fourstrings | the woods are lovely, dark and deep

the woods are lovely, dark and deep

[ What’s so special about this tree, huh?

For Wolfwood, the answer is simple. He’d done a job that pissed off the wrong people, was going to have to move again and dreading packing up all his shit, when a man pale as moonlight and broad in the shoulders as your average wagon had walked up to him like he was trying to put his feet through the earth instead of on top of it and told him he was now a guard. And Wolfwood had laughed – guarding is a shit job, too much sitting around, the payoff too brief when someone finally tries something – until the man produced a bag of more money than Wolfwood had ever seen in one place. He'd said yes, obviously. Before he’d asked what he was to guard.

He should have asked.

He’d roared with laughter when he saw the tree, which had gone… badly. The man who was paying him told him (in a voice that sounded very like he hadn’t used it in a long time) that he had already accepted the payment, and if he wasn’t going to take his job seriously there would be more serious repercussions than paying the money back. So Wolfwood thought… fine. It was out of town, there was a little cottage for him to stay in – not right next to the tree, but close enough to see it. Tough not to, really; it was big, must have been old as hell. And it was… nice, out there. Quiet and green with a well for fresh water, a river running to a lake that would be good for fishing, plenty of game to hunt, and a few wild fruit trees scattered around if he got a sweet tooth. He could use some peace and quiet after things had gone so badly. So he settled in, and became a guard for a tree.

It's still hard to imagine why a tree is worth enough money that Wolfwood will never need to obtain more of it, but he’s grown fond of it. He’s not sure what kind of tree it is; the bark is pale and smooth but knotted and burled in ways that mean Wolfwood almost sees pictures in it when he runs his hands over the trunk. The leaves change colour with the seasons; riotously green in spring and summer, bright and cheerful gold and red in autumn. But trees like that drop their leaves in winter, and this one… doesn’t. Those leaves turn dark but they stay on, providing shelter for all manner of woodland creatures while everything is cold and wet. And he starts to imagine he understands why the moonlight man is so fond of it, too. There’s… a feeling about this tree. Wolfwood find himself returning to it often, sitting under its branches to whittle (other wood, not this one – you don’t take risks like that when you’re paid this much), sometimes talking to it because there’s not another speaking being out here since the one time a dude approached it with an axe and Wolfwood had sent him off with a promise that if he came back the axe would be going through his skull. He gets attached. He rests under it as he makes things, eats his lunch under the shade of its branches. Gets drunk one day, tells a story about his escapades as a street urchin and thinks he hears the leaves rustling on this still and breezeless day, lets himself think that the tree is laughing along with him and pours a little of his wine at its roots like sharing a drink. When summer comes and the sun beats down hot he strips off under its branches, goes for a swim in the lake, and when he returns to the tree to doze while he dries off before dressing again he could swear the branches shift until the shadow of them keeps the sun off him, safe from burning. A woodpecker lands in the branches one day, starts hammering at the bark with its beak, and Wolfwood is nuts enough out here with no company but the tree by now that he swears he feels a wave of disapproval when he pegs a stone at the bird to move it away.

Sorry, tree, he says, but some lunatic paid me good money to make sure you’re not damaged. He runs a hand over its smoothly knotted bark, and tells himself next time he’ll just shout.

It’s a quiet life, but nice. He’s been there nearly a year. Complacent. Which is why it’s the thud of an axe that wakes him, not the sound of people. He rushes out, dressed in the pants he fell asleep in but sword in hand. There’s a brief yelling match – apparently this tree is magical and the men want the wood for – some shit, Wolfwood doesn’t listen. Swings his sword instead. He doesn’t actually want to kill them, because then he’d have to deal with disposing of bodies. That’s probably what gets him, in the end. They leave, injured but not imperilled, but one of them throws an axe at him as a parting shot. Not as bad as it would be if they’d swung it, but he knows from the sick, hot pain deep in his thigh that the bone is broken. It’s some kind of mania that keeps him on his feet until they’re far gone, and only then does he allow himself to go to the ground, drag himself back under the shelter of the tree and wonder how the fuck he’s going to get back to his cabin and tend this wound. He puts a hand over the shallow gash they’d made in the tree like the one he has pressed to his own leg, and counts himself lucky that these idiots apparently didn’t know how to use axes on men or trees. ]

This is a fine fuckin’ mess we’re in, huh?

