#And then the Beast had to come up with this fairy tale about the Woodsman's daughter being in the thing so the crazy dude won't shattert it

[arrimorr-otgw-spam-blog]

I'm so sorry

#otgw #over the garden wall #the beast #honestly I don't even think he is scary anymore #I can rant about how funny and absurd his plot is for hours #Like...remember how the fandom decided that he keeps finding and masterminding different lantern keepers? #the thing is - IT WAS NEVER THE CASE #the woodsman just swung his axe on the guy in the comics and this silly creature went ! and dropped the only thing keeping him alive #And then the Beast had to come up with this fairy tale about the Woodsman's daughter being in the thing so the crazy dude won't shattert it #BUT OH WAIT the woodsman decided that he is going to keep the lantern to himself if that's the case - good job brainiac #and the beast even tried to steal the lantern from him a few times in the series but he had to be sneaky about it #because well shit the guy still has this axe with him #AND THEN WHEN WIRT GOT THE LANTERN IN HIS HANDS WHAT DID THE BEAST DO? #he decided to trick him with the same freaking story that got him into this mess in the first place #He is a girlfailure

[goingoverthegardenwall]

Chapter 10: The Unknown

Life will always have its share of dirt. Mucking up situations that should be clean, obscuring the right path forward, piling up little by little until it threatens to bury you if you’re not careful. Part of growing up, maybe the biggest part, is figuring out what you’re going to do about it.

The Unknown presents two options. The first is sung by the Beast as he serenades Greg’s weakening form, heard as the Woodsman slowly enters the woods, first as purely diegetic music but soon joined by piano and strings:

“Sorrow and fear are easily forgotten when you submit to the soil of the earth.”

The second option comes from a surprising source, a character who never interacts with the Beast but whose advice is good enough that when push comes to shove, knowingly or not, Wirt takes it. It might not be phrased with the elegance of the Beast’s lyrical argument for surrender, but that doesn’t stop it from being Over the Garden Wall’s most important lesson:

“Eat your dirt.”

There isn’t a simple dichotomy between letting problems consume you and consuming problems: after all, actively seeking misery isn’t great for you. And The Unknown provides two major examples of why the generic “never give up!” message on its own is ultimately flawed: Greg and the Woodsman’s determination is noble at its core, but it blinds them to the reality that the Beast is deceiving them. With conviction must come critical thinking and self-awareness, because it’s otherwise impossible to break stubborn bad habits and seek healthier ways to solve problems. 

In other words, the best way to handle difficulty is to fully digest it and grow stronger from it, rather than shovel it in and get sick. Don’t gorge on your dirt, but don’t submit to it, either. Just eat it.

While his long-running trick to keep the Woodsman in his thrall may be the Beast’s cruelest lie, the one that hits harder for me is his method of trapping Greg. We don’t need to see Greg’s adventures to understand the fairy tale logic that drove his quest, where a brave child is given three impossible tasks and overcomes them using his wiles. The Beast gives Greg victories to build his confidence, and those victories are based on guile, allowing Greg to feel like he’s got one over on the villain. Our hero is already in a bad way, and it’s heartbreaking to see him persevere like the Little Match Girl as the cold intensifies.

This message is fittingly hidden in an episode that showcases the full obfuscating power of the Beast. He’s able to twist truth and tropes alike to fit his needs: even something as basic as light representing the known and darkness representing the unknown gets warped, as the episode opens not in the usual shadows of the woods but a blindingly bright snowstorm. The Beast may be a creature of darkness, but this allows him to hide that his soul is a brilliant light. There’s an inescapable feel to the Beast’s machinations: neither the light nor the dark can save you from his lies.

We waste no time reuniting Wirt with Beatrice, and while we’ve had little time with the latter since Lullaby in Frogland, her search for her friends in the past few episodes is all we need to see to understand her desire to make things right. Wirt remains upset with her despite knowing that she saved his life, but is able to see the same fierce resolve to help that spurred him into the snow. Both of them are fueled by guilt and the need to make things right, so after a brief pause that speaks to how much her betrayal still hurts, Wirt takes her along and offers his thanks.

The third piece of the equation is introduced at the old grist mill, scrambling for more wood and finding the cracked stick he tossed away in our first episode. Like Wirt, the Woodsman is determined to save a loved one, and like Greg, his stubbornness allows him to be duped by the Beast. As a man who embodies both of the boys’ struggles, it makes sense that it’s from his perspective, not Wirt’s, that we first see the consequences of his actions. The singing that has haunted us since Songs of the Dark Lantern transitions to an eerily serene children’s choir as Greg is revealed to be covered in branches, and the horrible truth of the woods is made clear: like the suicides in Dante’s Inferno, the lost souls of the Unknown become trees. 

What follows says everything about the Beast and the Woodsman alike. The Beast argues that his servant would have chopped the trees down even if he had known, assuming the worst in humanity, but even this reeks of more deception: if he truly believed that the lie was unnecessary, why lie in the first place? Either he knew that there was a risk in telling the truth and is manipulating the Woodsman now, or he had full faith that the Woodsman would do the unthinkable to help his daughter and is now reveling in his misery. Either way, the Woodsman’s doesn’t second-guess himself for a second, rushing to help Greg regardless of the consequences and renouncing his actions without hesitation. He meets every attempt at placation with fury, and shows that for all his faults, he truly did want to make the world a better place.

Only after the Woodsman and the Beast leave the scene do Wirt and Beatrice find Greg, guided by the same lantern that indirectly caused the kid to get captured in the first place. It’s a harrowing scene even when you know everything will work out okay, but it was especially disconcerting in first viewing: looking at it from a big picture, it was always unlikely that the show would actually allow Greg to die, but it was still possible, considering how close to death the boys are in the real world, how close to death Greg is here, and that Over the Garden Wall was already established as a finite miniseries with this episode as the conclusion. Greg coughing up leaves might be waved off as a joke, showing that he’s still got that childish sense of silliness, but it’s still a gruesome image given the circumstances. The Latin translation of Potatoes and Molasses sung in the background sounds like a ridiculous idea on paper, but turning a joyous highlight of Greg’s journey into a dirge that’s subsumed by the same eerie children’s choir as the Beast’s song works horrifically well. 

But what sells the scene more than anything is the acting. Collin Dean layers Greg’s signature earnestness with exhaustion and pain, wringing sincere emotion from lines like “I’m a stealer” (which isn’t a bad line, but requires an actor of Dean’s skill to not come across as distractingly cutesy). Melanie Lynskey only has one major line in the scene, but her frantic confirmation that leaves are growing inside Greg amplifies the horror without gilding the lily, which isn’t easy when a character is telling us what we’re already seeing. But the absolute knockout comes from Elijah Wood, barely holding Wirt together as he struggles to comfort and free his brother. The guilt over getting Greg into this mess seeps out as Wood’s voice cracks and he forces himself to present a reassuring front. 

Even this conversation, where Wirt owns up to his mistakes and takes responsibility for wronging Greg, is shrouded by the miscommunication that has plagued these characters throughout the series. Beyond the false alarm of Greg’s leaves, Wirt thinks Greg is apologizing for all the things Wirt blamed on him, when in fact he’s apologizing for stealing the Rock Facts Rock. Which adds an extra layer of tragedy when Greg appears to succumb after the brothers hit the same wavelength at last, after Wirt, not Greg, gives their frog a proper name.

Like Greg in Babes in the Wood, Wirt isn’t frightened when he first meets the Beast: both brothers are more focused on how to help the other when introduced to the show’s villain. Wirt’s concern is so great that he dismisses the Beast outright until he’s offered a deal to help Greg, and we see that as much as he’s grown, the old Wirt is still a part of him. For a moment, he allows hopelessness to guide his actions, assuming as he has before that things won’t turn out well. But that signature dithering makes a triumphant return as he changes his mind, impetuously calling the Beast’s plan “dumb,” because at long last he’s gained a greater sense of awareness. A version of Wirt as trapped in his own head as he was in Into the Unknown might’ve taken up the Woodsman’s burden, but this version of Wirt is finally wise enough to not believe his lies.

The Beast’s game is up the moment Wirt stumbles onto the lantern’s secret. Sure, he can put on a terrifying display of darkness, but a monster powered by deception is powerless against the truth. The Beast may succeed in scaring Wirt, but even if his voice cracks the first time around, all it takes is confidently calling a bluff to render the Beast helpless. And I love that this defeat ends all of the deception in the scene, even Wirt’s: he’s putting on a show when he tries for a badass one-liner before blowing out the lantern, but his derisive “pfft” at the Beast’s pleas is legitimately badass. What’s more, his secret possession of Adelaide’s scissors is revealed, the Woodsman realizes that his daughter’s soul was never in the lantern, and the Beast, already defeated, has his true form cast into a harsh light for one last scare.

(I’m not including the image because I think his true form has a lot more power as a glimpse, so here’s a picture of what happens next.)

The ambiguity of our return to the real world is something I cherish too much to try and make definitive claims over the “actual events.” Attempts to decipher the true nature of the Unknown sorta miss that the place straight-up tells you what it is by name. We can’t know whether it’s an alternate dimension or a dream with weird real-world implications or a time warp or literal magic or whatever, and it frankly doesn’t matter. What matters is that when Wirt awakens, he rushes down to Greg instead of swimming up: regardless of what happened or didn’t happen in the Unknown, Wirt has transformed from a child who blames others for everything to a young man capable of selflessly saving a life.

Shirley Jones’s voice breaks me as we see these kids struggle to survive the aftermath of their near-drowning, adapting Beatrice’s theme to a lullaby as her false promise to take the boys home is fulfilled. Yes, we see the bell ringing within Jason Funderburker as Jason Funderberker confuses his relevance in the story, but it’s more important that Wirt calls the frog “our frog” and works up the nerve to ask Sara out. Greg is back to his old self, happy as a clam, and Wirt has one last moment of babbling to show he hasn’t grown all the way out of his confidence issues. Even if we don’t know what the future has in store for them, we at least get the sense that everything is going to be okay as our second Jones takes the stage.

Jack Jones’s final montage shows the scenes that began our journey resolving in reverse order, with three endings in quick succession: Beatrice’s family restored, Jason Funderburker revealed as the singer, and Greg returning the Rock Facts Rock. Any one of these could work as the show’s true ending, as all three involve a different form of truth prevailing. Beatrice’s family is back to their true forms, and her mother tells us a truer means of dealing with dirt than the Beast ever did. The frog’s identity wasn’t much of a secret when given a little thought, as Jack Jones provided his singing voice in Lullaby in Frogland, but confirmation is still gratifying as the show’s final “mystery” is solved. And Greg represents “truth” in the sense of being true to oneself and just to others, while at the same time ridding himself of a tool he used to tell fun fibs.

And yet, some mysteries remain. We have no idea what really happened with the Woodsman and his daughter, especially because he’s apparently been grinding up trees for years. Considering Beatrice’s family seems to live at the mill, does this mean they’ve also been birds for years, or did the Woodsman only recently take it as a means of production? What’s up with the black turtles? Are the frogs on a wind-up toy steamboat launched by two boys? Questions abound without answers, and it’s okay that we don’t have them. Accepting that certain things will always be unknown makes it easier to move past our fear of it, a skill that none of us will ever need to outgrow. 

I can speak firsthand to how tempting it is to let the weight of the unknown overcome you. In 2014, after realizing the path I’d committed to for years wasn’t going to end where I'd hoped, when I had no idea what the future had in store and the unknown was an overwhelming burden, the depression that had consumed my teens burst back into my life. I was incredibly fortunate to have parents willing and able to take me in, because I sincerely don’t know what I would’ve done to myself otherwise.

