Oliver wasn’t always alone. Not like he exactly enjoyed it but it was better than the alternative. Before his cabin in the roaring mountains became as quiet as life on the outside, he had friends of course. But those friends moved on, not holding onto the life in the cabin, which was much better. Oliver, however, stayed in the woods and the cabin and lived day by day. He enjoyed his simple life, and the musty books around him provided comfort. The smell of pages that had not been open in years are one of the best smells known on this green earth. The warm fireplace was the only warmth he felt, its embers always fluttering about. Oliver was content and calm with his existence, willing to live the rest of his days alone, surrounded by his collection of books. His gentle face had no one to stare at it, but that was no issue, merely a byproduct of the self-imposed isolation. His ruffled clothes were hand-me-downs and had seen better days, but it was better than nothing in the mountains. The cold could kill up there.
His days were simple. Fine at best. His walls were covered with books of all styles and lengths, and he spent his time with his nose in a book. He could, and often did, read until the sun came down. When Oliver could pull himself away from a book, he wandered around the woods he called home, foraging for any game and greens he could gather.
Although he called the woods his home, he wasn’t precisely knowledgeable about the local flora, often confusing poisons with the palatable. He’s managed, although it is rough. As such, he frequently sets traps for various small game and fish in the nearby river. Fall primarily provided quite a feast on the regular. He was too scrawny to hunt actively, so this primary method was perfect for him. Although he himself wasn’t a survivalist, he always found a way through knowledge of those long gone. His books on how to set traps and such kept him alive. The books he had were his only real lifeline to the outside world. Getting the extra rabbit or a few extra fish was a treat to be sure and brighten his otherwise mundane life. With this extra game, he went all the way down the mountain, the leaves of fall crunching as they made contact with his feet adding another little smile as he made his way to the local village at the base.
He didn’t like the village; too many people were saying too much. Too many heels are clicking against the cobblestone pathways, and too many are always watching him. Some were leering with fascination, others with fear. Oliver didn’t like to be alone, but he hated the company of the local townsfolk more. Oliver kept his head down, acting friendly as he went about. He never stayed long, no matter how many drinks someone offered to buy. One person in particular called him, “Buddy,” no matter how much Oliver protested. Bartering was done quickly so he would refrain from trying any funny business, the last thing Oliver needed was to have a chat with him. He quickly traded what he could without so much as a word to the shopkeep and hurried home, desperate to get away from prying eyes,
The days ran through as he continued his life. Books and his cabin remained his only honest company. The cabin surrounding him was unkempt, but its years were clearly showing, with the cobwebs in the forgotten corners growing by the day and the dust of unswept nooks building up. But it was of no matter, no visitors would be coming to inspect the neglected corners of his cabin anytime soon.
In quiet moments, Oliver could ponder on himself. He looks back in his life, the chapters he has lived turning in his head. The people who he onced called friends. His heart felt warm as he recalled their laughs and smiles. The way he felt so complete with everyone around, but alas, nothing ever lasts forever.
His average days continued as the first snowfall arrived. His way of life remained simple. Keep your nose in a book, tidy up occasionally, and reset the traps around the woods.
One such typical day arose again. Winter was in full swing, the frost creeping on his windows. Oliver, deciding to get some fresh air, put his book down and shuffled through his house, the floorboards creaking under his weight. On the usual rounds of his forest for any wild game in the frigid winter, so he could have something more significant than he was expecting for dinner, but something bigger than he was expecting was caught in his trap.
“Stay away!” The voice barked, their tone battle-hardened and laden with threat. A quite rude introduction for someone he just met.
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“Whoa there, easy now! I mean no harm; this trap is meant for game”. Oliver raises his hands in front of himself in mock surrender. It was never good to get into too much conflict, it would increase the fear other people already felt.
“As if! You’re another hunter, well you won’t get near.” With surprising efficiency, the rope holding the voice in place was snapped, its threads starting to unravel and lay bare in the crystalline snow. Now standing fully, the voice revealed itself to be stout, with ruffled short hair full of twigs and other debris. Their clothes were of modest leather, stained with blood and mud. The eyes were anything but amiable, full of immediate hatred, narrow and sneering. The standout features, however, were their ears and tail, which were fluffy and the same color as their hair, and a bark brown. They seemed to stand alert. The tail perks up along with the ears for full sensory awareness.
