They froze, staring up at the thing. It was twice the size of a full grown elephant seal, and almost the same shape, but sturdy though stubby legs supported its massive bulk, and a long, paddlelike tail trailed off behind it. A plush pelt of fur in shades of white and grey and black, mottled and striped, covered it.

"You distract it, I'll get my axe into its skull from behind," muttered the Woodstrider, without moving.

"It's alive," Offswitch said nervously.

"Kitty," said Garbleday, pointing.

Trashscarf put on his best smile, and spread his hands wide. "FRIENDS," he stated, in a loud, clear voice.

"FRAAAMF!" said the monster, and fell forward onto them, crushing them in soft fur and rolls of thick blubbery skin, while a thunderous purr boiled around them.

Wriggling to freedom, they scrambled away to see the monster curled up contentedly around Garbleday-- all they could see of the watchman was one boot sticking out, but it was kicking feebly, so he probably was still alive.

"What in the actual f--" began the Woodstrider, unslinging her axe, but Trashscarf put out a hand to halt her.

"It's all right," he said, "It's a Catterpillow. They're not exactly harmless, but they're very trusting and not particularly bright."

Offswitch nodded, absorbing this new information. "It does look a bit silly," he admitted. "Other than the size of it."

"So how do we fight it?" the Woodstrider asked warily. She tentatively extended her axe and poked at the mound of white fur, but it only purred harder.

"There's really no need," Trashscarf reassured her. "Just ignore it. Eventually it'll get bored and leave."

"Ignore it?" Garbleday's query was both incredulous and muffled. "How am I supposed to--"

"Look, you wanted advice, that's my advice," Trashscarf said with a touch of irritation. "You wanted adventure, there you go, you're having a random encounter with a monster."

"Nice kitty," Garbleday tried, managing to free one arm and scritching at the one part of the Catterpillow he could reach, which happened to be behind one of its stubby little round ears. It made a groan like a humpback whale and rolled over onto its back in bliss.

Garbleday scrambled to his feet but at a betrayed look from the Catterpillow he hastily resumed his scritchings. He tried to inch back away from it, but the head followed him, the neck extending out like that of an unbooped seal.

"See, friendly," Trashscarf said with a grin.

"POUNF?" said the Catterpillow, its voice now more of a low meyowl. Its eyes widened suddenly, tail lashing, and it bounded heavily away into the undergrowth, the brush and bushes parting before it like the sea and crashing back in a foam of leaves.

"Distracted?" Offswitch asked cautiously, and Trashscarf nodded warily.

"Let's move on," he said, "Cautiously but quickly-- don't run!" he cried, too late, as Garbleday set off at a staggering jog.

"POOUUUNNF!" came a booming bellow, and the Catterpillow leapt from concealment, and landed on Garbleday again, squashing him to the ground again further down the road.

"Great," sighed Trashscarf. "You had to go and pat it, didn't you? Now it likes you."

"POUUNF'D," said the Catterpillow proudly.

"Yes, you did," Trashscarf told it, in patient tones. "Now let him up, please."

The Caterpillow reluctantly slid off Garbleday's flattened form like piled-up snow off an outhouse roof, and patted at him gently with one massive webbed mitten-paw, peeling him off the road like a flapjack.

"Nice kitty, no more pounce please," coughed Garbleday, getting to his feet.

The Catterpillow looked excited. "POUNF??"

"No! No pounce! No more pounce!" Garbleday shook his head and waved his hands and in various other ways tried to communicate that he was not consenting to further compression.

"So it talks?" Offswitch said, dubiously.

"Apparently," the Woodstrider said. She finally put her axe back as it seemed the creature wasn't trying to kill them just yet. Of course, it might just not be hungry yet.

"Is it a kind of Folk?" Garbleday asked, sort of out of the corner of his mouth, and Trashscarf and Woodstrider kind of shot him a look.

"We don't use that word," Trashscarf said primly.

"What, 'Folk'? But that's what they call themsel--"

"It's their word, not ours. And no, it's not. Catterpillows were lifecrafted, by Geneies."

The others thought about this. Of course, the Geneies were strange and powerful magical beings, capable of fitting into a bottle or flying through the air as a whirlwind, known for granting wishes with a capricious sort of logic.

"But... why? What's it for?" asked Offswitch, getting to the point. The Catterpillow had rolled itself into a ball in order to give its bottom a thorough wash, and it clearly sported only a couple of simple exits, innocent of any trace of genitalia. One leg was stuck straight up into the air. "Who'd wish for such a thing, and why?"

"You've got me there," Trashscarf sighed. The Catterpillow uncurled to sprawl on its back, rolling in the dust of the road. "Part cat, part otter, part seal, part who knows what, and at least 50% cotton/poly."

Trashscarf hesitantly gave it a pat, and then looked at his hand which now had fluffy hair all over it. His eyes widened, and he brushed his thumb and forefinger together, rolling the fluff into a thick strand of yarn.

"It can stay with us," Trashscarf said decisively, tying the yarn onto the edge of his scarf. "At least until I find some more string."

The others looked at Trashscarf incredulously. "Are you serious?" asked the Woodstrider. "We've got enough trouble as it is, and now you want to keep a magical shapeshifting monster with us?"

Garbleday piped up, "I don't think it's a bad idea. It could be useful, and it seems harmless enough." The Catterpillow gazed up at him with big, innocent eyes and chirruped in agreement.

Offswitch sighed. "Fine, but if it eats any of us, it's on your head, Trashscarf."

Trashscarf grinned. "Deal."

"Does it have a name?" Garbleday asked eagerly. He looked into the creature's face, and said, slowly and loudly. "WHAT. IS. YOUR. NAME?"

"MRRP?" The Catterpillow tilted its head to one side, quizzically.

"Naaaammmee--" Garbleday said, and then pointed to himself. "Gar-ble-day. Garbleday."

The Catterpillow seemed to chew on that word, clopping its jaws thoughtfully; cute as it was, those were some serious teeth.

"GARBF," it finally managed.

"Close enough," the Watchman sighed.

In short order, Mrrp? had thus been introduced to Garbf, Offph, Woof, and Traff.

"Are you done messing around?" the Woodstrider asked. "For a Waywalker, you're sure slow."

"I like to enjoy the scenery," Trashscarf said aloofly, with a toss of his curls. "But all right, let's... go!" He pointed down the road, and so they set off, with the Catterpillow bounding ahead.

Garbleday, who was slowly getting sober and realizing that he was maybe in over his head, looked up.

Dark clouds were beginning to mass, in the direction they were headed.