I spent the fall and winter with them as I tried to regain my bearings, but it took another stroke of fortune to really pull me back from the brink. Friends in New York offered me an open room in their apartment in March of 2015, and it’s impossible to overstate how much that shaped my life: hunting for apartments is hard enough without crippling despair, and it spurred me to get back to something resembling my old life. I started working at another bookstore, this time full-time, and in March of 2016 I applied to graduate school to become a librarian.

I was a school librarian part-time for the next two years as I went to library school, and absolutely loved it. I figured this would be my new path, but it turns out I wasn’t done with misplaced goals. Red flag after red flag sprouted up in the summer of 2018, and I was burnt all the way out after grad school and the grueling teacher’s licensing program, so I ended up turning down a sketchy-looking but secure job before the start of the schoolyear. I assumed I’d be able to find a public library job soon enough, a job that would allow me to work with other librarians rather than acting as a one-person library department: I had years of experience, I graduated from a school with a good local reputation, and I just plain knew what I was doing when it came to working with kids.

It wasn’t until March of 2019 that I finally landed at the job I have now. That’s a very short sentence for another very long fall and winter in my life, with numerous false starts and empty promises and a return to the feeling of total failure from 2014, now with the bonus of intense graduate school loans. It took two more existential crises than I would’ve liked, but I found my place and my people just in time for my twenties to finally be over. The dirt didn’t stop coming after my first career misfire, and I’m sure it won’t stop after the latest one, but I can’t tell you how grateful I am that I didn’t submit to the soil of the earth.

Eat your dirt, folks. Take care.

#the unknown #over the garden wall #otgw #steven universally

[growingstronglikeahighgardenrose]

The Bear and the Maiden Fair

12 Days of Sanditon: Roaring Fire/ Sleep in heavenly peace

Pairing: Esther Denham/Lord Babington

Synopsis: It was the middle of Winter when someone knocked on Esther's cabin in the middle of the woods. The humans of the village had persecuted her for Witchcraft years ago, who would come looking for her? It turned out it wasn't a who, but rather a what: a bear, all black and brown and covered with hair. OR: the one in which Lord Babington is a cursed bear looking for shelter. Fairytale inspired on Rosered and Rosewhite.

Available on AO3

It were times like these when Esther’s need for company was at its highest.

When the wind was howling so loudly not even the sound of the enchanted violin and piano could drown it out.

When her house creaked louder than the roaring fire crackled.

It was her third year out here in the woods, and by now she’d gotten used to the sounds of the woods, the nights used to scare her to a point where she couldn’t sleep until she was utterly exhausted. She’d grown up with scary stories about the woods: monster, goblins, fairies, wild beasts and murderers were known to plague the woods. Though she’d managed to convince herself that half of those threats were fairytales, she knew that the beastly and human predators in the woods were very real. She’d encountered a murdered body, and she’d had to run away from a pack of wolves as well. The stories didn’t keep her up at night anymore, but those memories certainly did.

On a rational level, she knew not to fear. Her house, and the small garden around it, were protected with at least six spells. No humans could get past it. And no animals meaning harm could either. Her spells left enough room for innocent animals to come up to her house.

She liked seeing bunnies hop through her garden, even if they stole her slaw, and she once had a deer walk in during summer. The deer seemingly sensed that it had nothing to fear from her. It had been the first substantial living thing she’d held in years. Prior to that, she’d only hugged and stroked some mice and rabbits, and the chickens. She’d also taken care of a bird with a broken wing once, but birds were hyperactive creatures, they disagreed with her own nature.

Perhaps she should try venturing to the town border and catch a cat. She would love to have a permanent pet. A cat would suit her just right, she’d had one prior to living here.

Wonder if she’s still alive, poor thing was left to Edward’s care.

She took the ladle out of the cauldron filled with water, and poured some hot water in her empty mug. With a flick of her hands, the pot with tea herbs came floating towards her. She added a good amount of leaves to the hot water and sent the pot back to where it came from.

She’d always been a mediocre witch, a taint on the Denham line according to her aunt.

If she only knew. I bet I can do more now, than she ever could. I simply needed the practice. Nothing like absolute boredom to finally take the time to learn magic.

After Edward had ratted out her and Clara, so that he would be the only one receiving Lady Denham’s inheritance, she’d managed to free herself with her magic by sheer luck. Since witchcraft was forbidden, and she’d quite hated being one, she’d always supressed that side of her. But, as she was locked away awaiting her witch trial, the combination of the panic and the wish to live, she’d called on some kind of instinctive magic which had destroyed her restraints. She’d fled, taking all of Lady Denham’s books on witchcraft, and all the clothes she could carry.

She’d been walking through the woods for two days by the time she stumbled upon the old woodsman cabin, it hadn’t been inhabited in a decade and had been barred shut to protect it from rogues and animals. With the same instinctive magic, she managed to get the layers of wood shielding the door and windows away. The house was sturdy and the furniture had still been present.

After mastering a couple of practical spells, she’d returned to the town in the dead of night to steal more of her belongings and some practical necessities. But she tried to keep her visits to a minimum. With every visit she risked exposing herself.

She stared at her three meagre bookshelves. She’d read everything at least twice, and some even more than twenty times.

‘If only there was a spell to magically produce an interesting book.’

She eyed the periwinkle blue and wine bottle green book on the second shelf.

She felt like reading a tale set in Winter. ‘Andersen or Grimm?’

She’d taken to talking to herself out loud as a means to kill the silence. She’d never gone without talking for a day. She just couldn’t bear it. She sang as she cleaned, she hummed as she made dinner, she mumbled as she practiced the hand movements for spells and she cursed herself for screwing up certain spells. In many ways, life in the woods had killed her awkwardness and shyness. In the village she’d always been quiet, rarely talking, and rarely making a decision, she’d left it all to Edward. She didn’t feel the same inhibitions in the woods, she found she enjoyed talking and singing, and she’d made every decision ever since. Now of course, you could ask the question how much of her shyness had actually gone away, since she never interacted with another human being since, Esther asked herself the exact same question from time to time, but there was no doubt to the fact that she felt more comfortable in her own skin.

‘Too moody, Grimm it is’, she decided. With a move of her pinky and index finger, the book started floating towards her.

However, it was surrendered to the gravitational forces when a knock on the door startled Esther. The book collided with the wood log table, and sent her cup of tea toppling over.

Impossible.

Knock knock.

Esther rose slowly.

Was someone actually knocking on the door? Humans couldn’t get past the fence. She took the poke from the fire.

The sound returned.

  It sounded blunter than a knock. Like something soft and heavy bumping against it.

A wounded animal perhaps?

Mindful to stay away from the windows, she moved towards the door.

She waited for the sound, three inches removed from the door.

Something knocked against the door again.

Whatever produced the noise wasn’t about to give up.

‘Come on Esther, it speaks volumes that not a single person has managed to get to your door in these three years. It has to be an animal, and a well intending one at that. Have some faith in your own spells. Damn it, are you a Denham witch or not?’

She took a deep breath and reached for the handle, slowly turning it over and opening the door a couple of inches.

Nothing could have prepared her for what was on the other side.

She shrieked, slamming the door shut as fast as she could.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  A bear.

A very big,

very brown,

very tall bear.

The bear scratched against the door, making a pitiful sound.

She wasn’t going to start feeling guilty for keeping out bears now, was she? Having a deer in her house was one thing, but a bear?

The bear seemed to make a sound close to moaning, a deep, bearly moan that was.

‘It’s not going to harm you, it’s gotten past your defences. It isn’t even scratching your door. Come on, it’s probably hurt. You can always immobilize it with a spell if anything happens… it’s still a bear though… A bear caught in a blizzard.’

She looked outside the window. It had been snowing for three consecutive days. She couldn’t see the ground or even the green of the trees anymore. All was white. It was freezing. And this bear was out in that horrible snow storm.

‘Aren���t they supposed to hibernate? They’re not made for walking around in the snow.’

That was it. She wouldn’t allow some silly unfounded fear of hers to lead to the potential death of an animal. She was intended to be a friend to the animal kingdom.

She opened her door again.

The bear was still there.

‘Alright, come in but please don’t kill me’, she squeaked as she pulled the door open as far as it could go.

The bear came in. Its coat was completely covered with clumps of snow, and it had visible difficulty walking.

She closed the door and looked at the creature. It was bigger than any living thing she’d seen before, yet it still fit inside her small home. He was higher than a table, and longer than she, but not by much, a foot at most.

It had to be close to freezing to death, with all that snow caked in its fur. He was very lucky to stumble upon her house. She doubted he would’ve made it much farther, judging by how skinny he was and how slow his movements were.

She pushed aside the log table and her comfortable chair.

‘Come lie in front of the fireplace, so that the snow might melt.’

The bear all but collapsed near the fire, a last soft sound escaping from its mouth.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 She stared in shock as her house became silent again. Her instruments had stopped the second she heard his knocking, and now that the bear had fallen down, there was only the sound of the wind and the fire.

Had he died?

‘Bear? Bear?’ She gently pushed him with her foot. Its eyes blinked.

Alright, he was alive.

‘Let’s get you warmed up.’

She took her brush, and started bristling his fur. The clumps of snow had hardened into ice. It was hard to get out, but she was determined to get the cold clumps off his body.

As she worked on his fur, she found her heartbeat calming down. The initial sight of him had scared her, but her fear slowly melted as he lay there on her carpet like an oversized cat, undergoing her ministrations.

‘I think I’m getting it all out. I wonder if you’re warm enough though. I would offer a human some hot food or a hot drink but I doubt you’d be able to consume that.’

Of course, the bear couldn’t answer since it was a bear. So Esther was left frustrated as she tried to figure out the next step.

Deciding that staring at him until she found out what he needed wasn’t useful either, she picked up her empty cup of water, filled it again, and sat down in her chair to continue her reading.

She didn’t know for how long she’d been reading, when suddenly the bear stood and turned, before lying down again. It was facing her now.

She frowned at the bear. Why did it do that?

Was it because its position had become uncomfortable? At least it was a sign the bear still had some life. It could be a sign that it was getting better after its dangerous adventure in the blizzard.

It wasn’t attacking her, that was a good sign at least.

Instead, it seemed interested in her. Its eyes were more alert now, and to her shock she noticed that his eyes were an odd shade of green with flecks of blue and grey.

Was that normal?

  ‘Hey there’, she said in an attempt at kindness.

She felt a lot sillier talking to this creature than she normally did while talking to an animal.

Nothing silly about it, it can’t understand you and it won’t judge you for speaking either, just like those mice and bunnies.

The bear blinked at her and she returned to her reading, going back to reading out loud.

By the time she’d finished her tale and looked back at the bear over the top of her book, it had closed its eyes.

‘Alright, you sleep by the fire’, she sighed before stretching and yawning.

The bear opened its eyes again, as if it understood that it was being addressed. No, that couldn’t be.

She was starting to get so desperate for company she actually started imagining the animals listening and reacting to her.

‘I’m going to go to bed. Don’t do the animal thing okay, I don’t want to clean bear dung from my floorboards. Try holding it until tomorrow morning.’

The bear’s head moved.

No, it couldn’t understand her, could it?

‘Goodnight.’

‘Nnnnaam.’

Esther had to laugh, its bear noise almost sounded like ‘night’, but that couldn’t be. She blew out all the candles. Only the light of the fire now illuminated the giant figure in front of the fire.

‘Okay, see you tomorrow.’

She opened the door to her bedroom and closed it after her. She shook her head with a smile. A bear in her house, which almost seemed to respond to her talking, it really couldn’t get much crazier than that. As she crawled into her bed, she wondered what happened once something stepped foot on her property. Animals with good intentions could, but what if they suddenly turned violent, would her protective spells make the animal disappear? Or would it be able to attack her since it had already passed the wards?

She eyed the door, her heartbeat picking up again. The bear hadn’t given her any reason to fear it, but it was still a wild animal. In the end she cast a light spell on her door so that only she could pass it, after that she fell into a peaceful sleep.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

   She had to admit her brain hadn’t been working when she woke up the next morning. Because she got out of bed like she did every day, and put on her wool stockings and warm morning gown, taking no trouble to brush her hair, before stepping out of her room.

