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sultrysirens · 2 years

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Monstertober 2022: Part 3: Leshy

Universe: Original

Characters: Reader, Leshy

Rating: General

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Hunting wasn’t expressly a skill of yours, but desperate times called for desperate measures. You crept through the forest for hours, until well past nightfall, trying to find anything you could catch. You didn’t have a choice in the matter; your village was beset by sickness and all of your hunters were down with it.

You were one of few who’d managed to avoid catching the virus, and so your job was to do the hunting. Your farms were largely untouched, luckily, but with so many people ill there just wasn’t enough to go around. You needed a successful hunt or things would only get worse.

Trouble was, this was one of very few hunts you’d done over your life, and you’d never been good at it. You saw plenty of rabbits and squirrels as you went about your hunt, but all of your shots at them missed. It was as if, on top of sickness, your village was also being plagued with bad luck.

Then, as you ventured yet deeper into the woods, already feeling the effects of too much strenuous activity, you realized that something was off. It was very quiet here, too much so for the nighttime forest. You should be hearing things, not the least of which would be the wind, but even that seemed to have vanished.

It was utterly still and silent here, and far too dark. Dread began to creep up your neck as you recognized that you’d probably crossed into some area you shouldn’t have, and you started to back away, cautious of disturbing anything potentially dangerous.

Then, to your left, you heard a low, gravelly sound, like the groan of wood. Your blood froze in your veins for a second, and your head turned to look that way despite the sudden terror in your chest trying to stop you.

A faint green glow was emanating from somewhere far that way, and against your control you started to stride towards it, fighting each step you took. It was as if you were being pulled against your will, your limbs attached to strings you could neither see nor break.

Eventually the pull stopped, and the glow you’d spotted started to take a form you could distinguish. At first it was just a greenish blob, but then it grew taller, rectangular, and then spindly at the sides. Disbelief hounded you as you began to realize that you were looking at some kind of humanoid figure, slowly walking towards you. The glow came from within it, through cracks in its shell, illuminating its jagged form.

It looked like it was made of wood, its “skin” lined with cracks and uneven cuts of bark, branches growing from its shoulders. Its head was that of a stag’s skull, bearing large, heavy antlers draped in hanging strings of moss and vines. That green glow oozed from the cracks in the wood, wisping upwards from the hollow sockets of its eye sockets and dispersing around it like a shroud.

It paused in front of you, bearing down at you from a much greater height, twice your size at the least.

You barely managed a strangled whimper.

It lifted an arm with another crackling groan, revealing its long, pointy fingers, and curled a finger under your chin to lift your gaze higher.

As if you could look anywhere else.

You swallowed with difficulty, choking out, “Y-y-you’re…a leshy…”

You’d stumbled your way into the range of a guardian of nature, an actual deity. And you doubted it was going to be magnanimous about your presence.

It made that humming sound again, then spoke — not with its mouth, though its jaw opened and closed, but somehow through the green smoke that wafted from its maw. “Again,” it said, its voice that of a smoky whisper, “your hunters trespass in my territory.”

You sucked in a breath, starting to shake violently. “I-I didn’t mean to. Our village, i-it…we’re in dire straits, I w-wouldn’t be hunting at all if not for the sickness…”

“Sickness?” it whispered, leaning down closer to you, its jaw opening and closing independently of its voice again.

You shrank back as far as your useless legs would allow. “Y-yes…all of our hunters are sick, a-and it spread to most of the village. We n-need more food, but I am not a hunter…I am only doing w-what is needed of me.”

Sucking in a shuddering breath, you went on, “I-if you let me, I will leave…I won’t come back to your territory, I s-swear.”

It hummed in a thoughtful way, straightening back to its full height again. It regarded you in a way you couldn’t see so much as feel, and roughly barked, “Did you never think your hunters becoming sick was a punishment?”

You faltered at that. No, you admitted, you hadn’t, and neither had anyone else in your village. “No, I…we thought it was a curse, perhaps, but a punishment…?” Then, as it dawned on you, you gasped, your eyes widening as you gazed up at the creature before you.

“It was you?” you breathed, distraught all over again. If a god were punishing your people, then the last thing you should be doing was incurring its wrath. But how were you — or anyone — supposed to know? It wasn’t as though a messenger had shown up along with the plague to explain its origins to you.

