(Burgess)
The sleepy sun rose over the small town of Burgess, illuminating the skies in pink and golden hues. Leafless birch and oak trees shivered with a dawn breeze, as if the awaking sun had yawned. The clouds of yesterday were gone and the blankets of powdery snow began to melt into thick, soupy puddles-
SPLASH!
"Crikey! Cold feet cold feet COLDFEET!" A gray and black blur bounded through the forest, hauling a rickety contraption at 30 some odd miles per hour. "Frostbite, I should throttle ya for putting snow all over my fresh, new- AYE!" Aster E. Bunnymund leaped clean over a lake size puddle, the sled behind him jarring harshly as it landed.
"Mountain, how much farther?" The pooka shouted to the occupant riding in the sled he was pulling.
An elderly man in the basket of the sled suddenly jerked awake, barking "LEFT!" In a voice far too big for his tiny frame. His round blind eyes blinked owlishly from under thick bushy brows as silver as his long, matted hair. Thin, knobby fingers drew a fur shawl over his tattered, gray coat.
"Right..." Aster sighed as he began a slow, arcing turn to the left.
"NO, LEFT!" The spirit within the sled shouted retorted.
"I'm going left!" Bunny grated his teeth, starting to regret agreeing to help get the old man wherever it was he wanted to go today.
"RIGHT!"
"Wait, right or left!?"
"RIGHT!"
"But you said, left!"
"RIIIIIGHT!"
"Oh, forget it." It was pointless to argue with the Ol' Man of the Mountain. The guy was as senile as they came… "OH FOR PETE'S SAKE!" Bunny yelped as a pile of snow landed on his head bringing him from his thought.
"WHY IS THERE SNOW IN SPRING, ASTER!" Man hollered, chuckling.
"Because Jack Frost needs his butt kicked!" the Pooka shook his head in exasperation, "And when I see the little dingo I'm going to…"
"STOP!" Man screeched.
Startled, Bunny stopped his threat and piled on brakes, but momentum isn't as easy to halt and the sled slammed into his cotton-tailed rear. Suddenly the great Easter Bunny was in the lap of Ol' Man.
The sled raked and bounced along the rough terrain, sailing through a puddle. Bunny took the brunt of the freezing spray.
"TREE!" Man boomed, right in Aster's ear.
"OW, mate you can't just- TREE!" Both spirits braced for impact-
Birds took flight, cawing their discontent at being disturbed. At the base of the mighty oak, the rear of the sled crashed back down to earth, the front bent and broken beyond repair.
Man blinked, safely strapped to the basket, at the scene around him.
Plop. Bunny fell back into the sled from the tree, ears ringing. The Guardian's eyes narrowed when Ol' Man appeared above him.
"Rise and Shine, Aster! Come on, get up, upsey-daisy!"
Aster groaned, "Why do I always get hurt around you?" Suddenly, Bunny sat bolt upright. His ears twitched this way and that, the pooka hearing an unheard sound. "What the bloody hell does he want now…." The pooka growled slightly, "Look, Man, I've gotta go, North is calling for some reason. Are you gonna be-" he looked around in surprise.
Old Man of the Mountain was nowhere to be found. Bunny shrugged "Reckon so, then." And with a double tap of his foot, he disappeared down a hole.
Pitch Black was pacing, had been for nearly an hour now, golden eyes gleaming with anger slash anticipation. "Where the hell is he? He should have been here by now!" He was almost certain there was going to be a visible path in the rotting wood floor by the time his aid of choice arrived...
The spirit was in the middle of yet another track of pacing when a low knocking shook the front of his humble shack. The fragile door was almost ripped off its hinges by a frantic Boogeyman.
"What took so long!" He snapped at Old Man of the Mountain who stood blinking at him in the doorway. As the old spirit passed by him and into the house, Pitch added under his breath: "And when was the last time you bathed..."
"You're looking sharp too, Mr. Black." Came the man's curt reply. "Now, how is the boy you called me to see?"
Pitch blinked himself into composure. "Not good I am afraid."
"So I see." Man muttered when he came into view of the young spirit.
There on the floor lay the boy, wrapped in any and all things that could be considered warm from the shack. His nose was red and cracked, as were the tiny fingers that gripped the blanket in a vice like grip. His breaths were miniscule and gurgling, and he shook with each exhale. His silver hair was lustrous, despite the dirt and tangles, but not as shiny as the collar around his little neck, glinting evilly from the fireplace.