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[ it's not that vash is lonely.

not... exactly.

after all, the woods where he and his brother live have always been teeming with life! there are the birds that build their nests and raise their young in his branches, the small creatures that forage around his roots, and always the soft voices of his brother and sisters woven through the melody of all the living, growing things around them. so no, lonely never feels like the right word to use to describe the ache that stays nestled in his chest.

nai would say that it's vash's fascination with humans that's to blame, and... he's probably right. but how is vash supposed to help it! they're always teeming with creativity and curiosity, eager to explore and to expand and to build, and the pace at which they live their lives is so different from the rest of the forest that he can't help but be drawn in. he can't even begrudge them for what they take from them, the pain they cause -- sometimes it almost feels worth it, to know he'll be part of the dreams they're spinning, even if he doesn't get to see them for himself.

but this newest human is different.

he stays, for one, settling into the long-abandoned cabin and making a home for himself there. he even talks to vash as if he expects vash to answer back, and his hands are gentle when he strokes them up along his bark or rests one on the knotted burl of an old injury. and he's never taken anything from vash, not even a branch to light the fire in his hearth, only sits near him and talks to him and idles away the hours with him like they might be friends.

it's the first time in a long time that vash hasn't been lonely, not at all, and maybe that's why the idea of losing this human is so terrible that the sight of him wounded makes vash spoil his own secret. it happens before he has the chance to even think it over -- one moment he's willing his trunk to bend so that he can lean over his human with concern, and the next? he's kneeling beside him, panicked and flustering, reaching out towards the human's leg like he can will the bone mended. ]

Why did you do that?! [ which is a very ungrateful question to ask someone who just spared your bark from an axe, but. ]

The fuck -

[ Did he get hit harder that he thought? Pass out and not even notice? 'cause there's a guy leaning over him, which is enough to make Wolfwood reach for his sword before the concern in his voice registers, and the tree is gone, the shade from its full branches suddenly absent -

but no. He's where he was before. He can see his little cabin, hear the river right where it was before.

He looks down at himself, spreads his hands to check he didn't lose one and end up hallucinating from blood loss. Looks up again, into the strange mans's face. It's beautiful. Golden hair, jewel-bright eyes, a perfect little beauty mark. Almost... magically gorgeous.

Wolfwood squints. ]

Are you the fucking tree?

That's not what you should be worried about!

[ with a dismissive little flap of his hands, eyes fixed on the man's injured leg. clearly, there's a lot of things he doesn't think wolfwood should concern himself with -- where vash came from, why he's naked, the small gash on his own side trickling a warm stream of blood. the broken leg is obviously the bigger problem! ]

They could've done more than just throw an axe at you! [ fussing! ] And what if you'd been out here all alone? You couldn't even crawl back to your cabin with your leg like this!

[ doesn't this human know how fragile humans are!!!

he huffs, and doesn't even bother asking for permission before he leans forward to scoop wolfwood up into his arms bridal style, careful not to jostle the injured leg as much as he can. then he's setting off for the cabin, as carefully as a child trying to balance an egg on a spoon. ]

Could too.

[ Surly and offended, like a small child being told they're not to jump from the shed roof realizing only now that they've been stopped how dreadful an outcome it would have been, but still unwilling to admit it. It's prompted at least partly by the fact that the man's nudity exposes how slender he is and the way that makes it all the more shocking that he carries Wolfwood as if he weighs as much as a newborn pup, and just as carefully. Even Wolfwood's attempts to respectfully divert his eyes aren't enough to prevent him from noticing the heavy scarring, or the new wound, oozing blood, apparently carried over from the (blessedly shallow) bite of the axe. ]

I'm not gonna be told off by a... what are you, anyway? Dryad? - who was gonna let himself be cut down.

I wasn't going to get cut down!

[ flashing him a Look as he says it. ]

I've managed to stay standing all this time! Even without someone putting himself in front of axes for me.

[ still ignoring the question. once he gets the injury cleaned and the broken leg set, there's a chance wolfwood will pass out and blame this whole episode on delirium, right? ]

Hn.

[ A small, disapproving grunt is all the response he cares to give. Largely because he's got no comeback for that; it's obviously true, isn't it? Still. Wolfwood's hardly about to admit it. Plenty of people have chopped at his tree before, by the look of him. It's not happening on his watch -

and the moonlight man who charged him with that duty is an afterthought, really. It's his tree now. Or... was, until it turned into a man who's bent on giving him sass for trying to save his life.