But as she rubbed her eyes, she managed to get a glimpse of something moving in the corner of her eye.

That was the moment where she was snapped out of her sleep drunken state and started screaming.

The bear was just as sleepy and just as startled, but more so because of the scream than the sight of the woman. Just as she screamed in surprise, the bear was rendered mute by shock.

She’d slammed herself into the wall, staring at the bear as she caught her breath. The previous night came back to her, yet to see the bear in bright daylight, humongous, with sharp discernible teeth in its mouth, was enough to get her a bit scared again.

‘Oh, it’s you. I’d quite forgotten about you.’

A sound left the bear’s mouth.

‘I’m sorry, alright. My head doesn’t function in the morning.  You doing better?’

The bear seemed to nod again.

‘I’m going to have breakfast. I don’t know what to give you.’

The bear moaned.

It looked so skinny. It had to eat.

‘Oh if only I knew!’

The instinctive magic inside of her welled up again, making a book fall off of her shelves.

Esther  and the bear broke eye contact because of the sound.

‘What on earth? Oh.’

A book on animals, she’d forgotten she had it, it was one she rarely read. She’d brought it with her so she’d be able to look up all the creatures potentially living in the woods, to find out whether they’d eat her or not.

‘Let’s see what kind of bear you are.’

The bear  stood and walked to her. It seemed to want to look at the book.

Should she sit down so he could see?

As she wondered on what she should do, the bear decided for itself, and lifted itself on its legs.

She had so miscalculated its height. Its head almost touched the ceiling. She didn’t even reach its shoulders.

Her heart started beating.

She’d seen foxes, stags and horses and she’d been threatened by wolves. But the sheer size of this beast was like nothing she’d ever seen before. It dwarfed her.

‘Sit down, I’ll sit down with you. Just… Don’t stand.’

  The bear let itself plop down again, and lied down on the ground, making itself as small as possible. She sat down on her knees and laid the book on the floor. There were five bears in the book. He obviously wasn’t a white one, nor a panda or a black one.

He made a sound as a large paw with giant claws landed on a page.

Stiff with fear, she pushed his paw aside.

‘Alright. So you say you are this type of bear? Let’s see… It says you eat… Everything, potentially… Me.’

She didn’t want to give it ideas though. The bear made a sound, it didn’t sound enthusiastic.

‘Fish. Grasses and stuff, slim chance at that… Berries… If you can eat everything, I think you might be able to eat some porridge with berries like me. You’ll probably need more of it though.’

Luckily, she had a year’s supply of it, just like she had bowls and bowls filled with jams and dried berries. The one good thing of her garden, and a forest filled with wild berries during three seasons of the year.

The bear happily ate four plates of porridge with berries before he seemed to be satisfied.

‘Seems the cold froze your instincts as well, a bear eating human breakfast’, she laughed.

 There was no guideline for taking care of starved bears though, so Esther didn’t know what to do with the unexpected guest. It was December, and there was little to do in the winter season. She couldn’t exactly play boardgames with him.

Turned out she didn’t have to, for after breakfast, he went to the door and starting thumping his head against the door. She imagined that if he were a cat, he’d start clawing at the door, but the bear seemed to sense that his claws would destroy the door.

‘You need to go out? You can go. And, should you need to, you can come back here.’

  She opened the door and the bear walked past her, brushing against her legs as he did so. He didn’t look back as he walked into the woods. Esther remained standing in the portal for longer than she liked to admit. And if she sat down on a chair near the window to regularly check the woods, she wouldn’t tell.

‘This is so stupid, it’s a bear. It was already strange enough that he came by once, why would he return? They’re meant to steer away from humans.’

She looked outside again.

‘Though I hope he won’t starve.’

The silence was getting to her again, so she made the piano play a cheerful tune.

Tea, she needed tea. Her cauldron of water was empty. She walked outside, humming to herself as she made the cauldron float behind her.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  It was in this instant, as she was picking up snow and throwing it in the floating cauldron, the ice biting in her hands, that she was once again startled by a sound.

But this time it was no growl, nor was it the wind howling in the trees. For the first time in three years, Esther Denham heard the voice of another living creature. She looked away from the snow, and her eyes connected to the figure of the bear. Two fish lay at its feet. He was completely soaked, and the water was starting to freeze as he was standing there.

‘What was that?’

The bear looked at her with his odd green eyes.

She had not just heard a voice say ‘Witch’.

‘For a second there, I thought you’d talked.’

‘I can talk?’

Esther would never be able to describe how strange it was to hear a human voice out of the very bear-like mouth of a giant bear.

‘You talk. You can’t. You’re a bear.’

‘You magic-ed. Cauldrons aren’t meant to float.’

  He had a point, she wasn’t exactly normal. But compared to a talking bear, she’d say she was…

‘I’m ordinary compared to you. Everyone’s heard tales of witches, I’ve yet to hear a story about talking bears.’

‘There’s one right in that book of you. Did not those bears talk to Goldilocks?’

‘You know fairytales? I’m not doing this. I’m not… I might be lonely but I am not crazy. I am not talking to a speaking bear knowledgeable on fairytales. I’m starting to imagine things… I’m dreaming. I must be. I’m not mad.’

Shaking her head, she took the kettle by its handle and walked in again, closing the door behind her with magic.

As she hung the kettle on its hook again, she heard a bang against the door.

‘Please. I’m cold’, the voice begged.

‘I’m going mad. I’m actually going mad.’

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 But the bear was wet. And it was freezing outside. And he was frail. Of those things she was sure. The question was whether she wanted to risk her sanity for the life of an omnivorous talking bear.

‘How can you talk?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why didn’t you talk yesterday?’

‘I didn’t know I could talk. I never tried it before. And I was tired, I never felt so weak before. I’d been walking through the snow for days. I thought I’d die until I found this cabin. Used my last strength to get here. I couldn’t move an inch once I fell down on your floor. I can’t thank you enough for helping me and feeding me. I know I look dangerous. I know food is scarce. I… I brought you a fish as a sign of thanks.’

‘But the lakes and rivers are frozen. How did you break through the ice?’

‘It wasn’t easy.’

‘Alright, fine. Let’s go along with this madness.’

She opened the door.

‘Get in before you freeze to death… again.’

‘Thank you so much. To take me in and help me, a bear. You’re extraordinary Miss – actually, what is your name?’

She hadn’t talked to another individual in years. But, she’d talked to him yesterday… he simply hadn’t talked back. Standing in front of another rational creature, she suddenly felt self-conscious. If he could talk, he could think and judge. He already knew enough to know that witchcraft was a weird thing. She doubted a bear would go to the village and inform the villagers of her existence. And though she shouldn’t care about how a bear felt about her, he was the first thing she’d had a real interaction with in years.

‘Esther. Esther Denham. Do you have a name?’

‘I think so. But it’s been so long. I don’t… remember.’

‘You don’t remember your own name?’

‘Never had to use it since… Didn’t even know I could speak.’

‘Since what?’

The bear opened his mouth, but instead of words, a roar came out.

  ‘Nice and clear.’

‘I can’t say, Miss Denham. Let’s just keep it on the fact that I have never talked, because I had no one to talk to. Any name I had, I forgot from a lack of use.’

He was what she had feared to become, before her need to break the silence took over, he was so accustomed to being a loner that he’d given up on all communication. Her heart went out to the creature.

‘What do you want me to call you?’

‘Just call me what I am. Bear’s fine.’

‘Alright, Mr. Bear.’

So she took him to the fire, and started brushing the ice out of his fur again. It felt a little weirder, knowing he was a thinking creature, but she got over it. She’d done so the day before, this changed nothing.

It was surprisingly easy to become friends after that. And she really enjoyed having someone to talk to. It helped that his voice was so pleasant as well. He turned out to be quite amusing. He loved to tell jokes, and dearly loved to laugh with everything, but never in a condescending or mocking manner.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  The days went by, and the bear stayed with her, lounging in front of the fire. At night, she read to him, and during the day hours, they talked about nothing and everything. He was a bear, who seemed to magically know about fairytales, she tried not to think on the oddity of it and tried to treat him as she would a human. They talked about everything except her old life.  That life was dead, and she still felt protective over it.

So she talked about all kinds of things she’d encountered in the woods. And he talked about what he’d seen. They talked about things in the house, about falling asleep outside in the forest, about what they’d have for dinner.

His voice became a companion to hers. And his presence a constant she could rely upon. She knew her feelings for him came too fast and were too deep. But after years of loneliness, her heart jumped at the opportunity to love another being. She continuously told herself she shouldn’t rely on his friendship. She begged her heart to remain rational. This was a bear, and humans and animals could never be actual friends. But he was too smart to be a pet. She knew that whatever was between them, was temporary. The winter months were ticking by, and in spring he’d be able to go outside again. They didn’t discuss it. Whenever spring or summer was mentioned, the conversation turned awkward. It was an unspoken promise to just treasure the time they had in each other’s company.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  It was the middle of January, when Esther walked closer to the village than she should’ve. She knew it was risky during daytime hours, but she needed the light to find certain herbs which only grew near the edge of the forest. She’d been suffering from a sore throat for weeks. The bear had taken to telling her stories so she could spare her throat.

‘So you live!’ A booming voice cried.

Before she could respond, two strong arms took her.

‘Good. I happen to have need of you, sister’, he crooned.

She still wondered how his voice could sound like honey even though his words meant no good.

‘Let me go, Edward. Or I swear I –  ’

‘What? You’ll report me? The town folks will surely help one like you. Have your braincells died after you left society? You’re an outcast. People want to hang you. The only thing they’ll assist you in, is your death. You just try crying out, no one will save you.’

He pushed her down in the snow.

‘So here’s the deal. I’ll let you go if you can tell me of my future. It’s one of the only things you were ever good at. Pity you can’t predict your own, would’ve spared you a lot of misery. I’m planning on investing in something. Is it going to be successful?’

‘Let. Me. Go. Please, Edward… You don’t have to do this.’

He pulled on her hear, shoving her face into the snow. The cold seeped through her dress. She’d already gotten goosebumps from her encounter with him, but the stinging pain of the snow now crept through her pores, making its way towards her bloodstream until it ran cold.

‘Are you deaf? Not used to hearing another voice anymore?  I asked AM I GOING TO BE SUCCESFUL?’

Tears rolled over her cheeks as he pushed his knee into her back.

She’d been stupid to love him once.

And she’d paid a mighty price for it.

But it turned out that she hadn’t paid enough.

She’d known coming back was a stupid plan.

A sore throat hardly seemed worth dying.

  A roar rippled through the trees, halting the movements of the person on top of her.

The snow underneath her cheek seemed to shake in anticipation.

The birds grew quiet.

All weighed disappeared from her back as a second roar reverberated through the forest.

She scrambled upright. Edward laid underneath a very large bear.

How could she have forgotten? He was out as well.

The bear went to stand on his two legs.

He’s going to kill him.

   On the one hand, she felt no pity for her step-brother, but on the other hand, she knew her brother had weapons on his person. He could hurt the bear as well.

She could lose him, even before the snow melted.

The only friend she’d had in years.

It was there, at the edge of the forest, with a raging heartbeat, hyperventilating and undercooled, that the nervous breakdown combined with her previous weakness, knocked her out cold.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  When she woke up, she was laying on the carpet in front of the fireplace, surrounded by softness.

Opening her eyes, all she could see was brown fur.

She repositioned herself, and the bear knew she was up.

‘Who was that?’

‘My step brother. When my aunt died, he betrayed me and my cousin, made it known we were witches. Court ordered us to undergo a witch test. I escaped and never returned.’

‘Why didn’t you use your magic to stop him? You use it for everything.’

