Author's Note: The way that the last chapter was structured, I figured I would write out the next one to give everyone some more to work with in regard to this story. I'm excited for it. Now that it's got two chapters, it's joining the rotation with the rest of them. Thank you for your kind words! I hope that you continue to enjoy!
He is father.
The young man with the mind of an adult and the understanding of a child doesn't know any other word for him.
When he woke up, his body hurt more than it did before he fell asleep. He wasn't alarmed by this though. His mother soothed his worries. This was to be expected. Now it wasn't just the cuts and scrapes that hurt, but his muscles too. He should have known that this was going to happen before he fell asleep last night but... he didn't. It's hard to know what he knows. Some things come to him right away, but other things... he just doesn't know how to understand them. Being here with Mother now certainly helps him, though. She makes him feel safe. She makes him understand that everything is normal.
Mother's beautiful purple light fell across him like a blanket, keeping him safe throughout the night from all the scary things that his mind could conjure and he never even knew existed before coming for him. Nothing could hurt him this night as his mother stood vigil over him. But at some point, after he had fallen asleep, Father came to him.
He woke up, still in pain, but warm and safe. He carefully rolled from his side to his back, letting the large head lift from his ribs before it settles across his chest, large jaws chopping a bit before falling still once more.
The instinctual fear that he awoke with yesterday, doesn't follow him into today. He knows that he's safe. His mother is looking out for him and... he feels it. What lays on him now doesn't want to hurt him. And if it did, he wouldn't be alive. But Mother is keeping him safe. Mother scared away the things that wanted to hurt him. For tonight, at least, because he couldn't defend himself. So, Mother keeps him safe.
He feels his chest rumble as the beast resting its head and throat across his sternum begins to purr. The vibrations deep and soothing, putting him back to sleep, hugging the massive face taking comfort in it being there. His memory thus far has only been pain, but this is something else. This is something calming. Something soothing. Something welcomed and fresh and new. He didn't like yesterday, but he does like today so far.
Here, he was safe. So, mimicking the feeling as best he can, he softly purrs back until the sound and feeling puts him back to sleep. Mother is watching over him, but now too, is the beast that she allowed to come close. A beast that doesn't want to hurt him. A beast that lulls him to sleep, and protectively wraps around him.
He knows, instinctively, as Mother wraps around him warmly as well, that this isn't a beast. This is Father. And now that Father is here, he will help to keep him safe. Knowing this, understanding this, the son falls back to sleep, cuddling and nuzzling close to Father.
He dreams this time, his brain able to create a image. But it's nothing scary. It's warmth and love and safety. It lets him sleep peacefully.
Father woke him up some time later, ignoring the low groan he let out, body still hurting from the day before, gently nudging him when the sun was high in the sky, rumbling lowly until he came to.
Father is towering. The son has to look up in order to stare into Father's blue eyes from where his head dips down beneath his sharp shoulders.
Father's long, powerful body is a pale white color that is muscled and almost leathery to the touch. It glistens in the light Mother radiates from all around them, giving his skin a purple hue. When he stands at full height, his shoulders, the highest part of his body, rests a good three or four feet above the son's head. Father doesn't mind as the son inspects him. Touching the fans that spread from his face. His long, flat tail. A long, thin finger poking at large, sharp front teeth and then claws on its feet. He touches the softer skin around the holes by his neck and then along his ribs, pressing his ears against his white skin to listen to him breathe, fascinated.
Golden eyes wide with curiosity as he studies Father. And Father let him poke and prod at him for a while, gently nuzzling or growling softly whenever he touched something he shouldn't - like wrapping a hand around a dangerously sharp claw or whatever else could hurt him. Father only put an end to it when the son's stomach started to growl. He knew that he needed to eat but didn't know how to do that. How to get food so that he wouldn't be hungry anymore.
But thankfully, Father was there to teach him.
Father taught him... everything. For the first few days, whenever Father would go out hunting, he would carry the son on his back. After falling off twice, the son finally realized he could hold onto Father's neurowhips to keep securely on his back, as well as squeezing his thighs into Father's side. His weight was nothing to Father. As Father would stalk through the forest in search of a meal, then dropping down into a low crouch, tracking prey until an easy kill could be made.
The food was always good at first, hard and chewy and moist with blood and water, but it always made the son ill afterward, no matter what it was. Nothing horrific or life threatening, just a churning stomach and sometimes explosive vomiting that he couldn't stop. But returning to Mother made him feel better. Even if it was just to curl up at the base of her trunk and sleep away the sickness. He knew it frustrated Father, as he would go pacing about, huffing and puffing, as if unsure of what to do to make him feel better.