They draw to the cabin - door still open, as it often is with nobody around to wander in or steal things, although this time because Wolfwood ran out half-dressed and shouting - and Wolfwood points. ]

Put me on the bed and bring me the chest from the cupboard by the door.

[ There's all sorts of shit in there. Salves and bandages and whatnot. ]

So bossy.

[ but there's an evident fondness in his tone when he says it, and in the careful way he settles wolfwood down on the bed. and he doesn't even protest about being made to fetch! instead he trots over obediently to the cupboard, searching inside for a moment before he pops back up with the chest.

a look inside, and -- oh! relief! because while he knows the basics of human medicine, he's not exactly well-supplied for it.

back over to the best, chest cradled in his arms, putting it down within arms reach. ] Can you, ah... handle this part? I can go find you something for the pain!

Like willowbark?

[ Scowling, but this time it's for show, and probably demonstrated in the way his mouth wants to curl up into a smile. He's right on the verge of slapping the man's hands away from the chest, because he's got plans for what's gonna happen before his leg - but it provides inspiration, since the naked-ass man in his house seems uncooperative as far as his own care is concerned. ]

Ow, ah, my leg. The pain is unimaginable.

[ Flat, because he's never been much of an actor. Lying, sure, but acting? No. He grabs a bandage and a little pottle of salve and beckons to the nude tree-stranger. ]

C'mere. I want my whiskey and I don't want you bleeding all over my damn floor while you get it for me.

[ it's terrible acting, but it's still enough to make vash go wide-eyed and concerned all over again. there's a useless little flap of his hands, like he's desperate to do something, but isn't quite sure what, and --!

it has him off-balance enough to fluster when wolfwood makes that demand. ]

Wh --? [ blinking, then looking down at the shallow gash on his side like he's forgotten how it even managed to get there. but the protest that follows is almost indignant! ] You should worry more about yourself! You've got a lot more to worry about than just bleeding, and --

[ what if his leg ends up falling right off! it's not like vash can just magic him up a replacement, the way he'd fashioned one for his own arm! and humans need their legs -- they're always tromping about everywhere, busy as ants working on their hill, and the thought of this one trying to hobble around just makes him... sad.

... it's entirely against the rules for vash to help, but it's almost definitely just as against the rules to be sitting here talking to him, so. his face scrunches up in thought for a moment before he shakes his head with another huff, batting wolfwood's hands away and reaching for his leg. placing both hands on him -- one flesh and one wood, and then tapping into the soft thrum of power always coursing underneath the surface.

fortunately, it's only a hairline fracture, so the bone doesn't need to be reset. that means that vash can just coax it to grow again, speeding the way it knits itself back together. if the human hasn't panicked about the thought that he's talking to a tree, hopefully he won't panic at the way that ancient magic glows from underneath vash's skin. and really, it's the least vash can do, isn't it? a little rule-breaking and a little magic both seem like pretty small rewards compared to the way the man protected him.

he pulls away after a long moment, letting the magic dissipate. ] There. That's better.

Gknzz-!

[ He gets the feeling moving while this happens isn't the best idea, so he stays as still as he can - which is why that incredibly stupid sound escapes his mouth. It tickles. And it's a deeply weird feeling to have a bone tickle! He gets it under control, though. Easy enough to do, when it gives him a chance to properly examine the wooden arm. No, not wooden - that makes it sound like something artificial, carved. It's wood. Like it's been grown, just as much a natural part of Vash as the other.

Impressive. But not as impressive as the way the man glows, the way the light takes him from beautiful to ethereal.

He'd been a little miffed about losing his tree, honestly. This makes him think he can get used to the idea. And when that glow fades - along with any trace of tickling, or pain - Wolfwood bends his leg at the knee, gives it a wiggle. Good as new.

Fuckin' hell. ]

Thanks. [ Gruff, a little embarrassed. ] Can you do that for yourself, or are you gonna let me patch you up? Not above wrestling you to the floor to do it, now you've fixed my leg.

[ the unfortunate side effect of not having wolfwood’s leg to worry about? it gives him more room to get flustered about himself.

which is why there’s another little wave of both hands, and a — ] It’s okay, really! It barely even hurts!