She hadn’t even thought of it. The second he grabbed her, she became the weak teenage Esther again. Magic hadn’t even crossed her mind. She could’ve perfectly lifted his body with her magic. But instead, she’d been weak, and had surrendered in an instant.

‘I always relied on him. He always did all the thinking. I… I believe he just made me feel as small and stupid as I used to be.’

‘You don’t strike me as stupid.’

‘I was a bad witch and a bad person.’

‘You were… Evil?’

‘Oh, no… Nothing like that. It’s just… I hated being a witch, I hated the inheritance. I just wanted to have a normal life like my brother. So I never put any time in learning how to be a witch. But my aunt wanted to keep me close, and she had all the money. So we stuck around, and my brother promised me a normal life once she died. It was just him and me, you see, when our parents married each other, we became friends, and when they died, we became a team. He learned me everything, kept me safe… I never had to think, he always arranged everything. He was the only person I cared about on this earth. He got out the worst in me. I was silent, and mean, didn’t interact with anyone. But then, he betrayed my cousin and me so he’d get all the money. All his promises of giving me a normal life, getting away from the superstitious town, they were all lies. I only learned to use my power once I was on my own. I had to learn so much.’ She gently stroked his fur as she trailed off.

‘I think you were his prisoner for too long. He has abused the power he had over you in ways I can barely even guess at. But he’s not going to make a  victim out of you any longer. I will not allow it. I wish I would’ve killed him. But taking care of you was more important.’

‘What happened?’

‘You fainted. I bit him in the arm to warn him off. He fled the second I let him go, so I took you back home.’

‘You have more humanity than him.’

His green eyes kept looking at her, but the exhaustion of the day consumed her. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, and she slipped away in a matter of minutes, feeling comforted by the wam embrace of her bear.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  It was the end of January. The rivers and lakes were free of ice, though the ground was still covered in snow.

The sky was bright and blue, without a cloud to be seen, when her bear walked into the woods, as he did each day. And after having lived with him for two months, Esther didn’t look out of the window to check in on him anymore.

Perhaps she should’ve. Because she’d sat down in her chair near the fire and started reading a book, and had been absolutely startled by nightfall.

He still hadn’t returned.

She tried to calm herself.

He always came back to her.

And surely, he’d say goodbye if he wasn’t planning on returning?

Something was very wrong. She threw on her cape and ventured out.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 She didn’t know where to start looking. But it didn’t matter, she’d keep on searching until she’d found him. She’d only been out in the dark a handful of times. The forest was a dangerous place to be after dark. But there was no room for anxiety in her head, it was too full of worry.

The first hour she looked in silence. She walked in the dark, because she was affright holding any light might make her eyes lazy in the dark. She needed to see. She tripped more times than she cared to count. Her dress was soaking wet from the snow.

She remained silent the first hour, not wanting to attack any predators. But as the moon rose, so did her worry.

So she cried out for him.

Cried and looked.

A fear wrapped itself around her heart.

She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t stop herself.

What if he had gone?

What if something had happened?

She never asked him where he went to when he went out.

Not that she would’ve been able to find him. For all she knew, she could’ve been walking in circles the past two hours.

The cold was getting to her. Her fingers were so cold they hurt to move, and her body was shaking violently. Her breath was shallow, as it hurt to breathe in the icy air too deeply.

‘Esther!’

It was him. She blinked, looking around. The sound came from everywhere and nowhere in the dark forest.

‘Bear?’

‘Esther!’

The same pitiful roar she’d heard the day she met him came from the left of her.

She ran.

She ran and fell time and time again, but she didn’t care.

   ‘Keeping making noise, please!’

‘Esther!’

And when she tripped another time, she fell on a large soft mass.

She’d found him.

‘Bear!’

His paw was stuck in a bear trap.

‘Oh god.’

This explained.

She didn’t even have to focus. Her rage grew so large the trap simply exploded, but he didn’t stand up.

‘Bear? Mr. Bear?’

A soft moan left his snout.

She lifted him with her magic.

‘It’s time to come home.’

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  She was up all night, brewing healing potions and tonics, and cleaning his wounds. He floated in and out of conscience for hours, and he kept on shaking, God only knew how many hours he’d been stuck lying on the snowy ground.

Finally, at five in the morning, her bear appeared to be lucid and calm. He’d stopped shaking two hours prior, and his eyes weren’t glazed with pain anymore.

She’d fallen asleep against him, exhaustion consuming her the exact instant she knew him to be out of danger.

He stirred then, waking her up ever so gently.

She blinked, her brown doe eyes connecting with his. Between delirious dreams, and instances where reality, memory and dream blended together in his pain fuelled state, he’d seen fragments of memories of times long gone by. But most importantly, he’d remembered something he wanted to share with her as quickly as possible.

‘It’s James… My name is James.’

Esther blinked again. ‘Your name?’

‘I have a name. I remember.’

‘Oh.’ The meaning finally hit her through the layers of exhaustion.

She took his mighty large head in her hands and pressed her nose against his.

‘Hello, James. You had me worried there for a moment. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.’

‘For a second, I feared the exact same thing. Thank you for looking for me. I know you hate the dark. It was incredibly brave.’

‘I’m not brave. I was just worried. I’m still just as scared.’

He was too tired to tell her that that was exactly what bravery was. Sleep took them both again.

His paw didn’t heal easily, and she didn’t knew a lot about healing spells.

He had a hard time leaning on it. She brought his every meal to him, and helped him get outside when he needed to.

She’d taken to sitting with her back against him as they talked at night. It felt weird now, sitting in a chair away from him after they’d saved each other’s lives.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  But when March came around, the snow had gone, and his paw had healed enough. He would forever have difficulty walking, but he was strong again. And had recovered much of the weight he’d lost before he first came knocking on her door.

‘I thank you, sweet Esther, for all your good care. I wish I could stay with you, but I can’t. I have to move forward, now more than ever.’

‘Why?’

‘I can’t tell you. I wish I could. But I can’t. Please, don’t think I’m leaving you. If I could… And should you wish, I’d stay.’

But leave he did, and nothing could chase the loneliness away.

It came back tenfold after he left, now that she was so used to having company again.

Not a day went by where she didn’t miss him.

She cried and cried, but to no avail.

James didn’t return.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 It was stupid, missing a wild animal. And she hated herself for being so dependent on other people. First Edward, now him. She had a penchant for choosing those who’d leave her.

She hated herself for missing him.

And she hated how each time she lost track of her thoughts, the piano started playing ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair’.

She hated how she hummed the tune throughout the change of seasons.

A bear there was, a bear, a bear! All black and brown, and covered with hair. The bear! The bear! Oh come they said, oh come to the fair! The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear! All black and brown, and covered with hair!

But James had been good and well intending, he’d shown her more kindness than Edward ever had.

And she supposed she had to be grateful for the company he’d given her, and the time he saved her life. She’d always known their days were numbered.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

Spring came and went, summer passed by, and before she blinked, the green leaves turned brown again. The trees, repulsed by their dying extremities, shed their leaves, adding a new layer to the forest floor.

Esther spent her days preparing her garden for winter, making jelly and jam and making treats for the birds with the seeds she got from her sunflowers.

After a busy summer, she started thinking more and more of her bear friend again. As the days got colder, she wondered whether he’d return to her. Some nights, when the wind rattled the wood rattled her home, she sometimes imagined a sound against the door. She’d already opened the door twice for only the cold wind to enter, leaving her chilled and saddened for at least the following hour. She tried not to think too much about him too much, but it was hard.

Especially since she had been feeling quite unsafe the past few weeks. She’d encountered Edward in the woods around the end of October. He’d gotten stuck in a tree with his cape. When he spotted Esther, he’d started begging and demanding her to help him.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

‘Now why would I do that? The last time I saw you, you threatened to have me killed.’

‘Because you were being unreasonable. I asked you to tell me my future and you refused.’

‘Because you betrayed my trust and sent the townfolk after me.’

‘That was years ago.’

‘I won’t help you, Edward.’

‘I wonder how far your house is from this place. Listen, Esther, I can and will get free on my own and I will tell them that you live in the woods unless you help me. This can be our little secret.’

‘Why should I trust you, after everything?’

‘Well, I haven’t told the others after our previous encounter, have I?

Esther took a step back.

‘I assure you, they’ll have no trouble hunting both you and the deer. It’s hunting season, Esther.’

‘Threatening again?’

‘Help me.’

She freed him with the help of her magic. He fell to the ground, staring at her in awe.

‘Do remember I am a witch, Edward. You have no idea what I’m capable of. There, I helped you. Now leave.’

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 They both left, though Esther walked in the wrong direction as a precaution. She really didn’t wish to lead Edward to her home, nor did she trust him.

As she was walking, she did start wondering what Edward had been doing in the woods again, and why the earth had been kicked up near to the spot he’d been standing. Her curiosity proofed to be too great so she went back to the place, wary of each sound and snapping branch. Only an arm’s deep into the earth, she found a heavy sack. She tried to pull it loose from the grasp of the earth, and at first it gave easily, but once the fabric was pulled taut, she became aware of the weight of the sack. It jingled and jangled. She had a physical reaction to each clank of metal, as if the sound would reach and alert Edward wherever he was.

Her rational thoughts found her through the layers of fear, and, remembering she was a witch, she levitated the bag out of the hole.

The bag was almost the size of her person. Deciding it would be safer to check its contents somewhere safe, she took it home, and was astounded to discovering it was filled to the brim with coin, gem and jewel. She could only guess as to how Edward had collected such treasure, but of one thing she was sure: it had to be stolen.

Feeling particularly vengeful, she decided to keep it.

‘You owed me anyways.’

It was enough money to buy herself a castle and start over. A life away from the dangers of the woods, away from the looming threat of the villagers, and away from Edward who would no doubt show no mercy for the theft of his wealth. She started planning and packing, and reduced her amount of walks to a minimum. She only left her protected garden and home for a fifteen minute dash to the river the catch some fish for supper every three days.

It proved still too much when she was tackled to the ground, five minutes removed from her home.

She started wondering if she was the only one who’d taken up residence in the woods, for Edward sure spent a lot of time in them as well.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

   ‘You thought you could steal from me and get away with it? Did you?’

‘Let me go.’

‘Let you go? Just let you go? After you stole from me? Oh no dear sister, I showed you mercy. Now I’ll show you my wrath. And don’t hope for a random bear to save you this time around. That kind of luck never comes around twice.’

He got up and kicked in her in the stomach. She bent  over, covering her stomach.

‘Where is my treasure.’

‘You stole it yourself.’

He kicked her again. ‘You don’t know that. And so what? It’s mine now.’

Another kick. ‘Where?’

Esther remained silent.

‘I won’t ask a third time. I’d hate to fuck up your pretty face.’

‘You don’t deserve a single penny from that treasure.’

He pulled her up by her hair and kicked her in the back this time. She cried out in pain as he dropped her to the floor again.

‘You can’t kill me. Then you’ll never find it.’

‘But I can make you suffer.’

‘Do as you please, but I won’t help you.’

‘You stupid little witch. I should have burned you the same day I outed you!’

A witch. She was a witch!

Why did she always forget that when she was around him?

She raised her hand, flexing her fingers to cast an incantation, but Edward gave her another kick before she had the chance to finish the movement.

‘You were always the weakest of them all, Esther. You think magic is going to help you?’

Another kick.

She wailed and formed her body into a ball to shield her most fragile areas.

‘You’re a failure. You can’t be normal. You can’t be a witch. You’re an awful thief. I think I might be doing you a favour by killing you. You’re utterly deluded if you think you can ever reach something.’

She had no doubt he had the capacity to kill her.

She couldn’t imagine herself escaping the situation.

Perhaps it was true. What had she done well on this earth? What had she done with her life? She didn’t even have anyone who’d miss her.

