Chapter Text
The winters had always been hard since his dad died. The walls of his tiny one-room shack were drafty as hell, his blankets were threadbare, his hearth was leaky. Game was scarcer and foraging was mostly nonexistent, and his neighbors with chickens and goats had always charged him extra for eggs and milk. Each winter Keith survived was one that he survived by the skin of his teeth, barely clinging on until the ground thawed and life got a little easier.
The winters were hard, but they had never been this hard before.
Food had been going mysteriously missing from some of the public and private storerooms and Keith, the town pariah, had of course been the primary suspect. The entire village had given him an even wider berth than usual, and eventually someone had the idea to lock Keith up for a few days and see if that put an end to the thefts.
Of course, they hadn't had the intelligence to keep their plan quiet. Whoever was stealing the food had seen the opportunity to make Keith into their scapegoat and took a few days off.
They hadn't even given Keith a chance to defend himself—just immediately broke out the torches and pitchforks and ran him out of town. And they hadn't given him food or warm clothing while he'd been locked in the old dilapidated barn they'd chosen as a cell. He'd been cold and hungry before they even started chasing him.
Daibazaal was a valley town, settled there for the benefits for safety and agriculture. But it unfortunately meant that, if an angry mob decided to block the single road out of town, then only other directions to run all resulted in heading into the mountains. So that’s where Keith had gone. Into the steep cliffs, colder temperatures, biting winds, no real shelter to speak of as far as the eye could see.
Keith kept on walking, nowhere else to go. He'd watched in despair as Griffin led the rest of the town in torching his old cabin, so it wasn't as if Keith could hide out in the snow for a bit and then crawl back once it was safe.
He could only hope that whoever really had been stealing food would continue, and it would lead to all the other villagers to go hungry like he had.
Keith had started the journey at dusk and kept walking, one foot stubbornly in front of the other, out of sheer spite alone. No direction in mind, he just knew he had to keep moving.
But he was so cold. So tired. Dawn was just beginning to creep over the horizon, and Keith didn't have a plan.
He didn't have anything.
Eventually his legs collapsed beneath him, and he sank into the snow. He could try to push himself onward, but there really wasn't a point. Either way, he'd die out here. Maybe if he just slumped forward, the snow would pile up on top of him and just erase him from existence. It would be a better burial than anything he would have gotten at the village.
He laid there long enough for his body to go numb and his vision to turn grey.
And then he slept.
Keith woke up.
He was groggy and sore, every single part of him achy and exhausted. He could hear the fire crackling away, which meant it hadn’t burned down to embers yet, and resolved to just fall back asleep. The wind outside sounded terrible, making its way through the cracks in the walls, but when Keith groped around for his blanket to tuck it over his head, his fingers scratched against rock. Had he fallen asleep on the floor next to the hearth again?
When he opened his eyes, intending to drag himself back to his pathetic, uncomfortable mattress, he was met by an entirely unfamiliar scene. It looked like he was inside some kind of cave, but when tried to cast back to whatever he was doing before he fell asleep, he came up with a concerning blank.
Eventually things trickled together and he remembered getting chased out of the village, stumbling through snow up to his knees, but that memory didn’t connect to where he was now.
There was an expertly built fire, dug down into the rock and crackling contentedly. A pile of extra wood off to the side stood ready for whenever the fire burned through its current fuel. And next to the wood was a rabbit, freshly killed and just waiting to be butchered and cooked.
Unless he had managed to drag himself into a cave, build a fire, and catch a rabbit all while freezing to death and then promptly lost all memory of the experience, someone had found him and brought him here, and they had definitely saved his life.
“Hello?” he called out, his voice weak and raspy, barely rising above the howling wind. “Is anyone there?”
There was no answer.
It felt very ungrateful to start cooking food without waiting for his savior to reappear, so he forced himself to hold off, even as his stomach reminded him of just how long he’d gone without a meal. But as the weak light outside moved across the sky from midday to dusk, no one came.