“An Oak Tree!” Oliver blurted out without much care. The figure scowled back, bearing their claws, again a VERY rude thing to do.
“Like I said, I don’t plan to hurt you.” Oliver continues to surrender to the threat, trying to correct his earlier mistake. His kind eyes attempted to calm down the foe. The assailant has ceased talking and lunges forward, their claws made fully bare as they lunge at the opponent.
Oliver’s hands wave as he sidesteps the strike, the wind beneath him kicking up snow in its wake. The assailant, although shocked at the speed of the dodge, doesn’t stop and dives forward once more, claws at the ready. Oliver sidestepped yet again, acting as if the wind were aiding him.
“Just stay still!” The Lycan ordered.
“You’re trying to claw me like I'm some common prey, why would I ever stay still? I promise I won’t hurt you, ok? Just put the claws away” The Lycan, feeling outmatched, retracts their claws but still guards something with their entire body, their teeth on full display. Oliver steps closer, only to be met with louder growling. He steps back to his original position, his hands not leaving his front, still in mock surrender. Hidden by the assailant, a small pair of ears can be seen. As golden as the moon in the sky, the ears flicker in fear.
“Look, I can help you, ok?” Oliver continues to plead. Out of strength and the will to fight, the Lycan lowers its guard as Oliver steps forward. “I’m Oliver, and you are?”
“I’m Charianne Moonwalker.” Her voice was still as frigid as the snow they stepped in as she guarded the mysterious second pair of ears.
Oliver continues, “You look like you’ve seen better days, what’s your story Charianne?”
“No business of yours, hunter.” The emphasis on ‘hunter’ made Oliver flinch. Despite not being one, he can’t help but be offended on their behalf. Quite a rude oak tree.
“Ok?” Oliver tries to think of a way to pivot the dead conversation then notices the Lycan putting more weight on one foot and constantly shifting; on the verge of full collapse. “Are you hurt?” Oliver walks forward.
“STAY BACK!” The Lycan barks, yet Oliver continues on.
“No can do, you’re hurt.” A hurt stranger is never good to just leave around, the cold could kill. He inches closer as the Lycan keeps their guard up, almost entirely blocking the pair of golden ears behind them. Oliver still goes further, lifting and assessing the weakened foot before pulling out his book. “Stay still,” He lifts the book and chants words in a language Charianne cannot begin to understand, words filled with the essence of the world condensing in an instant. Magic. All at once, energy flows out from Oliver to the Lycan, caressing her broken foot, almost like a mothers touch, through her shoes. Then, the pain the Lycan was feeling subsided.
“Thank you.” Charianne shifts, now putting equal weight on both legs. This shift fully reveals who she was protecting—a small Lycan child with glowing golden hair and eyes full of innocence and wonder. Chariane is ready to fully stand but is pushed down. The child climbs over Charianne, who is still trying to hold her back and runs up to Oliver.
“Magic!” The child shouts excitedly. “You can use magic!”
“Why yes I can,” Oliver warmly smiles back.
“Teach me!” The child is trying to be polite, but it’s clear that their whimsy is getting in the way. “Teach me magic sir!”
Charianne pulls their daughter back forcefully and starts to scold her. “Luna Shine Moonwalker, you will do no such thing!”
“But mooooooom… you can only teach me so much and there’s a magician right there!”
“Actually,” Oliver pipes up, “Wizard is the word I would use.” Luna squirms from their mother’s grasp and goes right next to Oliver.
“Magic Man, show me magic!” Rude, just like the oak tree.
“Magic Man is a new one,” Oliver flips through his book, the simple leather cover deceiving what it holds, “Ah, here’s a good one.” He sets the book down, still open, and starts to form something out of snow. The shape slowly takes shape as he molds it; Oliver forms a head, beak, body, and wings. He sets the bird-shaped snow down and starts to chant, the words of power making magic flow forward from his lips and his hands down into the bird-shaped snow. After finishing, the snow falls off to reveal a small finch, its feathers as white as the snow it came from. It nuzzles close to Oliver.
“If it’s magic you want little witchlet, it’s magic you’ll get.”