Hot tears heated her cheeks as she fought to find the strength to fight back. But the constant onslaught of kicks made it hard to focus on anything beside the pain.

 “But he’s not going to make a  victim out of you any longer. I will not allow it.”

But here he was, making a victim out of her again. And there she lay, undergoing his treatment. She wished she had the strength to fight back. To defend the life her friend had saved.

‘I’m sorry, James.’

‘What’s that?’

His kicks halted for a second, believing Esther to have said something that might be a plea or a location. Esther wasted no time letting go of her body and immediately made a gesture which threw him three feet away from her.

She tried to scramble to her feet, she honestly tried, but her body was so sore that her legs crumpled underneath her weight.

‘You’re going to fight? Bold of you. Didn’t knew you had some Denham spice after all.’

‘I hate you.’

‘Do you? I remember a time where you said quite the opposite.’ His words missed their mark, or rather, they hit the wrong one. It didn’t make her feel insecure or sad, it made her boil with rage.

Esther's beam of light blinded him.

‘I do.’

Her hands tingled with energy. She wanted to hurt him. Yet at the same time, she wondered if she was capable of murder.

Edward fell to his knees as the pure energy shot from her hands and connected with his chest.

   ‘You bitch!’ His scream deepened, the sound echoing through the woods and becoming inhuman… Esther stared in disbelief.

How did he… he didn’t. His scream had left his mouth at the same time a roar rippled through the woods.

Could it be?

Esther couldn’t stop herself from looking around.

A foolish mistake, honestly. She should have known. Edward yanked on her hair and pushed her into the dirt again.

They tackled each other, now both on their knees in the dirt. Esther kicking up the brown ground and Edward lashing out at her with his fists. They fell and rolled, kicked and pushed, and then.

‘James!’

A fist connected with her cheek.

As her face connected with the ground once more, she could just see the shimmer of a knife in Edward’s hands. Then everything faded to black.

 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 Her head pounded. Her muscles ached. Beside her face, a bear moaned pitifully. She could just notice a pair of green eyes beside her. She reached out, her hands connecting with the fur she would never forget the feel of. Her hands clenched shut around it. The bear was moving, and she was being pulled on top. She fell away again.

  She was aware of  moving. She could feel herself rising and falling. The sensation was not unfamiliar to the one of being on a horse years ago. The light went out.

 The ground was hard, and her head throbbed. Simply moving her finger hurt enough to cripple her. She tried to lift her body, but she didn’t think she’d managed to get even an inch above the ground, before her body ached so much it shut down again.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 It was pitch black when she opened her eyes again. It was the first time she didn’t have to fight to keep them open, though her body still hurt like hell. She’d never done her witch triall, but she could imagine how a highwayman felt after having been broken on the wheel.

‘Esther?’

J-J- James?’

Something moved beneath her. Had she been lying on the bear?

‘Thank God, I was so worried for you.’

‘Don’t be.’

‘How can I not?’

‘I survived this long on my own.’

‘It didn’t really look like you were surviving all that well.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have left me.’

‘I’m sorry… I just… I really wished I could have stayed. But I couldn’t.’

‘Why?’

Even saying the words hurt, as they required breath, and breathing wasn’t particularly enjoyable at the moment.

‘I can’t tell.’

‘Well try.’

‘I wanted to… to… break my curse.’

Esther’s eyebrows lifted.  She could feel her bear move underneath her.

‘I can tell it? I can? Esther, I tried to tell you so many times, but I couldn’t. Only bear noises came out. I don’t know how it’s possible now but I’m going to try. Can you listen right now?’

‘I might be in pain… And I’m not excluding the possibility I might faint somewhere in the foreseeable future… But if you don’t start talking now I’ll find the strength to beat the answer out of you.’

‘There is the Miss Denham I’m used to.’

She wished she had the strength to roll her eyes.

‘My ancestors once decided it was a good idea to curse the family treasure. Whoever stole it would be cursed with bad luck, and whoever lost it would be cursed as well, but they would be given the strength of a bear to get the treasure back… I never thought the curse would be… You know… Like it is. But when I was away from home, the treasure was stolen, and out of nowhere, I turned into a bear. I was chased and hunted. Turns out people don’t like bears a lot.’

Esther could hear the humour in his voice, and well-remembered how scared she’d been when she first met him.

‘I came to this region because I could simply sense that the thief lived in this area. But I could never find him. Then winter set in, and you saved me. When I left, it was only because each day, though I’d never particularly enjoyed being a bear, I found myself growing more and more agitated with my predicament. You made me want to search with a renewed vigour.’

Her mouth was dry, and the load of information only slowly penetrated the woolly interior of her head. But as the words seeped in, her heartbeat picked up.

He had a family.

The family had a treasure.

The treasure was stolen.

 He was cursed with the strength of a bear…

‘Why?’

‘Because each day I looked at you, I found myself wishing I could touch your face without my claws peeling your skin off. Needing to hold you in my arms instead of having you lean against my side… And having to kiss you or going mad.’

Esther didn’t know how one was supposed to react to being told they were loved by a bear, who actually turned out to be a cursed human, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to giggle.

But giggle she did.

‘This is ridiculous.’

Edward had killed her. Or he’d pushed her to the edge of death.

Her dying mind had probably gone delirious and imagined the return of James, and had started adding more and more fantastical elements so that she could die happily.

‘I should have known. After all, what am I to you but a strange talking bear?’

‘What happened to Edward?’

The bear grew quiet. Esther nodded. She could have guessed. She didn’t know how to feel about it, but it didn’t particularly sadden her. He’d tried to kill her thrice in six years.

‘I told you I might kill him. I apologise. I know it’s wrong.’

‘I think you may have killed the thief who stole your treasure.’

‘But then how will I ever find it? I’m cursed!’

James growled and gnarled and roared out of frustration and sadness.

If anything, it gave Esther time to process everything.

Her bear was back. Her bear, who had always been a friend instead of a pet, was human. And for some odd reason, he happened to be a wealthy lord who proclaimed to be in love with the odd poor witch of the woods.

And she held the key to his humanity in her bedroom!

‘I have it. I took it, that’s why he was attacking me… It’s in my bedroom. If you push my drawer away, you’ll find a set of stairs to a secret storage room. It’s there. You can take it back, it belongs to you.’

‘You took it?’

‘Edward owed me my inheritance, and I knew there was no way he had earned that much. I didn’t really think it through, but I figured I could use at least a part of it to get away and start my life over. It would also mean I was safe and away from Edward. But he got to me first. I’m sorry I stole your treasure.’

‘You stole from your brother, not from me. Even I would feel no remorse over stealing from a man like him.’

Esther nodded. The rollercoaster of emotions was draining all the energy she’d gathered from her sleep. She was starting to get drowsy again.

‘I’m glad I could assist you. You’ve always been kind to me. You deserve to get your treasure back.’

‘You’re a remarkably kind woman yourself… E- Es, you’re falling asleep again, aren’t you?’

‘Mhm.’

‘Is there a potion I could give you? To ease the pain?’

‘Amasfelaynes’, she breathed, as she curled up again. It would help the bruises heal, though it would make the pain a bit worse at first. But it was fine, she was sure she’d be able to sleep through it.

She felt a vial of glass connecting to her face, and weakly lifted her hand towards it. James had taken it between his sharp teeth. She honestly didn’t even bother opening her eyes anymore as she unscrewed the lid and downed its contents.

Sleep took her seconds after.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

 When she woke up again, it was about noon, judging by the light inside her cabin. The fire was still crackling behind her. Her body ached, but it didn’t throb like it did the night before.

The potion had done its magic. She redistributed her weight to find a more comfortable position on the carpet, and became aware of an arm tensing around her middle.

She stiffened.

Calm down.

One breath.

Two breaths

Three breaths.

She was laying on the floor of her cabin in the woods. This much she understood. She’d fallen asleep there after James gave her her potion.

She pushed herself to look at her waist. And there it was: an arm dressed in a richly embroidered blue coat. On the end of the coat, a frilly end of a white sleeve could be distinguished, from which a very scarred wrist and a hand hung. The scars were ugly and purple, and there were visible depths in the skin. Whatever had happened to his writs, he was lucky it was still attached to his body.

A treasure.

James.

A curse.

The wrist! The paw!

She couldn’t help the shiver running down her spine.

Her dear bear had revealed to her he was supposed to be a man. No human should be able to get into her home. Therefore, the only humans who could have entered her home were she herself, and humans who walked passed the gate as something other than human.

The retrieval of his treasure must have restored his human form.

‘Because each day I looked at you, I found myself wishing I could touch your face without my claws peeling your skin off. Needing to hold you in my arms instead of having you lean against my side… And having to kiss you or going mad.’

He was human now.

She didn’t dare look at him. Behind her wouldn’t lay the bear whose hairy snout she’d become so accustomed to, but the face of a man she’d never seen before.

But she did know him.

And she had heard him.

She studied his hand, as it was the only thing she could look at without moving, and the only aspect she could analyse without starting to tremble.

The hand had long fingers, and though the palm was considerably larger than hers, it wasn’t too broad. As far as she could judge, he’d have a moderate waist.

Would he be as tall as his bear form? That would be very large.

As she was wondering about his looks, she didn’t notice that the figure behind her was slowly waking up.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  ‘Esther?’

‘James!’

She shrieked.

She was scared of him again. And scared of how their relation would continue after this moment. It was one thing to welcome a bear into her home, but another to be faced with a man who’d declared his desire for her before she’d even seen him.

‘Esther, please, don’t be scared.’

She wondered if he’d somehow look like his bearform.

There was only one way to find out.

But once she looked, there was no going back. Her bear friend would be gone.

Her life as she knew it would probably be over as well.

So much was about to happen. She wished she could lay on this floor with her eyes shut forever. The change was too sudden, too drastic.

Soft, warm hands took hold of hers.

‘Esther, please. I’m still… Me. Though I’ll probably be less hungry and hairy than before.’

She laughed at that, and opened her eyes.

They connected with a lovely pair of green eyes, found in a round face framed by hair and a beard the same dark chocolate shade as his fur had been.

He was… Not ugly.

Far from it actually.

She didn’t know how much time passed, gazing into his eyes, but she did know time had most definitely passed.

    ‘Now what?’

‘That’s entirely up to you.’

‘Me?’

‘You.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘What do you want, Miss Denham?’

‘Want in what way?’

‘Of life. You told me yesterday you wished to start your life anew to escape your brother’s clutches. Your brother is gone now. So I wish to give you the choice: do you wish to remain here, or move away and start over? You’ve helped me so many times, and saved my life. I’ll do everything in my power to help you achieve happiness in whatever way you want.’

Remain behind, in the woods she’d been chased to, and the woods she feared. Or start anew, away from it all, but without a single friend? What would she do all day? At least here she was busy struggling for her life.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I also have another offer.’

‘You do?’

‘You could… Marry me? You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met. You’re witty, intelligent, beautiful, caring and so much more. I can’t imagine loving anyone as much as I do you. But I know you do not know me the way I do you, and it hardly seems fair. To you I am an entirely new person.’

‘You pretend as though I am the one who would fare badly if we were to wed. But you’re a fool if you can’t see I’m not worth having. I’m a witch and I don’t have a penny to my name.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘You should.’

‘I don’t. So we’re both an awful prospect?’

‘Actually, you’re not that awful. I do know you. I’ve talked with you every day for over four months. We discussed everything. Now I just get a face to match with the voice.’

‘And how does the face match the voice?’

‘Well you still look positively as wild as your growls sound. But I assume your face looks as kind as your voice sounds.’

‘I never quite know whether you’re complimenting or insulting me’, he laughed. She couldn’t help but smile back at him.

She shook her head.

‘You’re not meant to. I wouldn’t want you to feel too confident.’

‘Oh no, you must prevent that at all costs.’

And it was at this moment, when both couldn’t get the foolish smiles off their faces, that their hands started reaching for the other.

