Eleanor sat on her knees on the floor, dress tucked under her legs, toying with a small branch. She sat, fidgeting next to the remains of what had been a large pile of sticks on one side and a large nest of blankets on the other. Even with the amount of layers, she could still tell the boy inside was shivering violently. She winced, and absently fed the branch in her hand to the crackling fire. At least it wasn't like before. When her father had first returned with the boy, he'd been dangerously still; so still she'd thought him dead.

The boy was strange, to say the least. He was maybe just a few years older than herself, with dark shoulder-length hair that curled a bit at the bottom, silky and black. Markings crawled and twisted their way up and down his skin like dark branches. His nails were sharp, and when she had dared to get closer to his mouth to check his breath she had found his incisors and canines sharp and white. The only article of clothing he appeared to own was a cape, sewn in with raven feathers. It was thin and light but strangely warm. She had draped it over the fire to dry out, and it hung like a shadow over the mantelpiece.

But perhaps the strangest thing about him though was the fact that he was alive and, other than shaking like a leaf, currently physically unharmed. Eleanor could have sworn on Beatrice's wings that his hands and feet had been frozen black with frostbite when her father had trucked the boy through the front door, but within the hour the blackness had receded to his fingertips, leaving only a healthy color and the dark clawing designs etched into his skin. She'd lived in the Unknown for as long as she could remember. She'd been alone for quite a bit of that time. She'd seen a lot of things. That was not something she'd seen before.

And yet he was familiar. And that was just plain unsettling.

Heavy footsteps in the hall alerted her to her father's presence. She looked up as the old man entered the room, a bundle of sticks held in one arm.

"For the fire." His voice was gruff. She nodded and took the bundle from him, not moving from her place on the floor.

"Thank you." Silence fell. The twig she'd fed the fire cracked. The boy shifted under the blankets. "Father...do you know him?"

The old man frowned at the blanket nest, and for a moment she was reminded of that day that he had returned to the house, before he'd noticed her at the door.

"I don't know, Eleanor." He gave the boy another troubled look and turned. She frowned in turn. Her father never avoided the question unless it was about the time he spent away from home. The doorway creaked close behind him, his footsteps starting a moment later, fading towards the kitchen. Or was he heading for the study? She couldn't tell.

The boy shifted again, and this time me made a noise in the back of his throat. A low, painful moaning that made the hairs on her neck stand up on end. Shaking the feeling off, she shuffled closer to him, gently moving a few wayward strands of hair out of his face. "...hey." Her voice was soft, not wanting to startle him. His brow furrowed, etchings on his face flowing and shifting with his skin. He brought a hand up to the side of his head, as if he had a headache which, she realized, was quite possible.

Any and all thoughts of hers fell away as he blearily opened his eyes. His perfectly white, round, glowing eyes.

"You..." Her own brown eyes widened as her mind kicked into overdrive, falling backwards away from him onto the ground. The boy - no he wasn't human he was the beast - sat up slowly, blinking and holding a hand to his temple,a blanket clutched in the other. He gave another groan, and then looked at the girl on the floor. He squinted at her, as if he couldn't quite remember her. His eyes flicked around the room quickly, lingering on the fire for a moment before returning to Eleanor.

"Uh, are you-" whatever he was about to say cut it off as her fist connected with his jaw.

"YOU!" She hissed, before she all but jumped on him.

"Hey wha-HEY!" He pried a hand away from his throat, eyes glowing angrily. The two struggled, and though Eleanor got in a few particularity hard hits in it was clear the boy outmatched her in strength. But not in determination, she thought grimly,and it continued until he finally got a hold of her other wrist, holding her at arms length.

The door to the room slammed open, and for the first time in a long while the woodsman was speechless. There on the floor was the boy he'd (correctly; if the markings and cape hadn't confirmed it, his eyes definitely did) assumed to be the Beast of the unknown, struggling to hold a very, very angry Eleanor above him. His daughter, still trying to reach her hands to the boy's neck, was seething, a steady stream of insults pouring out of her mouth.

"What is going on?" The woodsman at last found his voice, ax held limply at his side. He'd been prepared for the worst, but it didn't look like it would be needed. Taking advantage of Eleanor's momentary distraction as she realized her father was in the room, the beast managed to finally shove her off.

The girl landed on her back at her father's feet, and made to lunge at the Beast again, but the woodsman placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Dear..." He was frowning in the boy's direction. She made a noise of protest and followed his gaze. The boy was crouched against the wall, one hand covering his nose which was dripping...was that oil? Whatever it was, it was black, and probably his equivalent of blood. Good. He glared at her from across the room, and she returned the favor. Three identical lines of pain ran down her left cheek. His nails must have scratched her at some point. "What happened?" The girl looked up incredulously at her father.

"He's the beast!" She said angrily, as if that explained everything. The woodsman sighed.

"Yes, I know-"

"You knew?!" Her voice climbed an octave. She stood, and before her father could respond she shoved him through the doorway. "We need to talk." She slammed the door shut behind her, and for the second time the beast was left alone.