And I just wanted to make sure your leg is alright, I should really — [ already standing, like a deer prepared to bolt back into the underbrush. ] I mean! Thank you! For what you did, even though you definitely shouldn’t do it again!

Wait.

[ Rude way to treat the magical being who just fixed his leg, but he reaches out and grabs the man by his (flesh and bone) wrist. The ease with which the man had carried him to the cabin gives Wolfwood the impression he'd be able to shake him off with no effort at all - but everything else about him tells Wolfwood he won't. Not if there's a risk of hurting him to do it. So he clamps his hand down hard - not hard enough to hurt, but enough that he'd have to hurt Wolfwood to shift him. ]

I've spent a year with you and I don't even know your name.

Stay. Just for a while. Have a drink with me. I can get you clothes, if it's bein' naked that's got you in a tizzy.

[ the sudden grip on his wrist makes vash go wide-eyed all over again, staring down at wolfwood’s hand like he can’t quite figure out how it might’ve gotten there. he swallows, shifting from one foot onto the other, until — ]

… it’s Vash.

And — [ then the rest of that offer catches up to him, and he promptly flushes bright pink. maybe it seems silly for a tree to be shy about being naked, but he knows it’s not a normal state for humans!! and it’s why he makes a pitiful attempt at covering himself with his free hand, the next bit coming out an octave or two higher than normal. ] … and yes! To the clothes, I mean! Er, the clothes and the drink, but especially the clothes!

That's more like it. Alright, Vash. Wardrobe's there. I reckon everything's gonna be too short for you in the arms and legs and you'll probably need a belt to hold the pants up, but help yourself to whatever. I'll go get us some drinks and give you some privacy.

[ There's a glimmer of worried anticipation as he swings his legs off the bed and stands, but it's for nothing. His leg doesn't hurt at all. He pauses just before he leaves the room, remembering his manners (but not enough to keep him from looking back at the still-naked man standing there and flashing him a grin). ]

I'm Wolfwood.

[ And then he's off to pour those drinks - two very generous measures of that whiskey he mentioned in little ceramic cups with a speckled green-and-gold glaze. He picked them up on a whim, prettier than anything else he owns, but it feels right to bust them out for company. ]

[ wolfwood.

just knowing his name is enough to make vash feel a little dizzy! or maybe that was because of that grin that wolfwood tossed him over his shoulder?

oh! but now that he’s considering the idea of clothes, vash realizes it’d be… pretty rude to just bleed over all his things, wouldn’t it? which is why he reaches for the chest again, stealing a glance over at where wolfwood is arranging the drinks in the hopes that he won’t notice. the bandages are easy enough to find, but there’s more than one little pot of salve, and… which one was he holding up earlier?

taking the lid off one and risking a little sniff, nose immediately wrinkling up at the smell that escapes. ]

Not that one.

[ Because it does have a hell of a whiff to it - enough that Wolfwood knows almost immediately when it's opened. ]

It's for bug bites and stings and shit. Numbs 'em so you don't go crazy itchin' 'em, but it hurts like a bitch if you get it in an open wound.

You sure you don't want me to take care of it for ya? Got plenty of practice.

[ vash slaps the lid right back on the jar like it’ll try jumping into his wound on its own, color leaping back up into his face now that he’s been caught out. it’s tempting to try insisting all over again that he’s fine, that he doesn’t need wolfwood to fuss over him, but…

… well, he’s not being selfish if he’s just worried about bleeding on wolfwood’s clothes, right? ]

… maybe I could use a little help. But only if you’re sure you don’t mind!

Not gonna abandon my favourite tree just because it's a dude now. I'm gonna wash my hands. You put on some pants if you're still feelin' shy.

[ And he does indeed wash his hands, glad he bothered learning to use tallow and lye to make soap. When they're scrubbed to his satisfaction he wets a clean cloth and carts it back over, along with the drinks - thinks abotu handing one to Vash now, then sets them on the little cupboard he hauled over next to the bed to serve as a bedside table of sorts. ]

Good to go?