The son always hated making Father feel bad, so he would just open his arms to Father and when he would reluctantly drop next to him, the son would curl up into his warmth and try to sleep.
At some point after those first few days, Father taught him how to hunt. How to use his nose and eyes to track prey. Father would huff and puff, bright blue eyes gliding across the forest floor, reading the signs left behind.
The son was horrible at hunting. At least, at first.
Father never gave up, though. Father kept grunting and huffing, nudging his side or nipping lightly at his heels to keep him moving forward. Father was like Mother, in the sense that he wasn't saying anything. He wasn't saying words, but the son could... understand. At least to some degree. Sometimes he would have to have Father repeat himself multiple times, but he was getting better at reading Father's body language.
Father would steer him away from predators or disappear for a brief time to scare whatever it was off himself before lumbering back. Most of the time he would return unruffled, but more than once did Father return with the skin around his mouth bloodied and a chunk of undiscernible meat in his mouth, chewing away. And that was after the son would hear horrible yowling and screeching coming from far off.
Once the son learned how to hunt smaller, safer beasts. Father taught him how to locate more dangerous beasts, and how to avoid them. That's when Father showed the son his special power.
Father can turn invisible.
Except, well, not in the sense that he just vanishes, but his skin shivers and shakes, and then takes on the appearance of what's around him, blending into the environment. It can be simple colors, like he's leaning up against a tree that's primarily brown. Or lowered into a portion of tall grass, his skin mimicking individual blades. Then he would stalk forward so slowly, his skin had time to alter its appearance to compensate for moving. The son worried that others would be able to do such a crazy thing as Father, but nothing Father had him observe exhibited this same ability.
Father taught him how to swim. The son liked swimming. It was one of the easier things that the son was able to pick up on. Father taught him how to catch the prey of the water too. They started easy, in streams and creeks where the fish would be easy to spot. But after a few weeks, Father would take him to larger rivers and even lakes, showing him how to keep an eye out for what lurked in the depths and how to clean himself.
It was interesting watching Father take a massive paw and run it down one of his other front three arms, acting like he was washing himself. But after a good ten minutes of the son laughing and mimicking Father, just gently touching his hand to his arm, he finally showed that he understood.
Father taught him what berries - one of the few things he's eaten thus far that hasn't hurt his stomach - are good and which are not. That one was a tough one to remember, because some of the berries look so similar to one another. The son made sure to show Father the berries before he eats them, just until he's more confident in figuring out which is which.
Father also taught him how to climb. And it was in this lesson, that Father finally took the son away from Mother. It was time that he leave her side, after months of sleeping under her bright purple light, he had to leave.
The son cried when he realized, pushing away Father's muzzle when he tried to sooth him and curled up into a ball on the cave floor Father brought him too. He cried, rubbing harshly at his tear-stained face as he writhed on the mossy floor on his back while Father lay next to him, body blocking the exit after the third attempt of the son trying to leave and figure out how to climb back down the side of a cliff that they had to scale to get there.
But morning was coming, and Father had been slowly transitioning them from daytime to nighttime, as Father preferred to sleep during the day.
Father whined in a whistled tone through his massive teeth as the son cried, babbling nonsense, no coherent words coming from him. The son rolled onto his side, away from Father to sob in perceived peace. After a while of this, Father inched his way closer and closer, until his massive head rested against the curve of the son's ribs, waist and hip, closing his narrow blue eyes and purring soothingly, as he had done every night that the son was scared. Where their adventures brough about scary beasts or things that hurt him, or night terrors that his mind conjured from gnashing teeth and sharp claws, from tanks of water and strange little beasts reaching out for him. Any time that the son needed soothing, Father was there.
He cried himself to sleep, not understanding why he wasn't allowed to go back, but he couldn't stay mad at Father forever. Or for long, for that matter. At some point, during the night, Father's head landed on his chest once more as he curls closer to Father. He wraps his arms around Father's head, purring back lightly while he sleeps, finding comfort in Father being there.
The next night - or day? - wasn't easy either. The son cried and whined but settled down curled up with Father's head on his chest, the edges of deadly teeth lightly scraping against his collarbones. The day after there was more sniffling, but no crying. And the day after that, he was playing with the flowers that he found earlier that day that he picked and brought to the cave with him as he drifted to sleep with Father curled up next to him.
