Last updated: 06/03/2026
A storm showered through the forest canopy, dousing the woods in such dreariness that it matched the sullen gray clouds above. The wet patter of rain rattled against the roof of a treehouse. It roosted amidst the sodden branches of an oak tree, stout and gnarly. The interior stood devoid of light, save for the dim glow of a tarnished window, just barely bright enough to outline some rustic furniture.
A frail, young boy cowered in the corner of the room, pressed against the walls like they would somehow reach out to comfort him. He was barely visible, his dark curly hair and ragged black clothes blending in with the shaded treehouse. Although the treehouse was dry and warm, the boy shivered as though a chill had seized him anyways.
Lightning flashed through the window, briefly illuminating the room with a sudden burst of brightness. An earthsplitting crack of thunder swiftly ensued, shaking the walls of the treehouse in what felt like a menacing demonstration of power. The boy flinched against the quaking walls, a sob wracking his tiny body. Miserably, he held his hands to his ears; a feeble attempt to block out the noise.
Before him, something large slithered in the dark. It was long and snakelike, its body coiling writhingly around the room. The only thing that broke its serpentine silhouette was a brimmed hat atop its head. Slowly, it crept towards the boy, its long dark fur sweeping across the wooden floor like the bristles of a broom. It approached carefully, seemingly aware of its imposing size, though hoping it wouldn’t frighten him.
“Ah. . .” it murmured. It had the deep, rich voice of a woman. “I thought you’d fallen asleep already, my dear.”
She was met with no response. The boy kept his hands over his ears, his teary eyes screwed shut. The creature paused. Hesitantly, an arm extended from her fur, and she gently brushed her fingers over the boy’s shoulder. The boy gasped, jumping at the sensation, but he opened his eyes and met the creature’s gaze.
He sniffled quietly. “Um. . . C-. . .Couldn’t sleep. The. . . the noise. R-rain. The rain,” he stammered, “I can’t. . . I c-can’t sleep in the rain.”
The creature’s expression softened. Her narrow, smiling eyes stood out against her dark fur. “I know. I could hear you crying,” she sighed worriedly.
“I’m sorry, miss,” the boy whimpered. His voice was weak and hoarse, matching his sickly appearance.
The creature tilted its head and asked, “Hm? What do you have to be sorry for?”
“I’m sorry f-for bothering you,” the boy sobbed, “Y-you could hear. . . hear me crying.” He lowered his head with shame as he continued. “I-I shouldn’t. . . Shouldn’t be bothering you w-when you’re letting me stay here. I’m sorry, miss.” A fresh wave of tears squeezed the boy’s voice to a higher, timid pitch, “It’s not fair t-to you, I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” the boy repeated fearfully, droning like his life depended on it. His chest ached, his shivering worsened, and he shrank in on himself with shame.
The creature quickly hushed him before he spiralled any further. “Hey, hey,” she soothed, gently reaching out to scoop him into her arms. She cradled him against her chest - or, at least, the equivalent. “Easy, now, dearest.”
At first, the boy tensed, though he slowly relaxed into the creature’s soft fur. More arms slid out of her body, wrapping around the boy gently yet securely. She carefully cupped a pair of hands over his, supporting them as they covered his ears.
“There’s no need to apologize, my dear,” the creature assured him. “I’m not angry with you.”
The boy sniffled quietly. “Y-you. . . aren’t? You’re not mad?”
“Of course not.” The creature smiled. “If the thunder doesn’t bother me, then you don’t bother me either.” The creature teasingly tapped the boy’s nose with one of her extra hands. “It’s far louder than you are, after all,” she snickered, “I can hardly even hear you over the rain, let alone the thunder."
The boy froze, frowning apologetically. “I’m sorry, miss,” he croaked.
The creature hushed him, wagging her finger. “Stop that. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
The boy’s frown deepened. He instinctively took a breath to apologize again, though the creature cut him off. “Ah, ah!” she tutted. The boy quickly closed his mouth and settled down. The creature’s tone softened, “I think it’s best if you try to calm down and get some rest, dearest. It seems the storm won’t be letting up anytime soon. . .”
