Disclaimer: Don't own it.

where timeless spirits meet

Well, those are… those are definitely buds, all right.

Normally, Wirt would be all for buds. It's the perfect time of year for them, after all. The snow is gone except for a few patches hidden deep in shadow, the ground soggy with the last remnants of snowmelt. The grass is greening, and sap is rising in the trees. His forest is waking up, and part of that process involves producing buds.

It's just that these particular buds are growing from his antlers.

Wirt lifts a hand to the point of a tine, rubs his finger against the little mass. He can feel the bud under his fingers and his fingers against the bud, which is odd because plants aren't supposed to have nerve endings and he's not certain if he's growing leaves or flowers or both, but whatever else it is, it's definitely plantlike.

Honestly, he'd sort of been hoping that there wouldn't be any more changes to his body after his antlers grew in.

A nasty thought strikes him, and he jerks away from his watery reflection in alarm. He'd only caught a glimpse of the Beast's true form all those months ago when the Dark Lantern's light stripped away his mask of shadows. He… he wasn't going to end up looking like that, was he? Screaming face stacked upon screaming face, limbs riddled with holes, his eyes nothing but a glow in hollow sockets?

Except, Wirt tries to console himself, the Beast hadn't had anything growing from his antlers. But that had been autumn, nearly winter, the leaves long fallen from the trees.

Oh, no. Oh no no no no no. He is just going to keep changing, he is going to turn into a hideous tree monster and he'll probably go as crazy as the last one, too, his humanity eroding like sand in the waves, little pieces of who he had been scattered and dissolved in an ocean of madness and evil and—

"Good evening, young Beast."

Wirt jumps, an undignified shriek escaping from his throat. He looks around wildly, instinctively cradling his soul to his chest, completely forgetting that he's probably scarier than whatever just politely greeted him. After a few moments of frantic roving, his gaze alights on a black cat with far too much intelligence in its (his? The voice sounded male) harvest-yellow eyes.

"Well," the cat chuckles, "if I hadn't already known for certain that the old Beast's been replaced, you'd have just laid my doubts to rest. Well met, neighbor. I'm Enoch, mayor of Pottsfield."

"Well met," Wirt echoes, acutely aware of his appearance. Should he shift into his more human form? "I'm…." He's not quite certain he wants to give his name, to let people know who exactly had become the new Beast. Giving his surname seems a bit odd, and he is definitely not going by his middle name, even if no one in the Unknown would appreciate the irony. The Horned Lord, perhaps—it's technically true—but that just sounds so pretentious. "…the Pilgrim. Please don't call me 'young Beast.'"

"Oh?" Enoch's eyes gleam. "Is that not what you are?"

"Not really, no. The Beast was… kind of a jerk."

Enoch guffaws. "You have a gift for understatement, Pilgrim! I already like you better than your predecessor."

"Thank you," Wirt mumbles automatically, wondering if the cat would feel the same way if he remembered their last meeting. He's pretty certain that Enoch would have commented if he recognized the boy who'd interrupted his harvest festival. He decides not to mention that incident unless the cat brings it up.

"So what brings you this close to my territory?"

Wirt grins sheepishly. "Sorry. I was just passing through."

"You didn't look like you were passing through, admiring your reflection like that."

He blushes. "I wasn't admiring anything. It's just that my, you know, my antlers have been feeling kind of odd lately and I thought I should check it out, and do you happen to know offhand if the Beast's antlers grew leaves in spring? Because I think that I'm growing leaves."

"Tis the season for it," Enoch agrees benignly. "And to answer your question, Pilgrim, he hasn't budded for a good many years. He used to, when he was much younger and less twisted, but that was very long ago. It's a good sign if you're budding. Means you're still on the right path."

Wirt considers asking for a more definite date but decides he doesn't want to know. He's trying to not think about how he may or may not be immortal now. "I… thanks." Realization strikes. "When you say that I'm on the right path, do you know what that path is? I know that there are all these sick, tainted patches of forest that I'm supposed to heal, but I'm not certain how."

But Enoch is shaking his head. "Your predecessor kept his secrets close, neighbor. He avoided people, and people avoided him, even before he started making his edelwoods from mortal souls."

The youth's thoughts freeze before bursting into a frenzy of motion. "You can make edelwoods without killing people?"

"So I've heard," the cat confesses, looking up at Wirt with half-hooded eyes. "My grandmother saw one, once, back when she was a kitten. Even then, it was more common to see edelwoods with faces on them."

(Something tells him that Enoch's family lives longer than ordinary cats—much, much longer. How many centuries ago had that been?)

"But it's possible," Wirt says softly, hopefully, because even though he's been trying very hard not to think about what would happen if (when) his current batch of edelwoods dies, there are times when he can't help but wonder about that sort of thing.

"Possible," Enoch confirms.

"So I'd never have to hurt anyone to survive," he breathes. Then he deflates. "I don't suppose you know how those trees were made?"

"I'm afraid not. As I said, the Beast kept his secrets close."

Wirt groans.

The feline mayor hesitates for a long moment. Then, "You want to continue this conversation over a cup of tea?"

Wirt gawks at him, spluttering incoherently. "You want—but I—I'm—" He gestures incoherently at his budding antlers, his glowing eyes.

Enoch's eyes curve up in a smile. "Antlers or no antlers, you're not the Beast, Pilgrim. Now, would you like that tea or not?"

He hesitates, then smiles shyly. "I would love some."

If anyone can guess what Wirt's middle name is and why he doesn't want people knowing about it, I'll write you a oneshot of your own desiring in this AU (within reason, of course).

So, faceless trees, huh? Can it be that this abomination of mine actually has a plot?

(To anyone who reads my Merlin fics: Writer's block, a severe bout of depression/anxiety, having all the life and joy sucked out of me by my stupid thesis, but I'm still slowly working on the story. HOPEFULLY the next chapter will be out within a week and a half, then I'll try my 3-week schedule again.)

Next oneshot in this universe brings in Beatrice!

-Antares