Their life was fun. The son enjoyed sleeping, curled up with Father every day, and at night they would explore the forest. They would go swimming and hunt prey and Father would show him all sorts of things. They would play games and run through the forest. Father would hunt for him and he would have to hide - he has never been able to hide for long from Father - and they would switch it up - Father was always able to get away from him. It was their lives. Day in and day out.
Every couple of days, the son would sneak away during the day to lay out in the fields and feel the sun beating down on him. He enjoyed the heat and admired Mother's children in all the forms they took around him. They were all equal parts beautiful in the day and the night. And he loved it all. His fear of the beasts when he first woke up steadily faded with time. He never saw them again and he suspected that Father lead them away from the beasts. That their home was somewhere secure and hidden from where the beasts hunt.
They couldn't hurt him. He was safe.
He was getting good at sneaking in and out of the cave without Father noticing. He just had to pray that he would be able to get back in before Father would be up for the night. He's not sure how long it's been since he first woke up. So many sun rises and sets have come since he first woke up in that strange place. Father doesn't know the passage of time, just when it's time to sleep and it's time to wake. Mother is a constant, thankfully. Father doesn't force him to stay away. Just those first few nights, to get him used to not always being with her. But now they go to see her whenever he wants to.
So, he happily gets to spend his days in leisure. Exploring and learning all about his mother's beautiful world. Every day is an adventure and he's so happy to be home. He doesn't know about the life the him before had, but he wasn't with Mother, so it couldn't have been as good as he has it now.
The son stretches out his long limbs in the grass, not minding the scratchy feel as he rolls onto his side, tail lightly tapping against his thigh as he stares at a line of bugs crawling up a blade of grass with wide golden eyes. He catches strands of his long black hair blowing in the breeze. He carefully pulls a stray leaf from it, twirling its stem, fascinated by the way the light bounces off the length of it. He carefully lowers the leaf down into the grass for the bugs to use in their travels.
He rolls onto his back to look up at the pretty blue sky, watching the clouds gently float by, hypnotized by their beauty. He's not sure how Mother was able to make everything so beautiful, but he's envious. Everything she made was just perfect. How could he have been the one that was lucky enough to be her son? When she made so many perfect things?
Father will pin him down and lick his hair in an attempt to keep it clean, but all he does is unravel the woven hair at the spot at the base of his skull that no one he doesn't trust is supposed to touch. Mother made it special. Made it so that others could connect to her, like he can. But unlike pretty much everyone else, he doesn't need it to be able to connect to her. But it's still something precious, he knows. He's never needed to use it, but he knows that he has to keep it safe.
He reaches out to touch the strands of hair at the side of his head, pulling them up until they fall through his fingers. He blows away the strands that land on his face, roughly pushing them out of the way before rolling back onto his side once more to stare at the bugs.
He tracks their movements for as long as he can before his eyes just get too heavy and he can't keep them open any longer. He yawns, stretching out his arms and legs before tucking them close and curling his tail over his thigh before basking in the warmth of the sun and closing his eyes.
He wakes up a few hours later, feeling something resting against his legs and something else against his back. He leans up slowly to see other predators that Father has taught him to hunt and to avoid being hunted by. Much smaller than Father, but not as large as the son, they are six legged beasts that growl and snarl and bark while they hunt in packs. They weren't like Father's kind - those that were smaller than Father but still larger than the son - because they hunted alone. These beasts hunted in packs. Sometimes just a handful, other times, seemingly innumerous.
A few of them sleep around him, pressing into his back and legs; one is nestled in the curve of the back of his neck. All sleeping peacefully. Father will be angry with him if he finds out that the son slept through a bunch of predators getting so close to him. He sits up slowly, carefully not to disturb the sleeping beasts around him. Daringly, he reaches out and gently runs the pad of a finger down the spine of one of the beasts. It twitches, groaning at the disturbance, before settling down once more and falling back to sleep.
The son smiles, ears flickering as he moves to his feet, stepping over the sleeping bodies and heading back toward his cave where Father is no doubt still sleeping. He glances up to see the sun has already begun to fall toward the horizon. Before he hits the trees across the field a tickle at the back of his neck stops him. He senses eyes on him and immediately he drops onto his hunches, ears swiveling around, trying to find the source of the feeling.