“Yes, ma’am,” the boy stammered, careful to keep his voice audible over the rain. “Um. . .” he started awkwardly.
The creature looked at him curiously. “Hm?”
“D-do. . . Would. . . Would it b-be alright if. . . If you s-stayed with me?” the boy pleaded softly. His tone was shy and gingerly, like he was afraid to be asking such a thing “L-like, here, c-can you. . . hold on to me? Would that. . . be alright?”
The creature smiled warmly. She leaned comfortably against the wall, keeping the boy safely embraced against her chest. She tipped her hat down over her eyes, settling down with a sigh.
“I think that would be quite alright.”
The forest glimmered softly in the faint morning light with the sheen of last night’s rain. The bad weather had dissipated with the rising of the sun, which left the trees damp and the ground sodden with mud. A boy crept his way through the wet foliage, clutching a large brown hat tight to his chest like his life depended on it. He took a shaky breath of chilly air, taking in the wet scent of the woods - but with it, there was something else. A heavier scent crawled through the air; it smelled vaguely of fur and wood.
The boy froze, glancing in the scent’s direction. He caught a glimpse of something slithering through the trees. It was large; much larger than him, he knew, and it was dark like the mouth of a cave. The boy tensed, pacing a couple steps away as quietly as possible. He silently cursed the muddy ground for framing his footprints and betraying his path, but he couldn’t cover them now. He needed to make distance as soon as possible.
The boy hurried through the trees, careful not to ruffle any plants as he passed them by. He walked with a limp on skinny little legs; he wore a pair of small black shorts, so it was easy to see that his legs were riddled with countless layers of scars. His face was similarly gnarled, covered with marks that told terrible stories of his past. His scruffy dark hair was curly and unkempt, matching his sweater and shorts in color. The only thing that broke his silhouette was a bright blue scarf tied loosely around his neck. Although one of his eyes was blurry and reddened with blindness, it looked just as afraid as its healthy counterpart. Both his eyes were rimmed with dark circles and deep eyebags that made them look almost sunken in. Even just glancing at his sickly form, there could be no doubt that he was well versed in all things miserable.
His heart pounded in his ears as he paced through the trees. He heard weight shifting behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look and see for sure. This was a familiar feeling - running like prey while praying nothing revealed him to his pursuer. He’s always had terrible luck, falling victim to the most horrible of monsters. They would always find a way to mark him, usually for no reason other than they are cruel. A knife to his wrists, hands around his throat, teeth buried in his legs, bullets clipping his ears, tools in his. . . Nevermind that. It wouldn’t happen again, right?
“There you are,” a rich voice broke through the trees. Panic flashed through the boy’s chest, and he scrambled into a sprint. He clutched the hat tighter as he ran through the undergrowth, no longer caring for the noise it made. To his despair, he heard slithering behind him, but all he could do was keep pushing forward.
In his blind terror, the boy wound up cornered by the lip of a drop-off; a wall of dirt and exposed roots forced him to slow and stop. Desperately, he glanced around for any other escape, but the winding form of his pursuer had already encircled the space like a snake coiling its next meal. His ragged breathing quickened as he watched it approach, stalking towards him on numerous dark arms.
The creature before him was long and bizarrely formless - it would’ve looked like a furred snake if it weren’t for its myriad of ever-shifting arms. Its face was boxy and stout, unlike any sort of animal the boy had ever seen before. The creature smiled triumphantly, looming above him by at least a couple feet. Its narrowed eyes met his, and he held the hat as tightly as he could.
The boy stared at the creature. He didn’t cower, didn’t flinch, just stared. Because he knew the creature wouldn’t hurt him. He knew it, knew her; he’s known her for months, and they had since grown fond of each other. The creature was a guardian - a demi-god shapeshifter tasked with protecting ‘the people.’ That is a loose title; ‘the people’ could pertain to anyone other than her. Although she lived in the remote parts of the woods, she still felt driven to befriend, aid and protect the few people she came across.