It occurred to Keith that whoever saved him might be stuck outside and needing help themselves, but if that was the case, there was very little Keith could do. Even if he were feeling strong enough to go out hiking through several feet of snow, his clothing would provide no safety from the cold, and Keith was unfamiliar with this territory. He’d most likely just get himself killed and undo all his rescuer’s hard work.
He was entirely conflicted, but finally started working on the rabbit. No sense letting a good meal go to waste. His knife was still luckily strapped to his thigh, so he set about skinning and butchering it, trying not to think about how the blood might attract unwanted attention from the local wolves or any other predators that could be lurking nearby. He’d just have to hope that they’re scared off by the fire.
The very short trip he made outside of the cave to find some sticks for a makeshift grill froze him down to his bones. He was about to hurry back with the small bundle he'd gathered when the hair on the back of his neck pricked up.
Someone was watching him.
He whirled around and swore he saw a blur of movement, but the sun had already sunk down, making everything harder to see, and when he looked closer, there didn't seem to be anything, man or beast, in the snow and brush.
The wind eventually chased him back into shelter and he sat in front of the fire for a long while to thaw himself out again. Once his hands stopped shaking, he assembled his pathetic little grill and set several pieces of rabbit on top and out of direct contact with the flames. It would take longer to cook this way, but it would be worth it to make sure that his first meal in several days wasn't burnt down to charcoal.
The meat smelled divine as it started to cook, and though he fretted again about attracting some unwanted attention, the scent alone was worth it. He took the smaller pieces off the grill as soon as he was sure they were safe to eat, fairly inhaling them while he waited for the larger ones. Gnawing on the fore legs took the sharpest edge off the hunger, and allowed him to settle back and actually savor the saddle and the loin once they had finished cooking. In the end, he had mostly demolished the rabbit, feeling a bit of residual guilt for it. If his rescuer came back to find that Keith hadn’t left them any food, he couldn’t imagine they would be pleased about it.
But he couldn’t focus on the feelings for long. A good meal and a warm fire had Keith helpless against the pull of sleep. He didn’t know what his situation would be like later, but some more rest was probably the best course of action regardless. He put a couple more logs onto the fire, just to make sure it wouldn’t burn down while he was asleep, rested his head against his arm, and was out in a matter of moments.
The light of day woke him up, and Keith was pleased to see that the sun was managing to make its way through some of the clouds. It didn’t mean the temperature would be any warmer, but it did at least make him feel a little lighter.
When he turned to look toward the fire, he was surprised to see that things had changed. The remains of the rabbit had been cleared away, and a quail, feathers already plucked, was in its place. Next to the fire were several more logs, and a jug Keith suspected contained water.
His savior was clearly alive and well, but there was still no sign of them. At least they didn't seem to be offended that Keith hadn't left them any food yesterday.
Keith pushed himself up, muscles protesting after a long night spent on a rocky floor, and then jumped when something brushed up against his arms.
When he looked down, it was to see two plush furs slipping from his shoulders into his lap. They were luxuriously soft, and he allowed himself to run his fingers through them while contemplating how deeply asleep he must have been for someone to approach him and cover him with blankets.
He had been fine with the fire—plenty warm to at least survive the night. But furs spoke of someone concerned about his comfort and not just his continued existence. No one had cared if Keith was comfortable in years.
He'd thought earlier that his rescuer might have been someone from the village, feeling sorry for him but not sorry enough to show their face. But no one from the village would have given Keith a single fur, much less two good quality ones. And besides, he must have been a few miles away at this point; the journey out here alone was more than any of his former neighbors would be willing to make.
A benevolent spirit? It would be the first time in a long while that anyone, human or otherwise, had been benevolent toward Keith, but was starting to look like a possible answer to this conundrum. Or maybe the fae, looking to put a human in their debt? Though they were supposedly very upfront with the terms of their deals.