His eyes scan the space around him. He holds his breath, trying to discern what it was that was watching him. None of the beasts in the field are reacting. They don't sense any danger. Maybe... maybe he's just sensitive because he was caught off guard already while he was sleeping, and he doesn't want Father to catch him too. Then he's really going to be in trouble.
Scanning the space around him once more and not seeing anything, the son quickly turns around and vanishes into the forest, heading for the cave. He takes the roundabout route that Father taught him, dipping through bushes and crawling between rocks and crumbling roots until he makes it to the cliff. He scales up the side of the cliff with practiced ease. Father is still sleeping in the darkness of the cave, resting on his side, tail occasionally slapping against the moss-covered ground in his dreams. The son makes his way to his sleeping spot, curling up with his tail wrapped around himself.
Despite the warmth of the sun still seeped into his skin, the cave is dark and cold. The son curls close to Father to absorb his warmth. He wraps his arms around Father's head, pressing his face close to Father's muzzle. He presses his knees into Father's chest, trying to absorb as much warmth as possible. Father groans, jaws splitting open to yawn loudly before nuzzling close, dropping a massive paw onto the son's shoulder and back, nails gently kneading into the skin to urge him closer. The son's tail wraps around his ankles as he curls into a little ball, closing his eyes and going back to sleep.
The son splashes in the water, laughing to himself as the fish swim around his feet. He perches up onto a rock, dipping a toe into the water and laughing again when the fish nibble lightly at his feet. He scoots back onto the rock, stretching out his long limbs before laying down onto his back, letting the warm sun dry his wet skin. He rests his arms above his head on the rock, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the rumbling in his stomach. He spent all night throwing up after his meal earlier. This one was particularly bad.
Father was so distressed. He's not sure why the food isn't agreeing with him. But sometimes he's okay with it. Just a little bit of an upset stomach, earlier today was really bad for him. He's starving, he can feel his stomach cramping and growling but he's not brave enough to try to eat anything. So, he just pushes down the feeling and focusing on having fun. In relaxing and enjoying the gift that Mother gave him.
He twists onto his side on the rock, curling into a little ball with one leg extended into the water, staring at the fish swimming around playfully. He runs his fingers over the rough surface of the rock, listening to the sounds of the running water and the forest singing around him. He runs a finger along grooves in the rock, either naturally made or perhaps through scraping of nails from a beast of some sort, he's not sure.
A flicker of white catches his attention and the son peaks up to see one of Mother's seeds lowering gently toward him. He smile, twisting onto his back once more and holding a hand out to her. She drifts down into his hand, tickling his palms as he brings her down to his chest, not daring to put any pressure on it in fear of hurting him, before purring lovingly.
She dances in his palm, long white tendrils fluttering with each bounce. She bounces around a bit, filling him with love and warmth. He purrs, pressing his face close but letting her close the distance, brushing lightly across his face before she gently swims off, drifting into the open air and away into the spiral of trees above him. The son lays onto his back, smiling up at her as she floats off.
Movement just off the center of his focus draws his eyes toward a figure perched up on a branch over the top of him. His eyes glaze over it, not fully picking up on it. Then he blinks, eyes flickering back up towards it before he freezes, seeing a face peering down at him. The son freezes, golden eyes blown wide as he locks eyes with a similar pair of golden eyes.
The son's eyes widen, suddenly struck in terror. He jerks up into a sitting position, staring up at the face, ears pushing back tightly against his skull. The figure's own ears perk at the movement. Slowly, carefully, he pulls his foot from the water and raises up from his sitting position, muscles tensing, ready to make a run for it. His leg slides up underneath him and he jumps to his feet, springing across the rocks toward the field that will take him back home. Heart pounding in his chest, he leaps over logs and roots and ducking under low hanging branches, having memorized the path home so well that he could travel it with his eyes closed.
Not that he was going to, especially now that there was something out there that was watching him. He has to get out of here and get back to Father. He's going to be so mad when he learns that not only has the son been sneaking out but beasts have been tracking him. Getting close to him. Getting so close in fact that if he hadn't just looked up randomly, he wouldn't have even noticed something right over the top of him.
Just before he makes it to the break in the trees leading into the plain, the path to his own on the other side, a figure drops down in front of him. The son drops into a hunch as the figure slowly does.