Lips connected, bodies entwined themselves and passion was discovered, elevating the friendship from the bear and the maiden fair, to passionate heights.

   ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

   If you’d ask his best man, Sidney Parker, he wouldn’t be able to explain anything. He only knew that one day, after an absence of a year and a half, Lord Babington came riding through the gates of his family home, with a woman in tow. Nobody knew where she came from, and nobody knew how they’d met, but Lord Babington announced they were to be wed. It could only be attested, by everyone who’d seen the wedding, that the groom looked positively bewitched by his new bride, and the bride was happier than any other.

#12 days of sanditon #sanditon #Esther Denham/Lord Babington

[creativerogues]

The Folio of Friendly and Furious Fey: Part One

Creatures from the Feywild, a parallel plane to the prime In this vibrant world these fey have a habit for speaking in rhyme

There are countless creatures who lie beyond the veil of trees The sprites, sylphs, nymphs, or dryads being only a few of these

Their deities, associated with either the Seelie or Unseelie courts Wielding the power of nature these creatures offer cunning retorts

While some fey are kind, often showing benevolence There are often dark, murderous things that don’t see the relevance

Devouring travelers, kidnapping children, bringing misfortune for all Redcaps, Quicklings and Gremlins will gut you for just being too tall...

Karula, The Withering Ancient (By blooddragon00)

Deep within the Feywild lies an ancient forest with trees that tower above the clouds, blocking out the light of the sun and shrouding the forest floor below in almost pitch black darkness. 

At a distance such growth could be seen as a marvel but those who venture within acknowledge this phenomenon as a curse. 

The few plants that survive are dark and twisted, vines cover entire trunks, and thorns appear in the least convenient places. 

Yet that is not the worst of it...

Eyes follow the living and creep closer when night falls. When it does they attack, revealing themselves to be all manner of creatures; beasts, humanoids, and fey, all covered in bark, needles, and vines, with eyes that are hollow and devoid of all things but hunger. 

Those that fall to their assault are doomed to rise among them come morning.

The root of this evil is a massive oak that stands at the very center of the forest, radiating an almost tangible force of evil. 

This ancient tree serves as the prison for ancient fey of incredible power named Karula, once a nurturing and benevolent lady of the fey, corrupted by the power of the blights that she now infects her forest with. 

The tree is an ancient Treant who forsook it’s life to bind her to this place but slowly, Karula is overtaking what little life force it has left. It won’t be long till she walks again, her army of blights swarming around her to corrupt the entire Feywild.

Sangfroid, Baron of the Marshes of Madness, Prince of the Redcaps (By diamondkingoftrolls)

An Archfey spawned from an act of supreme betrayal on the plain of Fairie, Baron Sangfroid sprang fully formed from the cooling blood congealing in the wake of a massacre which saw the deaths of countless denizens of Faerie. Pitiless and cruel, Sangfroid exemplifies the murderous nature of his race, drawing his very life essence from the pained deaths of others, though he displays several qualities which set him apart from his redcap kin.

After a vicious battle between capricious fey lords left a great swathe of area a tainted, bloody morass, the still warm blood birthed Sangfroid and imbued him with the cunning, artifice, and magical ability of those slain. Able to sate his lust for carnage in these surroundings, the young redcap used his eldritch powers to erect a fortress from the shattered bones and wrecked panoply of the warriors whose life essence had inadvertently created him. From this abattoir, Baron Sangfroid dominates the wretched swamp and its surrounding areas, extorting sacrifices of flesh and blood from those unfortunate enough to fall under his dominion.

Grown fat and powerful from near-continual offerings, Baron Sangfroid no longer has any need to slay to sustain his life in the manner of other redcaps but instead takes pleasure in finding inventive ways to torture, maim, and mutilate his victims before ending their lives. Drawing as much vitality from their shrieks of anguish and moans of despair as from the actual blood coursing through their veins, Sangfroid revels in the knowledge that for every broken form in his dungeons there are many more waiting to experience his agony. In truth, his greatest delight comes when he receives victims of duplicity, sent to him through acts of betrayal from those they once trusted. These poor souls Baron Sangfroid relishes especially, for after draining them of every drop of blood, sweat, and tears he raises their ghastly remains to serve him in an abomination of life.

Situated centrally in the Marshes of Madness, as many know the festering swamp in which Sangfroid dwells, the Baron’s keep grows ever larger as new wings are built from the bones of his victims. The Marshes themselves teem with unwholesome life as carrion-eaters of all descriptions come to gorge on the offal and carnage and to bask in the palpable aura of slaughter. The howls of wild dogs and cawing of crows join the wails of the damned coming from the Baron’s dungeon, to say nothing of the keening wails of less identifiable monstrosities which roam the land. Throngs of redcaps have flocked to his service as well, seeing in Baron Sangfroid a source of both sustaining vitae and of more temporal authority for their benighted kind.

Baron Sangfroid styles himself as a member Faerie’s nobility to the best of his ability, appearing to few delegations sent from other great courts as a short but powerfully built figure in a suit of ornate blackened plate bedecked in bloodstones and etched with scenes of debauched murder, the points of a long red cap and long grey beard dragging the floor and soaked in blood. That so few delegations come through the Marshes of Madness vex the Baron immeasurably, and he takes great pains to exert his influence in outside affairs whenever possible. It is even rumored among the gossip-mongers of Faerie that the Baron has begun acting as Patron to Warlocks scattered throughout the Planes.

The White Lion Woman (By diamondkingoftrolls)

In the freezing woodlands of the North, there exist many untamed expanses touched by fey enchantment. Several of these copses, glades, and glens are, in fact, sections of the Feywilds which bleed into the Material Plane. In such places stalks a figure known as the White Lion Woman by many inhabitants of these savage lands.

Appearing as a female of cold beauty, perhaps human, perhaps elf, the White Lion Woman is said to stand head and shoulders over members of those races and to possess an almost impossibly lean physique despite her height. Wild tangles of  pale golden braid, woven into which can be seen rings, charms, and amulets of unknown origin flow around the White Lion Woman, crowned by the mane and pelt of a massive leonine beast of equally enigmatic provenance. To hear some tales, the woman and the beast are, in truth, one, with some believing this figure to be a monstrous lioness who walks on two legs. Such stories are often dismissed as the effects of prolonged solitude or unhealthy humours.

The White Lion Woman has been seen with some frequency over a great range of territory throughout the snowy taiga, though no predictable path may be established based on sightings. None know from whence this mysterious figure hails, nor where she returns to. Even skilled trackers have been unable to find so much as a toe print in the snow to mark her presence, though some have claimed that nearby streams and ponds tend to freeze when she is near.

In the rare cases in which the White Lion Woman has been heard to speak, she is said to possess a voice like the whispering winter winds, though with accented or even antique language. Such up close accounts have also mentioned her archaic, yet pristine armor, ever draped by her flowing braids and namesake pelt. Her weapons and effects, especially her massive longbow, almost as tall as herself, have become legends in their own right.

Due to her inexplicable nature and her ferocious, but alluring aspect, numerous tall-tales about the White Lion Woman have been shared around the campfires and mead halls of the north. To some, she is a harbinger of ill fortune, bringer of blizzards and bleak times. Some have said she is a priestess of the spiteful Auril, also called the Frostmaiden, and that she sows evil in her wake. Others proclaim that she is a goddess herself, a warden of the forests who safeguards those who make their lives in these inhospitable environs. Others still tell stories in which a noble woodsman or huntress will, through feats of great skill or courage, win her personal favor and affection, though these are also largely ignored.

In any event, many do agree that where the White Lion Woman treads there seem to be fewer unruly beasts, and she is a topic of no small interest to those who dwell among the boreal forests

Kirjasto the Dust-clad, Keeper of Tomes and Lady of Ivory Tower (By diamondkingoftrolls)

Whereas many of Faerie’s so-called “gentry” seek to meddle in the affairs of mortal beings for pleasure or personal gain, Kirjasto has sought only to expand her knowledge over the long years. This has brought her into both collusions and confrontations with all manner of creatures from across the Planescape. A being of some renown, Kirjasto is a fey entity known in select circles as a purveyor and purchaser of knowledge, most notably books, scrolls, tomes, codices, and records of all sorts.

Though none know her exact origin, those who have had prolonged contact with Kirjasto know that she is a fastidious collector of all manner of esoterica, willing to strike bargains, commission expeditions, or even create Pacts with other seekers of knowledge to further build her staggering hoard. It was agents of Kirjasto whom, after the hallowed shrine-city of Raasa was buried by avalanches, delved under tonnes of ice and snow to secure the ancient libraries for their master.

Interactions with Kirjasto are almost always conducted through intermediaries, favored servants of the Archfey sent to deliver orders or other missives. The meagre few accounts of personal meetings which have arised always involve a summons issued by Kirjasto to her domain. Those so called have found themselves in a spire-like structure of unfathomable height, built from a substance described alternately as like bleached bone, fine porcelain, or radiant moonstone.

Guests have described Kirjasto as something of an enigma: more terse and quiet than her flowery, extensive messages would suggest and almost shabby compared to her elegantly appointed servants and dwelling. Her somewhat faded garb, suspected by some to have once been black, can be seen to be sprinkled with a fine dust from her vast library. Indeed, any finery and regalia Kirjasto chooses to be seen in is often obscured by a veritable mist which accompanies her in the way other fey are surrounded by perfumes.

Though eccentric to the point of oddity, Kirjasto the Dust-clad is held in high esteem in Faerie and beyond. Delegations from as far afield as the City of Brass and the Seven Heavens, to name but a few, routinely arrive to her Ivory Tower, looking to barter with Kirjasto for secrets. These missions commonly meet with intermediaries and servants as Kirjasto is almost always occupied in her labyrinthine libraries.

#fey #archfey #feywild #knight #king #queen #elf #faerie #villains #creating cool villains #make a better villain #CreativeRogues

[wordcollector]

Animated Life Lesson #4: Growing Up

Growing up (verb phrase) - to be or become fully grown; attain mental or physical maturity

Over the Garden Wall is one of the most bizarre, most brilliant, and most beautiful shows I’ve ever seen.  It manages in ten short episodes to convey more whimsy, danger, and dread than many shows do in an entire season, and the plot, while concise, is still wonderfully written.

The story follows half-brothers Wirt and Greg as they travel through a fantastical world trying to find their way home.  Along the way, they meet quite the cast of interesting characters, from the elderly Woodsman to the sarcastic bluebird Beatrice to the terrifying Beast.

There’s also a town full of pumpkin-wearing skeletons, a singing frog, a young girl controlled by a magical bell, and an old woman who stuffs wool into peoples’ heads to make them her servants. And all of these characters live in the Unknown, which is almost a character unto itself.  Wirt and Greg explore the forest, visit the mansion of a tea baron, ride a ferry full of frogs, and spend a day in a school teaching animals how to read.

If all of that sounds ridiculous, that’s because it is.  But underneath all the nonsense and eccentricity is the constant threat of the Beast, an ancient creature who uses trickery and terror to lead souls from their paths, keeping them lost until they give up and begin to transform into the Edelwood trees that the Beast needs to stay alive.  Over the Garden Wall is actually quite like a fairy tale from the Brothers Grimm, one that may seem fun and funny on the surface, but is actually quite dark and horrifying when you look a little closer.  However, it’s when we look at these deeper aspects that the true lessons of the show begin to appear, mainly lessons on maturity, responsibility, and finding yourself forced to grow up in a world and a place that you don’t understand.