Keith kept wondering as he prepared and ate breakfast, not coming up with a satisfactory answer. Keith had nothing to offer. There was no reason for some magical being to want to help and protect him. But he couldn't imagine another human living out here in the wilderness, especially considering Keith hadn't seen any evidence of them. Why not bring Keith into their house instead of needing to traipse through the snow to reach him?
In any case, he couldn't just stay here and use up their kindness without showing some gratitude. He was still exhausted, his body trying to recover from the trek through the snow and the general leanness of winter, so there was a high likelihood he would be sleeping when whoever or whatever it was came back to bring him more supplies. But he recognized some chalk deposits further back in the cave, so he could at least write them a note on the wall and hope they could read.
Thank you for saving me, and for the food and the furs. My name is Keith. What should I call you?
That seemed respectful enough for a human neighbor or a potential mountain spirit. If he was being helped by a fae, then he had just given them his name, but all things considered, Keith owed them anyways. The fae couldn’t be all that much worse than the village of humans left.
That single task done, Keith laid out one of the furs into a makeshift bed, draped the other over his shoulder, and drifted off, feeling cared for for the first time in years.
Keith bypassed the bundle of new supplies the next time he woke in favor of the message that had replaced his on the cave wall.
Hello, Keith. My name is Shiro. I'm glad that you're doing well. I was worried, finding you in the snow like that. Please let me know if you need anything that I haven't provided.
Keith nearly scoffed at the last line, as if this mysterious Shiro hadn’t already given him shelter, warmth, and food. What more could he need?
The lettering was odd, the more he looked at it. The lines were shaky and uneven, but the grammar and spelling were perfect, so Shiro was unlikely to be young or illiterate. Perhaps they were just out of practice with written communication.
The train of thought faltered when Keith examined what Shiro had left him this time. There were two more furs and another rabbit and now a cooking pot, but he was entranced by what accompanied them. Somehow, Shiro had magicked up some vegetables. In the middle of winter.
Keith’s plot of land was never conducive to a garden—too much shade and dry, hard-packed earth, and no one in the village had been keen to share. He’d made do with whatever he could forage, which was never a lot. To see the pile of them here, some parsnips, carrots, and beets, only confirmed Keith's suspicions about Shiro's inhuman nature. Shiro must have been some kind of magical creature, a spirit or maybe even a god, and for some reason had chosen to bestow his gifts upon Keith. It was the first good thing that had happened in his life for years, and he wasn't about to waste it.
He quickly chopped up some of the carrots and tougher parts of the rabbit, tossing them into the pot with some melting snow and letting the stew start cooking before turning to his other task. Chalk wasn't his medium of choice, but it was the best option he had and he set about doing his best to render the landscape in black and white against the cave wall. Artistic talent had never been encouraged in the village, but it wasn't as if Keith had anything else to offer.
He was just going to have to hope it was enough.
Keith almost missed the message the next morning. It was so small and out of the way that Keith panicked at first, automatically assuming the worst. It wasn’t until he had started cooking breakfast that he noticed the tiny, smushed writing in the corner.
Keith, this is beautiful! I don't want to ruin it with my own writing.
Keith raised a brow at the drawing. With fresh eyes, he could see all the imperfections and mistakes, but here was Shiro, magical being of unknown origin, declaring it “beautiful.”
Huh.
I can always draw something new on top of it. Any requests?
He signed the note with a small drawing of his old cabin, feeling a pang of homesickness. It had been barely more than a shack, but it was his little hideaway from the rest of the village, and now it was gone. It wasn't as if he could go back to the village regardless, but still.
Maybe someday he could find something that truly felt like home.
Shiro's next message grudgingly gave him permission to erase the current drawing if Keith replaced it with a scene from a bustling market. Daibazaal had never exactly been "bustling," but Keith could certainly imagine what that must look like, everyone getting their shopping done in a large town nearer to the capital city.
