The Beast

Chapter Two

It didn't take long for Ylvir to recover from his wounds, but scars lingered in their place, most far deeper than his skin.

His long-held yearning to mingle and play with other children had all but disappeared, but that did nothing to diminish the young boy's wanderlust. It wasn't difficult to feel cramped and stifled within the confines of the small and humble cottage. Even his father grew tired of having him there, though his newly developed habit of chewing on the furniture may have played a large part in that.

"Git out," his father growled at him, nudging him out the door with a firm hand. "Go do somethin' productive and help yer mum."

The door slammed shut while Ylvir stumbled and looked around in confusion. He soon got his bearing, dropping his hands to the earth as he crawled much like a dog toward the garden, where he knew his mother would be.

He could hear her before he could see her, humming a pleasant tune to herself. He paused to listen, the sound soothing and beautiful to his keen hearing. As he crawled nearer, he spied her golden hair above the foliage of the garden that thrived in her attentive care. Ylvir made sure to step carefully and not harm any of the delicate plants as he approached woman, who remained oblivious to his presence in her humming state.

"Whatcha singin'?" he asked when she paused her tune.

His mother jumped slightly, her breath catching before she turned to see him and breathed out slowly.

"Ylvir, you really shouldn't sneak up on me like that," she scolded, though her smile eradicated any notion of anger she might have held.

Ylvir bowed his head, nonetheless, muttering, "Sorry."

Her shoulders dropped in a sigh as she turned more fully towards him. "That's quite alright. Just a little warning next time would be nice. What brings you out here?"

"Da' kicked me out," he pouted, sitting on his haunches.

His mother looked at him knowingly. "Well he must have had a reason."

The boy shifted in visible discomfort, averting his gaze. "I been chewin' on te furniture."

The woman surprised her son with a laugh, and the sound lightened his mood. "Now why would you do something like that?"

"'M bored, an' my teef hurt, an' te wood tastes funny," he listed.

"Ylvir, I know you're still young, but you really shouldn't get into the habit of talking like that. Enunciate your words dear," she instructed motherly. "Now tell me again, but say it properly."

Ylvir sighed. "I'm bored, my teeth hurt, and the wood tastes funny," he repeated, struggling at some points to overcome the accent that was the courtesy of his father as well as his youth.

"See? Not so hard," his mother said with a knowing smile.

He gave an involuntary half-smile. "No."

"Keep it up and you'll soon be charming all the ladies with your eloquent speech," she teased, before her expression turned a little more serious. "So your teeth hurt, do they? Come here, and let's take a look. On your feet, dear."

Ylvir complied by pushing his hands up and off the ground, walking on his feet towards his mother. As soon as he was in reach, she straightened out his trousers (his only clothing, seeing as no shirt or shoes would fit his strange body) and brushed the dirt off of them. Once finished, she brushed her hands off on her own muddied gardening skirt, immediately proceeding to put her fingers to his lips, pulling the back to examine his teeth with a determined look. He couldn't help let out a small growl in protest at the uncomfortable sensation.