Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Beast is perceptive. The Beast is punctual. The Beast is brilliant. And, as Enoch has come to realize, the steward of a very fascinating land.

One Enoch is, perhaps, itching to poke his nose into. Alas, there is very little one can do to sneak past him. To go behind his back, or to pass a ribbon beyond the border. He has always noticed quickly. Come to remedy the problem of Enoch’s continued presence past the fence.

To traverse the woods unnoticed is tantamount to sneaking a sunrise past a rooster, which, as Enoch knows, (his townsfolk are keepers of many a rooster), is quite impossible.

..

This is not to say that Enoch is not curious. Curious what would happen if he did, perhaps, take a stroll through the woods. He has not been out of Potsfield in an age. Not since before he settled into this town, awoke the bones around it, settled into the soil. Many a citizen has crumbled since he last left.

And Enoch is oh so curious. Color him intrigued.

Travelers bring word of a pond not far, and he would so love a new pond. The nearest one to these fields is some distance, and while skeletal bodies do not tire in the hauling of water, they do complain at his elections, and at his town hall meetings, and at his secretary, every so often.

He sits on the fence, paws on a post, staring into the shadows. He does not see eyes amongst the leaves, the telltale sign of his neighbor. He does not hear, even as he turns his ears, or a hum of an echoed song.

Not even The Beast could fault him in a short walk, could he? He will take nothing but knowledge, leave only pawprints. Perhaps he will negotiate for the pond. He hears there will be a caravan coming through. Mayhaps he will... turn them astray into the woods, if he is rewarded. It is harvest. Traders will come. He can provide that which his neighbor seeks: a meal.

He nods, purrs himself an agreement. A short walk will mean nothing. He will simply go on a stroll.

It is even morning. His neighbor will not be out until dusk. He has plenty of time to explore.

He hops off the fence. If he is stopped, so be it. It is not as if he will be doing anything too nefarious.

Enoch has, perhaps, forgotten the necessary sanctity of borders.

The woods had... bent around him, as he entered. Surely they must have, as, only a few minutes' pace in, when he took a glance behind him, there was no sign of his fields, and, as he hastily backtracked, there was nothing at all where his town should have been.

The smell of the ground here is foreign, no trace of cornstalk, no familiar rush of wheat in the wind in his ears.

He keeps searching, until, well, he has to accept it.

He is well and truly lost. Like the dozens of travelers he has guided back into his neighbor’s web.

He doesn’t dare claw his way up a tree, as it has never quite been clear to him just how much of the forest his neighbor does feel. Would he be made aware, of claws in bark?

He is on a path. Surely if he follows it he will run into something , someone. He will ask for direction and be home in a sprint and a leap. He can move much faster than most cats.

(This is going to be quite embarrassing, if he is caught)

He keeps his nose to the ground and an ear perked for sound or song as he lurks through the brush. Nosing under ivy and thorn. Up beyond the trees he estimates about midday sun. He has hours more to figure this out, as surely his neighbor will not come this way until dusk. Surely.

Surely.

Smell is ans important aspect of being a barn cat, especially one that has been elected mayor as many times as he. One must be able to scent out mice and vermin before they eat the winter’s storm.

Brambles. Earth. Dirt. Mud. All simple scents. 

Edeloil, another, not one he smells often, but one he knows well enough to place. 

Then.. hm. Something else. Earthy, perhaps leafy

It's earthy, perhaps leafy?

Tea.

He smells tea. Fresh brewed in a pot. A tea party, perhaps? He smells again— sandwiches, too. He will ask directions, and be right on his way back to his barn, before his neighbor even knows he was here.

He starts towards it, slow, a sneak. Before transitioning to walking on his legs as he approaches.

He reaches the edge of the leafage, and freezes, hair pricked up on end. He has to hold back a hiss.

A witch child sits on a patterned cloth, basket of goods and food to her left, and to her right?

A lantern. The Lantern.

Which would certainly be a problem in itself, running into his lantern, because his neighbor is never far away from it.

But beside the lantern is the problem himself. His neighbor sits there. Cross legged. Stark on orange patterned cloth against the woods, as Enoch has never seen him.

Oh.

Ah.

Hm.

He may have miscalculated. Just a tad.

His neighbor’s eyes are fixed directly on him. Burning stars inlaid in wood. The Beast would be stunning, if Enoch did not know, down to his bones, that he is somewhat in trouble.

“Adelaide,” says Enoch’s favorite neighbor, (has he mentioned this? His favorite. Who he would never spy on during the light. Or try to infringe on his territory rights. He would never.) “I do believe we have another guest for our picnic.”

The witch girl – Adalaide, as she has now been named – smiles at him. It is all teeth.