His accompanying message mentioned that he liked pen and ink better than chalk, and lo and behold, a stack of good quality paper and several pens and bottles of ink appeared when Shiro dropped off supplies the next morning.
Keith could hardly believe that this was the payment Shiro wanted for providing him with everything he could possibly need. Well, to be fair, Shiro had never requested a payment, but Keith wasn't so foolish to believe that shelter and food were free. Still, it wasn't a hardship whatsoever to draw any of Shiro's requests, most of which were landscapes: a big lake, the sky at night, fields at harvest time. There was some variety, though. At one point Shiro asked him to draw his "ideal dog."
Keith also decided to try his hand at whittling. He certainly had the time, and while his knife wasn't the best tool (bandages and a few other smaller knives appeared for the next few mornings after Keith accidentally nicked his hand on his first attempt) he found he was decent at it. And Shiro loved the little figurines, regardless of the fact that Keith's first attempts looked more like poorly formed pinecones than identifiable creatures.
He fell into a pattern, the days turning into weeks, the season becoming the most pleasant winter he had experienced in recent memory. He found himself looking forward to each morning, since that was when he got to read the new messages from Shiro. They had gotten into a rhythm of sharing stories about their lives and their pasts. Keith had learned that Shiro had lived in the mountains for about five years, that he was mostly alone and seemed to be as lonely and eager for conversation as Keith was. He was primarily self-sufficient, though he did scavenge more niche items from abandoned carts from merchants who had tried to take a shortcut through the mountains.
Keith, in turn, had shared some stories about his village and about his father, though he had left out the reasons he left Daibazaal in the first place, skirting around it any time Shiro asked. Mostly he just didn't want to talk about it, but there was always a chance that Shiro would believe the villagers' allegations and cut him loose.
Even with that hanging over his head, Keith was…having fun. He'd never had something like this, someone he wanted to learn more about and who seemed to want to get to know Keith in return.
The irony of his situation wasn't lost on him. Only Keith could get chased out of the village, run up a mountain, live in a cave, and have his health and life improve. Beside the humble stone walls and floor of the cave, Keith was living like a lord. The large pile of furs he was slowly accumulating alleviated the worst of the hard floor and cold, and Shiro had also dropped off a few bolts of cloth and sewing supplies when Keith’s clothes began to fray. Food and fuel were hand-delivered each morning, and all Keith had to do was prepare his meals. The rest of his time was spent resting, lounging, taking part in the frivolous artistic endeavors he had always felt guilty for indulging in before now. He had no responsibilities and no one to answer to, except for Shiro, who was thrilled with Keith's gifts of drawings and little wooden sculptures.
It was complete and utter decadence unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and a far cry from the life he’d been living in the village, just barely scraping by.
The only thing he was lacking was the chance to speak to Shiro face-to-face. Shiro dropped off supplies every night, since Keith woke to food and wood for the fire and notes in the morning, but Keith had never actually seen him. He wanted to stay awake to meet his savior face-to-face, but every night he dropped off deep. After the past months and, truly, years, of using everything he had to make it to the next day, his body wanted nothing more than to sleep for as much as humanly possible.
And Shiro hadn't been willing to stay around to wait for Keith to wake. It would have set off a little alarm bell if Shiro hadn't already taken such good care of him. He was safe, and sure that Shiro had no ill intentions. But Shiro claimed that it would "scare" Keith to see him, and nothing Keith said in return seemed to dissuade him.
Well. Keith was just going to have to take matters into his own hands.
Eventually, he had rested enough to be able to stay awake all night, feigning sleep and waiting for Shiro to appear. Every single noise outside made him tense up in anticipation, but it wasn't until dawn was just starting to creep over the horizon that he heard something shuffling further into the cave.
Shiro.
But when Keith opened his eyes, it was neither a human nor a spirit at the mouth of the cave.
It was a monster.