Bearskin, Part One
Brother Bear Pocahontas Cross Over Type AU (Anonymous) 2011-05-18 03:21 pm (local) (link) The spirits always had a twisted sense of humor. Thomas, a kind, nature loving, clumsy man, gets turned into a bear. Kocoum, a strong, native, woods man finds bear!thomas in a poacher's trap and set him free. Thomas then becomes dependent on Kocoum. I don't know what this is, but this fill is going to be LONG.
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The winters were never this cold, Thomas thought to himself. Not even this far up on the mountain. He pulled the cap down farther on his head, a futile hope that it somehow grew larger between the time he left John's cabin to gather firewood to cover his ears. Instead, it barely touched midway and left their lower halves exposed. And all this blasted snow blowing about made it difficult to see anything enough to make any sense out of it.
He'd given up both searching for firewood and his footprints leading back to the cabin a long while ago. Now Thomas focused on finding a dry, warm place to keep out of the weather until the storm blew over. He'd even do with a dank cave, just as long as he'd have some protection against the snowstorm. It served him right, Thomas chastised himself, to go out this late in the day into a forest he's never set foot in alone, just because he didn't want John to reconsider his decision on letting him tag along on his annual camping trip. It wasn't like John didn't already think that the boy was wood-savvy like his friends--he'd always meddled in more academic pursuits or spent time with Pocahontas and Nakoma instead. Aside from the occasional runs through the woods he'd accompany Pocahontas on (in a nearby, much smaller forest at that), Thomas had never, ever gone this deep into the woods in his entire life. Except for now, in the middle of a snow storm, in the middle of nowhere.
Thomas rubbed his numbing cheeks and pressed on. There was no point in calling John; he'd forgotten to recharge his cellphone before he left the cabin, and now the device lay teasingly in his coat pocket like a useless brick. It would have been wise to take a flare or a flashlight, but Thomas, swept up in his desire to prove himself to John and the others, unwisely forgot those as well. At least his coat was bright enough to see against the snow. If in the chance he didn't make it out alive tonight, someone would have no trouble locating his frozen body in the following days, if it wasn't half-eaten by a bear or a wolf by then. The dark thought was oddly comforting.
Thomas' breath hitched when he spotted a faint light in the distance. He couldn't be hallucinating, could he? The forest warden's cabin had to be a good distance away from John's--at the base of the mountain. And even with his horrible sense of direction, he could not have walked all the way there. It just wasn't possible. Still, he quickened his pace, careful not to break out into a full run in the chance that he is hallucinating, that he finally did succumb to the snow and wind, and the cabin would disappear and he would plummet sharply to his death on the rocks below. But as he grew closer the light glowing from the windows grew brighter, and his hallucination seemed far less fantasy and far more the reality.
Thomas pressed a gloved hand against the door. Solid. He rapped a fist against it, satisfying himself with the equally solid "thunk" resounding from the wood. He did it again, this time with more urgency, and dared to call out to the cabin's owner. "Hello? Is anyone there?" The howling wind nearly drowned out his voice.
No answer. Thomas tried again; louder, his fist banging against the wooden door. Still, no answer.
His mother always warned him to never enter someone's house when you were not invited. You didn't know what was behind that door, and neither did the person on the other side. But, as no one answered him, and the cold began to seep beneath his coat and into his bones, Thomas reasoned that it wouldn't hurt. And it wasn't like he was breaking breaking in, not when the door opened so easily when he jiggled the handle. It's as if the owner wanted people to come in. Almost.
The cabin was more like a hovel, Thomas noticed, but a decent one at that. A small fire crackled in a hearth at the far side of the room, and a meal sat at the table untouched, heat still rising from the bowl as if the owner had just stepped out before sitting down to supper. A tiny bed with a thick bearskin covering it completed the simple, yet comforting abode.
Thomas closed the door and immediately went for the fire. There, he warmed his hands as much as he could without getting too close, unable to suppress a grin when a tingling sensation spread from his fingertips to his wrists as heat took over. As the warmth spread though his body, he began to take better stock of himself, noticing immediately that his clothes were far damper than he'd assumed. He stripped off his clothes and laid them before the fire, taking note of the lack of a pot in the hearth. No smell came from the bowl on the table, either.