Slowly, the leshy began to circle you, hooved feet taking long strides around your paralyzed form. “Your hunters,” it rasped, “come here where they are not allowed, past the markers warning them away, and kill. They have killed many mothers and their offspring,” it informed you, coming to a stop in front of you, “and devoured their remains. They earned their punishment.”

You couldn’t argue that, though it was hardly something everyone in your village had known about. Where the hunters got the meat they fed to your people had never been questioned before; everyone was just glad to have meat available to pair with the crops.

Realizing how bad this looked with you being in the leshy’s domain after it’d already punished your hunters, you wracked your brain for a way to escape with your life.

“W-we…we didn’t know any of this,” you tried, earnest. “But now that I do, i-if you let me, I can go back and inform everyone. We won’t ever cross here again, or hunt, ah…females and their offspring. I swear it.”

The leshy visibly contemplated that for a moment, then slowly lowered to a crouch, turning its head aside. You got the impression it was watching you very closely with the eye socket you could see, and you shrank back timidly at what it might be seeing.

Could they read minds, sense emotion? You weren’t lying; you absolutely intended to tell everyone about this, though a part of you doubted very many would listen to you. The leshy was considered a myth by most, even the hunters merely made jokes about it sometimes.

At length, the deity faced you straight-on again, grating, “This is not enough. Humans lie and betray. If you wish to leave here alive, little one, you must give something equal to what was taken.”

Stunned, you blinked at it, stuttering, “W-what was taken? But…you mean the — the hunts?”

It nodded. “You will repay the females and their young with your own,” it decided.

You paled at that. “But…but I couldn’t possibly—!”

“You will,” it repeated.

You bit your lip, envisioning what it might mean by that. “Are you saying,” you venturing, “you want, um…f-females and children?” The idea made you cringe. “Because I don’t think—”

“Not young with you,” it clarified, “your young. The small ones. You will deliver them to me, with their mothers.”

You shook your head, denying it outright. “No. No,” you told it, even as you recognized this could end in your death. “I can’t. I won’t.” Imagining this creature treating your friends and loved ones as the hunters had treated its own, devouring them, absolutely broke your heart.

Your back straightened with a wave of courage you hadn’t known you possessed. “I won’t give my family to you like sacrifices. Especially not our children and their mothers. They don’t deserve it.”

The leshy made another of those thoughtful, grating hums, green wisps billowing out from its maw. Then, leaning back on its hooves, it rasped, “Very well. You pass, little one.”

You balked, confused. “Wait, that was — that was a test?”

It rose to its feet, standing upright. “If you cared nothing for your pack,” it reasoned quietly, “how could I expect you to care for mine?”

Your jaw dropped; then, snapping it shut, you ventured, “Then…am I free to go?”

It gave a low, lingering groan. “Hnnnn… no. Something must be given. A promise.” It canted its head towards you, as though eying you all over again. Then, as you chewed your lip and waited for its decision, it began, “You will return here. Every full moon—” it pointed up, through the trees at the moon above; the first quarter “—you will return to me. As long as you do this and keep your hunters from my territory, your pack will be safe.”

You exhaled shakily. “Okay,” you breathed. You could do that. “When should I arrive, and how long do I stay?”

“From dusk until dawn.”

You faltered at that. “So long? I mean,” you hurried out, “I am not…a creature of the night. Staying up all night will be hard.”

“It matters not to me if you sleep during that time. But you will come, little one,” it warned you.

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay…okay. And in return,” you pressed cautiously, “will you lift your punishment? Allow our — ah, my people — to get better?”

“One thing for another, human,” it rasped.

You glanced about, at a loss. “What can I give you, then?”

“Time,” it answered simply.

“Time?” you echoed, confused.

“You will give time. It is the most precious thing for all that live. Yes,” it decided. “You will give me your time.”

You processed that. “How much time, exactly?” you checked carefully.

“All that you have,” it answered. “One night, the full moon of every month, until you lay down to rest.”

You puffed out a breath. “W-what if I end up moving away?”

“Then our deal is ended, and my curse returns.” It canted its head at you. “Life for death, little one. Agree, and you return home alive. Refuse, and I take my due in flesh and blood, instead.”