[ wolfwood is really taking this whole tree thing in stride, huh? or maybe he thinks it’s some kind of very vivid dream? either way, it’s working out in vash’s fav —

oh! right! pants!

there’s a scramble for the wardrobe as he remembers, and he’s got just enough time to pull a pair of them on before wolfwood comes back over. they fit well enough around the waist, but the hems end up riding high — which vash actually finds a little charming, not that he’s planning to admit it out loud! maybe it’s just nice that things are similar enough for him to still be the taller one even when he isn’t looming over wolfwood as a tree!

but once the pants are back on, he perches himself back on the edge of the bed, nodding! ]

I guess it’ll be good to see how it’s done! In case you decide to jump in front of anymore axes.

Don't plan on makin' a habit of it.

[ But he's smiling, mouth quirked up at one corner. Who's to say? If Vash goes tree again, and more folk come at him with axes, Wolfwood can't make any promises.

He can take care of this, though, and squats down next to Vash. Up close, the wound isn't as bad as Wolfwood had worried - though it's still not the nothing Vash made it out to be. He's gentle as he can be when he wipes away the blood, and the pot of salve he opens up is far less stinky than the one Vash had - lightly herbal rather than the kind of scent that makes your nose go numb along with the bites. ]

This is supposed to help keep it clean. Stings, sometimes, but not nearly as bad as what you were gonna put on it.

[ That's as much warning as Vash gets before Wolfwood carefully dabs some of the salve over the wound. Then there's a little wad of finer cloth that he puts right over the wound itself to keep the bandage itself from rubbing at it before he starts looping the bandage - wrapping it right around vash's torso makes it look more dramatic than the wound actually is, but it's the best way he can think of to keep it in place. Tucks the end back in nice and snug, and he rests his hands on his knees as he looks up at the other man. ]

How's that? Not too tight?

[ oh.

oh!

it’s… not the first time wolfwood has touched vash. but it’s the first time he’s touched him like this, and it feels like his skin tingles in every place where wolfwood’s fingers brush against him. another downside to this form, because no one can ever tell if a tree is flushed, but like this? vash knows there’s no real hope of hiding it.

and he ends up being so preoccupied with how it feels to have wolfwood touching him that he forgets he’s supposed to be watching and learning, so there’s a little jolt of surprise once he realizes wolfwood is finished and he’s managed to miss nearly all the process. instead, he reaches down to stroke his fingertips gently over the bandaging, almost awed. ]

No, it’s… [ no ones ever done this for him before. tended to one of his wounds, bandaged him up and looked after him. almost like he’s human. ] Thank you, Wolfwood.

[ Vash sound so awed in his gratitude that Wolfwood looks at his face properly now, and -

hell. He's faintly pink in the cheeks, touching the bandaging with an expression that Wolfwood doesn't exactly know what to make of, other than the fact that it makes him want to kiss Vash. Soft and slow, and then much harder. That seems like a bit much for a guy who was trying to run naked out of the house a few short minutes ago, so Wolfwood cuts his eyes away from Vash's face and reaches gently to move Vash's hand away from the bandages. ]

Don't fiddle with it.

[ Little rude, so he makes up for it by hauling himself back to his feet and grabbing the cups again, handing one off to Vash and raising the other slightly in toast. ]

Here's to neither of us getting anything important chopped off.

[ pulling his hand back obediently! mostly because it seems rude to defy someone who was just kind enough to patch you up, but also because he’s a little afraid he’ll disturb the bandages enough to make them fall off, and he wants to keep them!

but he lights up when wolfwood passes him the little cup, taking a moment to oooh at it before giving the liquid inside a curious sniff. and then… blinking at the sight of wolfwood with his own cup raised, a clear question mark in his expression.

oh, but — ]

Please don’t get something important chopped off!

Huh?

[ Oh, right. Tree. ]

No, it's - we call it a toast. It's like saying "hooray, neither of us go anything important chopped off. May we continue to not get anything important chopped off", you know? And then you drink, for luck.

[ He takes a sip, and then - well, since they're already here. He just plonks down the bed right next to Vash. ]

I'm getting the feeling you spend more time as a tree than you do as a man.

[ oh! well, that's a lot better than having wolfwood state that he fully intends to get something chopped off, isn't it? which is why vash relaxes visibly after the explanation, and then takes a sip of his own!

...

... and then promptly bursts into a fit of coughing, because why does that burn? why is it spicy?

hang on, it'll take him a second to even get the breath to respond. ] I never said I was a tree! [ he just... also never said he wasn't. ] ... and if I was, shouldn't you be making a bigger deal out of it?

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