort this all out. Or maybe, as he closed his eyes, he'd let him come along, since they both knew he wouldn't survive out here on his own anyway.
But of course, that was just silly thinking.