Wirt is the older of the two brothers, and although he may be dressed quite whimsically, he’s actually quite serious.  He’s your typical teenager that’s been thrust into a situation he doesn’t like, and his cynicism and stubbornness, while funny at times, end up causing problems for their group from time to time.  Wirt is prone to bouts of melancholy, and he’s in that stage of life when most things are embarrassing, and so he keeps a lot of secrets. In fact, trying to avoid embarrassment was what landed him and Greg in the Unknown in the first place, although I’m certain Wirt wouldn’t see it that way.  Wirt is also the type of person who doesn’t like to take responsibility for his actions, especially if he can conceivably blame things on his brother. To be fair, it is often Greg’s fault, but it’s Wirt’s responsibility as the older brother to be the mature one in the situation. 

Unfortunately, Wirt is initially too unsure of himself to even take advantage of being in charge, as most older siblings are fond of doing.  This begins to change, though, as Beatrice pushes him into taking action, whether it’s just to get directions or to play the bassoon to keep them from getting thrown off a ferry full of frogs.  Wirt begins to imagine himself as a hero and accordingly begins to act braver.  This act only works for a while, though, until Beatrice betrays them, and Wirt beings to give up hope, leaving him open to an attack from the Beast.

Luckily, Greg is there to save him.  Greg acts like you’d expect a younger brother to act: silly, friendly, weird, and mischievous.  He wears a teapot on his head, has a pet frog whose name changes countless times throughout the series, stores candy in his pants (not the pockets, mind you; actually in his pants), and enjoys sharing ‘Rock Facts,’ which are false facts he makes up on the spot.  But Greg is also brave, thoughtful, and endlessly optimistic, and his weird plans usually work for getting them out of a tight spot.  It’s a stark contrast to his older brother, and while Wirt gets annoyed with Greg’s antics, Greg is never too bothered by his brother’s put-downs or stern commands.  Greg is the one that keeps things light even as the darkness grows near. 

But Greg’s childish fun doesn’t mean he’s not smart; when Wirt decides to stop trying to find their way home, Greg works hard—or dreams hard—to be a good leader.  He’s willing to do whatever it takes to save them.  When he’s told that Wirt is lost and will never return home, Greg blames himself for being too busy goofing off to notice that Wirt needed his help.  Not that Wirt would’ve admitted to needing help, but it’s certainly not Greg’s fault that they’re lost in the Unknown. And when he has the chance to save them, Greg takes it, giving himself up to the Beast in exchange for Wirt’s freedom.

It’s interesting that Greg is the one to first show signs of growing up.  He is more than happy to interact with and learn to understand the people of the Unknown, he accepts responsibility for his antics, and he’s willing to face the consequences of his and Wirt’s actions in this strange world.  Although he still carries on and goofs off like a young child, Greg is maturing and growing in his own way, and it really shows when he sacrifices himself for his brother’s mistakes.  It takes bravery and love to give himself up to the Beast, especially since he has to at least have some idea of how terrible the Beast truly is, yet he is willing to do whatever is necessary to ensure Wirt makes it home. 

It’s actually quite sad to think about, yet it’s exactly what Wirt needs to realize that he’s been the one acting like a child.  If he hadn’t overreacted in the cemetery, they wouldn’t have landed in the Unknown.  If he would’ve waited on the Woodsman, they would’ve had help finding their way from the start.  If he would’ve listened to Beatrice, he would’ve known she wasn’t going to betray them. If he would’ve trusted his little brother, he wouldn’t have lost hope and thus lost Greg to the Beast.  Wirt realizes it’s all been his fault, and now it’s his responsibility to make things right.  

Wirt fights his way through a snowstorm to reach Greg, and when he finds his brother, he apologizes for everything.  It’s a big step for Wirt, who hasn’t apologized for anything up to this point, and it’s a sign that he, too, has grown during his time in the Unknown, so much so that he is willing to make his own deal in order to save his brother’s soul.  But Wirt is smart, and he sees through the Beast’s trick before both boys are trapped in the woods.  With some quick thinking, he manages to free the Woodsman from the duty of the Beast’s lantern, help Beatrice and her family become human again, finish the Beast, and return Greg and himself to their world.

It’s as if Wirt has been saving up all his potential during their journey through the Unknown, and suddenly he has all the bravery and wisdom he needs to help everyone, including himself.  If he had had to make a deal with the Beast when they first arrived, Wirt would’ve been too unsure of himself to question the Beast, too afraid to do something wrong, and both he and Greg would’ve ended up trapped forever.  But having seen the way the Beast terrorized the inhabitants of the land and how he had hurt Greg, Wirt realizes that it’s his responsibility to help, and so he manages to save the day.  

And the lessons they’ve learned in the Unknown aren’t forgotten when they wake up back in the real world.  Greg is just as goofy as ever, but I’m sure he would make the choice to sacrifice himself for his brother again, especially now that he knows that Wirt will come to save him.  And Wirt’s newfound bravery allows him to talk to Sara, the girl he’s been trying to impress, and invite her over to his house to listen to some tapes.  It’s a silly yet sweet ending, and it shows that although Wirt and Greg still have a lot to learn as they grow, their adventures in the Unknown showed them who they truly are and who they may grow to be.

Over the Garden Wall is weird, whimsical, and wonderful.  The art of the show is beautiful, evoking an old-timey feel even as the aesthetic changes between episodes.  The original songs are fantastic, ranging from hilarious to creepy, and they help to set the mood as the story moves along.  The whole atmosphere is that of an almost-recognizable world, one close enough to the real world to seem familiar yet different enough to make you question everything.  Wirt and Greg wonderfully represent their respective age groups, yet they don’t come across as stereotypes, and the ways they change over the course of the ten episodes is great to watch.  Greg is funny, and Wirt is moody, but they learn to appreciate one another, and it’s heartwarming to watch as their relationship goes from begrudging half-brothers to brothers who are also friends. 

I don’t think I could decide which of them is my favorite, although I have to say I really love Beatrice and the growing up she herself does throughout the story. There’s just something about her sarcasm and older sister-like bossiness that I can really relate to, and I’m sure other adults can relate to her as well.  Both adults and kids will love this mini-series, although the things they like about the show are likely to be quite different.  But everyone can appreciate the lessons about relying on family, making the best of a bad situation, taking responsibility, and growing up in general that Wirt and Greg learn.  It’s a whimsical journey through the Unknown, but it’s one you don’t want to miss.

#Over the Garden Wall #greg #wirt #the beast #the unknown #beatrice #bluebird #potatoes and molasses #rock fact #growing up #maturity #edelwood tree #soul stealer #animated life lessons #animated shows #miniseries #cartoon network #old timey #whimsical #into the unknown #lessons from television #brothers #sacrifice #fairytale #grimms fairy tales #otgw #otgw wirt #otgw greg #otgw beatrice #otgw the beast

[ecotone99]

[MF] Nothing Like The Stories

. First attempt at a short story on here constructive criticism welcome....

I awoke in the cell that the Duke's men had assigned to me. Rolling over to look at the window i could see the sky lightening as the sun slowly began to climb in the sky. It had been three months since i had been caught and I couldn't believe that so far this was nothing like the stories i had been brought up on. In those stories, the revolution would begin with a dramatic fire and the fire starter would be hailed as a hero.

I sat on the edge of my cot and scratched myself idly, the bedding appeared to have fleas of some sort. I felt my lank dark hair fall in front of my face and idly brushed it back. I thought back to the night that Sten had recruited me to set fire to the baron's stables. The baron, Sten mainainted, spent our hard taxes renovating his stables and needed to be taught that these things were easy to lose. His plan had been simple creep on to the baron's lands and set fire to his stables. His horses and their bedding would represent a significant loss of money to the cold heated noble.

That night i crept silently onto the baron's land and using a lantern on the outside of the stable door I successfully started a blaze exacerbated by the bedding on the floor. The fire spread quickly and soon i could hear the horses within screaming in un mistakeabe terror. I found this strange as Sten and his fellow group leaders had assured me that horses were unthinking un feeling beasts. When i close my eyes i can still smell the burning flesh still hear that gods-awful noise of those animals burning to their demise.

What i hadnt counted on was the two human screams i heard from inside. How was i to know that the Baron's youngest son and one of his riding instructors had been inside the stable. Looking through the window i could see her dress still pulled up around her waist as it burst into flames and her hair aflame stuck to her head. That sight spurred my fear and i fled into the night. And that was the first strike of the rebellion.

I fled to an old woodsman's hut deep in the forest as i had been instructed and there i sat in the cold and dark for three days before a party of the Baron's guard showed up at the door and barged their way inside. It happen so fast that i was restrained beneath their burly frames and had recieved several “accidental” impacts before i realised i had been betrayed.

Several days of torment followed in a questioning cell or it seemed like several days all i can remember is the beatings and the questions. Finally when i had refused to speak a single word, like those past heroes of rebellion the Baron himself entered, and informed me that they no longer needed a confession. Sten had told him everything. When the baron's men had arrived at his door it took a simple threat to burn his wife and three young daughters alive and he had told them everything with a slight change. He said it had been my decsion as an act of rebellion against the Duke.

The Baron told me that if it had been left to him he would have simply had me out on the gallows before sunset and i would be dancing a merry jig on the end of a rope. However, the Duke had decided that i would be transferred to his private prison until such a time that he could deal with me personally. At the time i had breathed a sigh of relief as the Duke was a fair man and it would give my brothers and sisters in rebellion an opportunity to rescue me or at least provide me with the means to effect my own escape.

That had been three months ago and despite Sten's aunt working the kitchen of the Duke's gaol i had had no contact from the rebels. That is, until last night. Last night a guard i didnt recgognise came to the door and harrassed me that i had some romantic notions of fairy tale hero and that the real world out side my tiny village was vastly different. He had told me that the Baron's youngest had been widely loved and i was filth beaneath his shoe for what i had done.he finnished his tirade by spitting on the ground and left. Shortly after a hunched fugure had crept to the cell door and whispered insistently to get my attention. When i relocated myself nearer to the door a raspy female voice told me that one night hence i would be find my cell door unlocked and simple to open and i only had to head down the stairs at the end of the hallway and out the door to find the main courtyard with the main gates unlocked and unattended directly infront of me. I just had to last one more day which would feature a visit from the Duke's Inquisitor. This was the main questioner for the Duke's court and only reported to the Duke and the King. All others were expected to give him way. This first day would only be questons about things he already knew about and thus i should answer truthfully and fully or he would know i was lying and would begin a more robust form of questioning involving one of the cells in the basement. The speaker did not need to tell me what happened in the underground cells as my imagination could extrapolate that nothing hidden from the gods underground would be good. So, she reiterated, all i had to do was answer the questions he already knew the answers to in is as much detail as possible then he would depart and that evening i would be able to basically walk out of there and meet Sten and a spare horse and be gone to his sister's farm in a neighbouring antoagonistic Duchy where i was unlikely to be returned to this one. I knew that my fellow rebels had not abandonded me and i began to prepare my mind for my daring escape.

The Inquisitor had departed around an hour ago and i was pacing my cell to warm my muscles up to run. He had asked several questions consulting a piece of parchment in front of him with every answer i gave. I followed my unknown advisors instructions i gave him the information as i had known it before my imprisionment. The location of the meeting halls. The names of group leaders and our safe houses and weapons caches. Nothing he didnt already know from the months he had been gathering his information. He turned to leave and commended me on my honesty and said he didnt see a need to resort “downstairs questions” if continued in this honest and trustworthy way. I decided to lie on my cell and rest before my flight.

I was awakened by an incessant but quiet knocking on the door. When i sat up it gently and silently glidely open outwards. Poking my head out cautiously i looked both ways and despite the fairly good lighting of torches in sconces on the walls i could see no source of the knocking. Glancing out the window i realised that it was dark enough to try for the gate. Tiptoeing quickly down the hall towards the stairwell i glanced quickly around to make sure that none of the other residents on this floor heard me. So far so good.

I couldnt restrain the soft slapping noise my feet as i descended the stairs as quickly as i could. The cold stone of the walls echoing the sound back at me but so softly i could barely hear it. My breath was coming in little gasps of exertions as i tried to hurry silently, which i discovered is not as easy as the stories made it seem.