"You said in the Eagle Mail that you needed my herbal advice."
Pitch nodded at the mailman of the spirit realm. "Yes."
"But I've seen you help another with frostbite before..." The shade's head slowly swiveled to face the elderly man, his throat closed and his heart erratic. "Yes, I saw you help the poor girl, even if she didn't know it. She was so upset when her brother fell in, so confused and stunned, but it was you convinced her to get off the ice. You checked in on her, every once and a while, just to make sure she didn't do anything stupid." Old Man continued, even though he could almost see the Nightmare King's heart racing.
"And I saw you help her brother when he awoke. Calming him down in his own devastating blizzard. Reminding him when he didn't believe in you, when he had no one, that he shouldn't just give in.." Pitch startled when the man pointed a bony finger at him.
"This isn't the first time you've helped a child, Mr. Black." Man stared with gleaming, milky eyes at Pitch's mostly impassive face.
"H-how did you..." Pitch stuttered ever so slightly at the thought of his biggest secret in the hands of a man known for shouting things off mountaintops. Ol' Man simply chuckled as he shuffled over to the young spirit and inspected the band with his finger.
"Oh, Mr. Black." The spirit's voice echoed with wisdom. "My residence is high above. I am the Eagle Eye in the Sky. I see a lot from my vantage point." His face turned grim. "Children always have been your downfall."
"I couldn't leave him, Mountain. I couldn't just leave any of them. I came close this time, this close..." Pitch leaned against the doorway, as much for support as for attitude, and held his fingers an inch apart. "But... I felt like if I left this one behind... I would be leaving a piece of myself."
A log cracked from the flames in the silence that followed.
"Does that make any-" Pitch continued, hoping to get the spirit to respond.
"Silence."
The shade quirked an eyebrow at the interruption "Excuse me?"
"Name."
"Name what?" Pitch snapped, his eyes blazing in frustration.
"One shape."
"What is this, one of your games?" Pitch was not in the mood for the old spirit's shenanigans.
"You can be dense sometimes." Man huffed impatiently. Pitch tilted his head questioningly as Man ran his knobby finger over the three runes that had been etched into the child's collar.
"Silence- he cannot speak until the band is removed. Name- the band will disable if anyone says his name in his presence. One shape- self-explanatory, so he's probably an Animagus, or a Were-Something or other, maybe a vampire but I doubt it."
Pitch blinked sheepishly, "Oh."
"How dignified." Man snorted as he rose and brushed his hands together. "Don't bandage his frostbite and don't let him pick at the blisters. Keep the boy off his feet until that heals. Of course, you didn't need me to tell you that, now did you?"
"I found this kid in a snow drift, Mountain. I don't know his name. I can't help him. I should just turn him in to his owner-" Pitch sighed.
"You should." The spirit nodded, in false agreement.
"But I don't know who that is! It could be anyone!"
"Or you could keep him." Old Man continued as if Pitch had not spoken.
"Excuse me?" Pitch asked for the second time in the past five minutes.
Man of the Mountain smiled sadly "I have some teas for you to brew for him when he wakes. You could probably use some too. The steam will help clear out his lungs and the herbs will soothe his throat. Rub this aloe vera over his frostbite at least five times a day." After shoving a small, burlap bag in a very confused Boogeyman's hand, Ol' Man shuffled past him to the door.
"Mountain…" Pitch spoke without removing his gaze from the resting child.
Blind eyes rested on tar black hair.
"I'm not going to thank you. You've done me no favors by giving me options." Pitch waved a hand, "None the less, I'm sure this boy will thank you... someday."
Ol' Man was silent for a moment before he spoke softly, "I would suggest checking his pockets."
Pitch glanced over his shoulder at the elderly spirit.
"I'm sure he wouldn't have flown the coop empty handed. Maybe there will be something there that'll help you find his owner."
His stern words were empty, for Pitch could see their true meaning.
'or perhaps there is something there that'll help you free him...' The shade nodded his thanks.
"I meant what I said earlier." Man added. Pitch, assuming he was talking about finding the boy's owner, rolled his eyes. "You're looking sharp, Mr. Black. Better than recently."
Pitch turned to face him, puzzled beyond his limits, but Old Man of the Mountain was gone. Stunned, Pitch looked down upon his tattered robe, his shredded pants... and his visible feet.