The beast before him holds out his hands, one holding a curved stick with strange splashes of color across it and things dangling from it. The son's golden eyes follow the movement of the strange things, before remembering that he's in danger. His eyes dart back toward the beast's own golden eyes. The son's ears press to his skull and his lips pull back as he hisses, his heart pounding in his chest. All the beasts that he has hunted and killed have been smaller than him, something that he could kill with his bare hands, as he doesn't have claws like Father does. He's never fought a beast his size, or bigger, like this one is.
The beast wiggles his finger, four on each hand as he lowers to a crouch, placing the colorful stick onto the ground next to him. When his lips part, a strange noise comes out. Not like the huffs and snarls and grunts that the son is used to coming from Father. It's strange. Smooth. His brain takes a second to recognize language. He doesn't know the language, but he knows it's... communication. The beast is speaking to him.
The son lowers closer to the root next to him, pressing his chest towards it to make himself as small as possible, eyes focusing on the beast in front of him. If he can slip away, he's going to. But this beast before him is... pretty. He has all sorts of strange things hanging off of him. Bright splashes of colors like a pretty flower. A blue flower with its petals painted every color nature has to offer. The son has never seen anything like it. Father doesn't do that. None of the other beasts of the forest do that.
The beast speaks again, making the son's head tilt slightly in confusion. Was the beast speaking to him? But he doesn't speak the beast's language. Why would it speak to him?
The beast stares at him with bright golden eyes, watching his expression. His ears flick back a bit before he speaks again. He seems disheartened by the son's lack of response, so he takes a slow, tentative step closer. The son pulls back, hissing harder and reaching out toward the trunk of the tree next to him. He'll skirt around it if he has to.
The beast holds his hands up higher up and the son doesn't understand why. He shrinks back a little bit. The son lowers behind the tall roots, staring up at the other, trying to decide how he was going to get out of this situation. The beast lowers down more, inching closer despite the son hissing at him, until he's on the other side of the tall root, staring at him.
The son hisses at him again, eyes darting to the side, mentally preparing to run for it, when the beast places his hand up next to the son's. The son glances at it, lips still curled in an angry snarl, when he sees his hand next to the beasts. His brain immediately notes that the beast has one less finger on that hand than he does. Yet the color of their skin is the same. The son blinks a few times, not having a strong enough sense of self to have immediately realized that he was staring at something that looked similar to himself.
Blinking slowly, the son brings a single finger closer. He lightly touches the back of the beast's pointer finger, running it down the length until it touches the back of the hand. Then the next finger. And the next. Then the thumb. Yes. Missing one finger.
Carefully, the son leans in closer, fascinated. Why does he look so much like the son, yet isn't like him? The son stares wide eyed at the hand, grabbing it with his own and touching the fingers, trying to understand how that hand operates while missing a digit. He looks at the palm, then the back of the hand, trying to see where the digit could have gone. It almost looks like there was no space for it to begin with.
The skin on the palm and pads of the fingers are rough to the touch. The son runs his fingers together to feel a sort of roughness but not the same. The son blinks a few times, running his fingers along the beast's, one finger always unoccupied. How very strange.
The beast speaks again and the son, remembering where he was and what was happening, yanks his hands back and ducks low behind the root, peering over the edge into golden eyes. The son's ears press down when the beast shows off a pearly white fang in a weak imitation of a snarl.
No, not snarl, smile, his brain tells him.
He doesn't know. He doesn't understand what's happening. He has to get away from here. He has to get back home before Father realizes that he's gone. He can't stay. He has to go.
The beast speaks once more, voice low and soft, his eyes practically glowing with how bright and shining they are. The son hesitates, wanting to fear this beast but... it hasn't hurt him. He... he hasn't hurt him, despite being able to. He managed to track the son, keep hidden from the son. He could have attacked him, yet he didn't. He still could, but he's not acting like a beast hunting a prey.
They stare into each other's eyes and the son feels... something. Something that settles low in his stomach. A twisting that doesn't hurt, like he's used to it right before the vomiting starts. And usually his throat gets super watery too, instead of how dry it is at this moment. It's not the same. Something that the son doesn't have a word for is happening to him.
His stomach takes this moment to growl, making both of them blink. The beast looks down at the root, as if able to see through it towards the son's stomach, curiously.
Unable to take it any longer, the son launches up and over the root, past the beast and away, racing into the field as fast as his legs can take him. He hears the beast call out behind him, but he doesn't stop. He has to get away. He has to get back to where he's safe.
Chest heaving, heart racing, he makes it to the other side before vanishing into the undergrowth, quickly making his way back home and away from the strange beast that stalked him in the forest.