I finally reached the bottom step and halted before the small door catching my breath. It must be late at night i thought as i could see my breath misting in front of my eyes. Once i caught my breath i slowly pushed the door open and prepared for the sprint acroos the lit courtyard. As the door swung open with a gently creak of protest i realised that the courtyard was pitch black.

Just like the rebels in stories they had managed to coerce or enlist some guards to abandon their posts. Across from the door i stood infront of i could make out a dimly lit gatehuse and an open gate through which i could see a saddled horse; riderless and waiting. I began to jog towards it focusng on the dim latern hanging to one side of the gate. As i reached the halfway point, some one hundred yards between gate and door i heard a loud bang. Turning back i saw the door behind me had slammed shut. From the other side i heard a creak and a s i turned my head back i was just in time to see the gate close. The click it made as it locked was audible in the deathly silence of the courtyard. Suddenly, bright lights began to appear on the wall around me. Looking up i thought them to be a mages spell or some demon that guarded the prison. As my eyes adjusted i saw that they were shuttered lanterns that had been uncovered and illuminated the courtyard. What they illumunated on the wall turned my blood to ice, there was easily a hundred crossbow men situated between me and every lamp. I knew why their backs were to the light, it was a hunters trick to save your night vision when hunting at night.

“Did you think it would be so easy to kill our son” a voice called out.

I searched for the source of the voice and my heart sank as i realised that the speaker was the Baron. Beside him stood his wife, the inquisitor and a girl in her mid to late teens. They gazed down at me and i could see no trace of compassion in those identical cold stares.

“You starve us while you buy and race hounds and horses and falcons. Your son's death was regrettable but when he died he was in the arms of his riding instructor”

The Inquisitor stepped up

“Mybrother”, He said, “was in the arms of his new wife, who was indeed teaching him how to ride. He had a blood affliction which the saintly healers in the Capital's church cured him of. He was newly wed and was merely celebrating this with his new bride.” “And you Inquisitor? Getting involved in personal matters is surely beneath you”

The quartet on the wall laughed the Barons wife moved forward.

“Oh you simpleton. I knew you could be tricked but didnt realise how simple it would be. My son is no Inquisitor. This lady” she gestured to the girl “is our daughter and thanks to dance classes, is nimble on her feet. Nimble enough to, say, unlock a cell door and vanish without a trace.”

My stomach rose to my throat as i realised. “Oh no” i muttered as i realised how it all had panned out. I had given the Baron's son information about the rebellion. Information he had feigned knowledge of and i had betrayed every last one of my rebel brethren. I felt the bile rise in my gorge as i realsied i had doomed the rebellion. That stopped as i saw the Baron raise his arm and the crossbowmen took aim. I had just enough time ot think: “this is nothing like the stories” as the arm swept down.

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[goingoverthegardenwall]

Chapter 3: Schooltown Follies

Since there have been stories, there have been stories that anthropomorphize animals. Folks have imagined creatures behaving as humans in every corner of the world, in myths and fables and fairy tales from ancient cultures to today. So by the turn of the 20th century, when a mycologist known for painting incredibly detailed images of fungus decided to instead write and illustrate stories about animals in contemporary clothes, it wasn’t exactly a new idea. But perhaps that makes it more impressive: despite the multitude of animal books for children that have been published in the last hundred and fifty years, the work of Beatrix Potter still stands out.

She’s not alone, of course: no good conversation about humanized animals in Western kid lit can last long without mentioning Richard Scarry or Margaret Wise Brown or Arnold Lobel. And Peter Rabbit’s extended family is quite British, which puts it at odds with the nostalgic Americana of Over the Garden Wall: it’s not for nothing that our assortment of animals in Schooltown Follies includes a raccoon and an opossum. But the timeless quality of Potter’s work is still felt in this episode in two ways. First, while the show has a cartoony lens, the school animals are far more anatomically accurate than Beatrice or the frogs of Lullaby in Frogland, evoking Potter’s signature field guide style. And second, there’s a mischief to Potter’s animals that makes them feel more like real children than the cute but bland residents of Scarry’s Busytown, and mischief is the name of the game when Greg comes to schooltown.

Schooltown Follies is full of clever tricks, but perhaps its most clever is introducing animals with human qualities (they wear clothes, play instruments, and walk on their hind legs) but not giving them voices. It’s generally great comedy fuel, showing the inherent ridiculousness of a school for sorta normal animals, but it more importantly allows the episode a silent movie feel, with plenty of physical humor enhanced by characters without dialogue. That style completes the episode’s subversion of Beatrix Potter’s oeuvre: she wrote stories about naughty animals learning that they should behave, but in this vaudeville version, the only way to save the day is by misbehaving.

“Then I’ll do what I need to do, I guess.”

Despite being one of our three main characters, Greg trades a full character arc for a comic relief role. At the beginning of Over the Garden Wall he’s a chatty kid who never gives up and loves fun, and at the end he’s a chatty kid who never gives up and loves fun. This doesn’t mean he’s fully static, as he matures enough to accept some responsibility to others instead of seeking entertainment for himself: he abandons a potential happy ending to try to save Wirt with the Beast, and returns his stolen Rock Facts Rock in the last shot of the series. But even this obligation to help out is present early on: Schooltown Follies is the first of his two focus episodes, and the foundation of his eventual heroism is established right here.

And frankly? I think it’s okay if he’s not that dynamic. Greg doesn’t change as much as Wirt or Beatrice because he doesn’t have nearly as much to overcome, and he still contributes to the show without forcing the crew to juggle three distinct arcs. Our older kids are on a shorter timer to grow up, and have clearer negative traits (Wirt’s got no confidence, Beatrice is a jerk), and while we can accuse Greg of lacking social cues, he’s so young that it’s not indicative of a larger problem. He’s just acting his age, albeit in a heightened way for entertainment, and to lose that innocence this early in his life would make this show a serious downer.

“Heightened” is the general mood of Schooltown Follies, where Greg’s less realistic behavior fits much better than The Old Grist Mill’s bottom-of-the-barrel aside. This is an episode where Two Old Cat, an old-timey bat-and-ball game that evokes a similar old-school era as our old school, involves searching for actual old cats, somehow finding them immediately, then realizing one is too old to play and must instead be taken care of by a raccoon in a newsboy cap and overalls.

While there’s plenty of humor to go around in Over the Garden Wall, this is the only fully silly episode. Our other lighthearted outings come with dark twists: Songs of the Dark Lantern introduces the Beast, Lullaby in Frogland reveals Adelaide, and Babes in the Wood turns out to be the most somber episode of the series with context. Here we almost get a parody of such a twist, with characters repeatedly mentioning a wild gorilla on the loose apropos of nothing, then revealing that the gorilla is Miss Langtree’s paramour trapped in a suit. It’s a ridiculous setup to a ridiculous punchline, aided by casting Thomas Lennon for a few lines of dialogue (his read for “I. Was. The gorilla” was worth every penny), so there’s never any sense of danger. Jimmy Brown and Enoch are equally harmless in the end, but I doubt any little kids watching are gonna get nightmares about the ape suit.

This mood is enhanced with song, but among the many musical moments in the series—Mad Love is the only episode without singing in some form—Schooltown Follies stands out by not letting any of the numbers finish. We begin and end the episode in song, but Greg doesn’t have the last lines for Adelaide Parade figured out, Langtree’s Lament faces numerous interruptions before being cut short by the bell (they actually did a full version though!), and Potatoes and Molasses gets stopped first by Mr. Langtree, then by the end credits. Even Miss Langtree’s piano rendition of last episode’s Patient is the Night halts when Greg mashes the keys. It’s the perfect atmosphere for an episode about a kid who loves fun, but is easily distracted and hasn’t developed good planning skills.

Which isn’t to say that Greg is dumb, but that he’s prone to winging it in a way that sets him apart from Wirt. While Wirt rambles his thoughts aloud, Greg takes action without telling anyone why, making his decisions appear random in a medium that often explains motives concretely to young viewers. Wandering in his own direction has become a running gag by now, and while he sets off to make the world a better place, he instead plays outside with animal truants. He’s jolted back to his quest by the bland food and dull atmosphere of lunch hour, and his irrepressible energy lightens everybody’s day without much effort. When Mr. Langtree steps in as an antagonist, Greg decides once again to do something about it, this time saying explicitly that he has no plan, but everything works out again. We get an excellent joke from his decision to rob Langtree right after he becomes sympathetic, but as usual, Greg has bigger ideas behind the humor that he just hasn’t articulated. 

While Greg is busy delightfully saving the day, Wirt and Beatrice ease into a sniping side story that establishes their relationship for the next few episodes. They got off on the wrong foot in The Old Grist Mill and twisted that ankle in Hard Times at the Huskin’ Bee, so by now Beatrice doesn’t even try to hide her disdain and Wirt gets fed up with it. This is the perfect type of subplot, one that develops our characters and fits into the theme of the episode—Wirt’s rebellious obedience bounces off Greg’s rebellious call to disobey—but doesn’t distract from the main story.

Beatrice is helpful in opening up Wirt’s snotty side in a way that allows us to cheer for him. Until now his biggest conversation partner has been Greg, and it’s tough to side with Wirt when he’s mean to Greg, but Beatrice is an equal in terms of sparring, and her rudeness is a more understandable motive for Wirt to be obstinate than Greg’s playfulness. Our last episode had him aimlessly suggest staying in Pottsfield, and he’s similarly bound to this new location, but his different attitude changes the entire story. After two episodes of dithering, it’s nice that they let Elijah Wood play a character who’s funny on purpose for a spell, reveling in annoying Beatrice.

And even though he doesn’t know what to do, we actually get our first heroic moment from Wirt here. Greg saved the day in Grist Mill, and the situation resolves without much issue in Hard Times, but Jimmy is saved from the gorilla costume because of Wirt. True, he only interferes after being commanded to by Mr. Langtree, and he clearly has no idea what to do, and he trips over his shoelaces rather than contribute in an intentional way, but it sets the stage for his rescue of Beatrice in our next episode. Deep down, when he’s not overthinking it, the kid is capable of bravery when it’s asked of him. And it’s wonderful that for all his differences from Greg, both share an impulsive approach to heroism when they decide to help others. It’s almost like they’re related.

Beyond getting a few good digs in at Wirt, Beatrice extends her meanness to Miss Langtree, which makes her pestering of the boys feel less personal: it’s not that she hates them, she’s irritable with everyone. But we also get the first hint of her warming to our heroes, letting Greg have his fun at the concert and telling Wirt to finally tie his shoes with just a tiny speckle of fondness. While she gets a bigger friendship moment in Mad Love, when she’s essentially forced to get to know Wirt better, it’s neat to see Beatrice gradually come around instead of flipping a switch after a major story event.

We’re about to get our next big Plot Episode, introducing the Beast and adding new doubts about the Woodsman, so a silly episode is just what we need. It’s our third in a row where something sinister turns out to be okay: obviously the gorilla is an example of this, but Mr. Langtree is similarly an intimidating presence who ends up being a regular man. Even the creepy squirrels from the opening shots of the Unknown’s dangers in The Old Grist Mill return as comic relief. We’re fully primed to look for goodness where we see wickedness. Just in time for us to learn to fear merry opera echoing from the woods.

Rock Factsheet

Greg’s spiel on hot dogs might not summon the Rock Fact Rock, but it certainly evokes the stone’s spirit.

Where have we come, and where shall we end?

Adelaide Parade and Potatoes and Molasses will both get dark reprises, and the former also gets the rare jolly reprise as well. But we unfortunately don’t get a harrowing future scene featuring Langtree’s Lament.

Two Old Cat is part of a list of bat-and-ball games mentioned by a rambling background teen in The Unknown.

#schooltown follies #over the garden wall #otgw #steven universally #beatrix potter