You shivered, realizing all at once that you’d become complacent during this conversation. Now the fear from before returned on a wave, reminding you that you were dealing with a god of nature that was literally towering over you, and at any moment it could just decide to stop playing nice and smoosh you into paste.

“I agree,” you whispered, clutching your bow to your chest in a useless but comforting gesture.

“Very well.” With a careless wave of its arm, those glowing green wisps trailing after the motion, it declared on a dry rasp, “You may leave. Return with the moon.”

You nodded eagerly, backing away — then stopped, another thought coming to mind. “Wait, what if…what if I can’t find my way back here? I-I’m not familiar with the forest—”

“As long as you hold to our deal,” it told you quietly, “your feet will always return to me.”

You decided it was best not to question that. “A-and if I’m just…late getting here?”

“Infractions,” it informed you, “will be dealt with as they occur.”

“And,” you went on more sheepishly, realizing you were pushing for a lot with this creature, “may we continue to hunt, as long as we stay away from here and don’t target mothers and their offspring?”

“Hnn,” it grunted, tipping its head back to regard the sky above. “Even humans must eat,” it rasped, as if to itself. Then, looking down at you again, it replied, “Hunt as you need, but no more, and harm neither mothers nor their young. Yes. This will do,” it decided.

Then, all at once, it faced you and you got the distinct impression that its presence had swollen in size, becoming an oppressive force bearing down on you.

“And now,” it stated, more loudly and firmly than before but still as brokenly, “you will leave my sight, little one.”

Knowing better than to say a damn thing more, you nodded eagerly, spinning in place and hurrying away. You tried to keep from outright running, both because you didn’t want to offend the leshy and because you knew that running would just exhaust you and leave you potentially vulnerable, but it was hard not to break into a sprint.

You knew the instant you cleared its territory because it was suddenly brighter and louder, the sounds of the nighttime forest coming back in a sudden rush as if you’d broken through some kind of barrier.

You breathed easier once you were past that point — until you realized you were still in a forest during the night and potentially surrounded by wolves. Shaking your head, you kept onwards until you reached the village, sighing with relief and gasping for breath after the long trip.

You returned empty-handed but not without news, and you immediately began telling everyone you could find what had occurred. Predictably, most people dismissed your story — even those beset with the sickness who could barely open their eyes — or told you to stop eating the strange mushrooms you found in the forest.

It didn’t matter to you, though. Time would prove you right, and as days passed, it did. Those sick with the unnamed fever gradually recovered, and even the worst hunters of your village — including you — managed to find some small game to help feed everyone.

The sudden influx of wellness and luck turned some of your family to your side, thankfully, and by the time the full moon returned, you actually felt good about everything. In a way, you’d saved your village, and not with weapons or hunts or even all that much knowledge, really.

With sacrifice and wits.

True to the leshy’s word, once the sun began to set and you headed out into the forest to uphold your end of the deal, your feet seemed to simply know the path you had to take. The road was practically cleared for you, and it took significantly less time to pass through that barrier of darkness and silence than when you’d left here last time.

Eventually your feet halted in a clearing you’d never seen before, giving you time to look around and get your bearings. Here, the leaves were decorated in tiny, glowing pinpricks and bioluminescent moss crawled up the sides of the trees. A pile of old leaves, feathers and fur was packed into a hard circle not unlike a nest the size of a house. And you couldn’t help noting that the branches of the trees were incredibly high in the air, tall enough that it wouldn’t tangle into even the leshy’s massive antlers.

Unable to stop yourself, you peeked into the nest and saw a whole host of tiny creatures nestled within, whole families of squirrels, birds, raccoons and the like. The sight of it warmed you from within, and you started to realize what sort of deity you’d truly met.

To share its bed with even the smallest and lowliest of creatures…it must truly love them.

Then, out of nowhere, your awareness perked up and drew your gaze — once again — to your left, where a dull but massive green glow began to peek through the trees.

You turned to face it with a smile.

#siren nightshade #oneshot #leshy #monstertober 2022 #sfw #i have this feeling like the leshy might be up there with the wendigo #in terms of 'should not be used in popular culture'#cause it's bad/offensive/etc #but given i've never even seen the leshy used before outside of The Witcher #maybe it's okay?#inform me if that's not the case

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