When she first met the boy, she had been shocked by the poor thing. It was no secret he was sick and hurt, in more ways than what met the eye. Even if she weren’t a guardian, she would’ve dropped just about everything to jump to his aid. She offered him food and a place to stay, and she attempted to treat his sicknesses, all while he apologized for bothering her and insisted he didn’t need anything. He was a miserable little boy, anxious and afraid of just about everything. She discovered his name was ‘Smallfeather’; an odd name, but apparently he picked it himself. ‘Small’ to represent his dwarfism (he was only 3' 11 " at 14 years old,) and ‘feather’ to represent his drive for exploration - ‘free as a bird,’ as they say. She also discovered he was a sweet little boy, nice and polite even through all his struggles. He called her things like ‘miss’ and ‘ma’am,’ even though she insisted he could just call her ‘Rustle.’
The boy knew the creature’s face. And he knew that it usually had a hat.
“That’s mine, thank you,” Rustle said, swiping her stolen hat out of Smallfeather’s arms. In one swift motion, she threw it atop her head, then suddenly turned to flee the scene. A playful tone colored her voice as she cried, “Your turn! Catch me if you can!”
Smallfeather gasped, then gave chase, squealing with excitement. Although he was weaker than most children his age, he was quite nimble from years of living in the woods. Rustle was sure to keep her pace within his limit, grinning with glee as she heard his hurried footsteps behind her.
It didn’t take long for him to catch up, throwing his tiny body upon one of Rustle’s arms and clambering up her snakelike flank. Rustle startled, skidding to a stop and reaching to pull him off. He clung to her fur like a stubborn tick, his grip firm enough to survive Rustle’s gentle tugging. The boy crawled up the creature’s back; while he didn’t laugh (or even smile,) the look in his eyes revealed his exhilarated joy. He lifted an arm to reach for Rustle’s hat. She caught it with a hand of her own and gently yanked him off, but not before he managed to, once again, steal her hat.
“You cheeky little scamp," Rustle sneered, lowering him to the ground and reaching for the hat. Both their bodies were damp from running through wet plants, but they were also warm from the thrill of the chase. “Where did you learn to steal like that?”
Smallfeather let out a giggle, much to Rustle’s surprise. She realized she'd never heard him laugh until then. The boy spoke breathlessly as he squirmed to keep Rustle’s hand away, “Town! I-. . . I-I lived in a b-bandit town!”
Rustle gave a surprised chuckle. “Well, I suppose they taught you well,” she sighed. She still hadn’t gotten her hat back. Gently, she wrapped her arms around the boy and lifted him up to her eye level. He startled at the movement, but quickly relaxed. He had pulled the hat over his head; it was much too large for him, and he held it in place with both hands. Rustle snickered with amusement at the sight of it. “What, you want to wear it too?” she asked.
Smallfeather nodded - the hat shifted subtly with the movement.
Rustle looked at him for a moment longer, then sighed. “Well, alright then,” she grinned. Carefully, she lifted Smallfeather up and placed him atop her head where her hat would’ve been. Well, it was technically in place, just separated from her head by the boy. As he settled into her thick fur, Rustle gave his shoulder nudge of sass. “You could’ve just asked, you know,” she teased.
“I-I’m sorry,” Smallfeather replied, “I thought- I just thought i-it’d be more fun this way. . .” The mischief had drained from his voice as he spoke, and he became the nervous little boy Rustle was used to once again.
Rustle sat up, finding her bearings and slithering off towards home. “Well,” she started cheerfully, “I think it very much was. Thank you, my dear.”
The boy’s face brightened with relief. His eyes still glimmered with leftover thrill, filling his chest with an unfamiliar feeling, warm and fuzzy. He felt good for once.
And it showed on his face with a smile.
Rustle didn’t see it, but Smallfeather smiled for the first time in years.
“Y-you’re welcome, miss,” he said hoarsely. “Could. . . could we maybe play together again sometime?”
Rustle paused; she had heard the smile in his voice, the way his words pinched up towards ‘E’ sounds from the shape of his lips. She mirrored it with a grin of her own.
“I think that would be delightful.”