Enoch takes a breath, and slowly saunters out of the brush. “Hello, neighbor,” he greets. “I was just—”

“Hello, Enoch,” the Beast interrupts. His voice booms around them, and every strand of fur he has stands on end. “You are allowed to sit.”

He sits. Neatly. Paws poised, tail wrapped around his body. Picturesque.

The Beast turns to the witch girl. “You will not tell Whispers a word of this. All right? This is for your ears, not your sister’s.” 

She nods.

The Beast turns back to him. “Why are you here?”

“I was simply looking for a stroll, Beast,” he laughs, awkward, somewhat frantic. “My lands are quite monotone, and familiar. I was looking for a-- touch of adventure.”

“Were you, now?” He does not sound impressed.

“Yes?” The Beast stares at him. Enoch feels that this is not enough of an answer. Flounders for more, for something true, yet less incriminating. “I— I had also heard of a pond, not far from our fence. I had been curious about its fishing. Perhaps a trade could be struck. I do enjoy a fish every so often, and it does make fine fertilizer in the growing months.”

“So you wished to stalk my pond.”

“Yes. And to go on a stroll.”

“And why should I not strike you down here, claim your lands for my woods, and grow your townsfolk to Edel?”

“Because...” He does not have an answer for that. “Because then you will… then need to share a border with that dreadful scarecrow fellow, who will pick off any travelers for himself rather than sending them back to your arms?”

“I do not mind him,” says the Beast, with a dismissive tone that makes Enoch’s heart sink. “He would not infringe into my woods. He is a respectful fellow. Unlike thee.”

That… has to be a bluff. Enoch is certain that is a bluff. He hates sharing prey. He complains enough of the Queen.

But Enoch is not in a position to call it.

“And… you would miss me? I am half decent company, Beast.”

The Beast stares at him in silence for several long seconds. Enoch prepares for tree limbs to bash him apart. Then his neighbor tilts back his head and laughs. The leaves whistle with the sound.

“That,” Beast begins, “Is a fascinating thing to say to me, Cat, when you have wandered into my woods, without invitation, I may add. I have tracked your movements. Made it so you could not return on your own.”

Of course he knew.  “Well. It is true. You must find my company somewhat enjoyable; you would not visit our border so often if you did not have the least bit of fondness towards me--”

“He speaks of you!” says the witch, suddenly, cutting in. “Quite often. He is fond.”

“Adelaide!” The Beast swivels to face her, eyes flashing green, and Enoch laughs, shocked.

“He speaks of growing his trees impressively tall at the border, to impress you, and to impress his power. I would not worry, Harvest Cat.”

The Beast sputters, eyes shifting hues. “I do no such thing — ”

“He does . And he always makes certain his lantern is filled before he does visit, in case you wish to speak for a long while. I would think it is because he does not want to have your talks cut short. He has me and my sister grinding him oil, you see, so I know when he comes. He tells us where he is going, often.”

“I believe the girl, Beast,” Enoch purrs. “So you do like me. Such as a relief.”

The Beast stands, limbs unfolding beneath him. His eyes are still shifting hues. He is embarrassed. This is a wonderful development. The Beast steps back, striding into the branches, until he is nigh invisible amongst his trees. “Adelaide, return my neighbor to his town. Imminently. I have business with The Queen to attend.”

“Certainly,” says Adelaide, “but can it not wait? You said you would stay until I finished my tea and sandwiches.”

“It cannot.” And then he and his lantern have gone. Back to the woods.

Enoch turns to Adelaide.

“Well. You heard him.” She downs the last of her tea, packs up her things. “I will escort you back to Pottsfield.”

The nights pass after he has returned to Pottsfield. One, then two, then a week, then a fortnight’s eve. Enoch almost worries his neighbor will not show.

That he has perhaps offended him greatly.

But then, in exactly a fortnight, as Enoch strolls his border, twin lights peer down from the treeline. A third joins, before a figure peels out of the dark.

“Hello, Beast,” Enoch greets. “I presume you have missed me?”

The Beast regards him, silent a moment, then a spindly hand reaches from his cloak, clutching a bag. He drops it over the fence. 

“Fish,” he states plainly. “In return I would like a small flock of your sheep.”

Enoch purrs. “So you did listen to me, hm?”

The Beast is silent, and Enoch laughs again. “I shall get you the sheep, neighbor. If you will visit me more often. I have missed your company as well.”

Enoch can all but hear the trees sigh with wind.

“If I must, Cat.” There is humor in his tone. “But only if you never cross my border without permission again.”

“Our border” Enoch grins.

“Cross our border.” The Beast amends, but his eyes glow ever-so-slightly brighter.  

“That,” Enoch purrs, “I can agree to.”