Thomas shrugged and slipped underneath the bearskin. He was probably thinking too much about everything, and his senses were were probably numbed by the cold. As the warmth of the skin enveloped him better than any blanket could, the fire crackling a soothing lullaby to counter the howling wind outside, relief washing over him in waves, Thomas fell to a peaceful slumber in the cabin alone.
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The winters were never this cold, Thomas thought to himself. Not even this far up on the mountain. He pulled the cap down farther on his head, a futile hope that it somehow grew larger between the time he left John's cabin to gather firewood to cover his ears. Instead, it barely touched midway and left their lower halves exposed. And all this blasted snow blowing about made it difficult to see anything enough to make any sense out of it.
He'd given up both searching for firewood and his footprints leading back to the cabin a long while ago. Now Thomas focused on finding a dry, warm place to keep out of the weather until the storm blew over. He'd even do with a dank cave, just as long as he'd have some protection against the snowstorm. It served him right, Thomas chastised himself, to go out this late in the day into a forest he's never set foot in alone, just because he didn't want John to reconsider his decision on letting him tag along on his annual camping trip. It wasn't like John didn't already think that the boy was wood-savvy like his friends--he'd always meddled in more academic pursuits or spent time with Pocahontas and Nakoma instead. Aside from the occasional runs through the woods he'd accompany Pocahontas on (in a nearby, much smaller forest at that), Thomas had never, ever gone this deep into the woods in his entire life. Except for now, in the middle of a snow storm, in the middle of nowhere.
Thomas rubbed his numbing cheeks and pressed on. There was no point in calling John; he'd forgotten to recharge his cellphone before he left the cabin, and now the device lay teasingly in his coat pocket like a useless brick. It would have been wise to take a flare or a flashlight, but Thomas, swept up in his desire to prove himself to John and the others, unwisely forgot those as well. At least his coat was bright enough to see against the snow. If in the chance he didn't make it out alive tonight, someone would have no trouble locating his frozen body in the following days, if it wasn't half-eaten by a bear or a wolf by then. The dark thought was oddly comforting.
Thomas' breath hitched when he spotted a faint light in the distance. He couldn't be hallucinating, could he? The forest warden's cabin had to be a good distance away from John's--at the base of the mountain. And even with his horrible sense of direction, he could not have walked all the way there. It just wasn't possible. Still, he quickened his pace, careful not to break out into a full run in the chance that he is hallucinating, that he finally did succumb to the snow and wind, and the cabin would disappear and he would plummet sharply to his death on the rocks below. But as he grew closer the light glowing from the windows grew brighter, and his hallucination seemed far less fantasy and far more the reality.
Thomas pressed a gloved hand against the door. Solid. He rapped a fist against it, satisfying himself with the equally solid "thunk" resounding from the wood. He did it again, this time with more urgency, and dared to call out to the cabin's owner. "Hello? Is anyone there?" The howling wind nearly drowned out his voice.
No answer. Thomas tried again; louder, his fist banging against the wooden door. Still, no answer.
His mother always warned him to never enter someone's house when you were not invited. You didn't know what was behind that door, and neither did the person on the other side. But, as no one answered him, and the cold began to seep beneath his coat and into his bones, Thomas reasoned that it wouldn't hurt. And it wasn't like he was breaking breaking in, not when the door opened so easily when he jiggled the handle. It's as if the owner wanted people to come in. Almost.
The cabin was more like a hovel, Thomas noticed, but a decent one at that. A small fire crackled in a hearth at the far side of the room, and a meal sat at the table untouched, heat still rising from the bowl as if the owner had just stepped out before sitting down to supper. A tiny bed with a thick bearskin covering it completed the simple, yet comforting abode.
Thomas closed the door and immediately went for the fire. There, he warmed his hands as much as he could without getting too close, unable to suppress a grin when a tingling sensation spread from his fingertips to his wrists as heat took over. As the warmth spread though his body, he began to take better stock of himself, noticing immediately that his clothes were far damper than he'd assumed. He stripped off his clothes and laid them before the fire, taking note of the lack of a pot in the hearth. No smell came from the bowl on the table, either.
Thomas shrugged and slipped underneath the bearskin. He was probably thinking too much about everything, and his senses were were probably numbed by the cold. As the warmth of the skin enveloped him better than any blanket could, the fire crackling a soothing lullaby to counter the howling wind outside, relief washing over him in waves, Thomas fell to a peaceful slumber in the cabin alone.