The Beast

Chapter Four

He left the small cottage, crawling on hands and feet to his father in their fields. His father didn't notice his approach, which was in his favor as he still hadn't quite gotten the courage to speak to the gruff man.

"Dad," he spoke, and he watched as the man jumped a little, startled by his arrival.

Once he recovered, Reul looked down on his boy. "Stand up, Ylvir. Don't crawl like an animal."

"Sorry," he apologized, straightening himself up, the top of his head meeting just below father's shoulders. He was young and nowhere near fully grown, but it was quite apparent he would far outgrow his father.

"Well wot d'ya want," his father pressed.

Ylvir held out the whistle he was given. "Mother told me you could play."

He watched as a peculiar expression crossed his father's face, softening his harsh features. He recognized it as almost a mirror image of that his mother wore when she had held her book out to him the first time—a look of nostalgia as Reul's mind drifted to the past. Eventually his gaze became present once more, and he cleared his throat, his usual stern expression resuming its place. "It was a long time ago, but I prob'ly still know a tune er two. Why d'ya ask? Lookin' to play are ya?"

"She thought I could learn," Ylvir replied quietly.

His father frowned slightly, appearing thoughtful, making Ylvir more uncomfortable as he waited for a response. Eventually, the man sighed.

"Gimme that," his father said, picking it up out of his son's paw. He held the whistle with his fingers poised over the holes familiarly, then brought it to his lips and breathed life into it. Ylvir watched in pure awe as his rough and rugged father played a beautiful, almost delicate melody. It was further proof of how little he knew of his father, but he was too absorbed by the song to feel proper remorse. He was completely and utterly entranced by the tune's smooth inflections until it came to an abrupt stop, ending far sooner than he liked.

Reul caught the look in Ylvir's red eyes. "Watcha lookin' at me like that fer?"

"That was amazing," his son whispered breathlessly.

The man was taken aback. "That was nuffin'. Ya shoulda 'eard me back in the day. I was fantastic. It's 'ow I got yer mother to even look twice at me."

"Please, teach me," Ylvir said eagerly. "I wanna learn."

"Alright, alright. I'll teach ya," his father conceded, then held a finger up. "But I got some... conditions."

"I'll do anything," Ylvir readily agreed.

Reul looked at him intently, seeming to search his eyes for something with his own dark ones. He didn't know what it was, but he assumed the man must have found it since he gave a short nod and spoke. "No more crawlin', no more eatin' with yer hands, and ya clean up yer own messes. Ya do that, and I'll teach ya everythin' I know."

Ylvir didn't hesitate to answer, bobbing his head up and down excitedly. "Yes. I'll do it. Promise."

"Good. And remember this," he spoke with a serious tone, "a man who can't keep 'is word ain't with 'is salt, so you be keepin' yer promise. I'll be makin' sure of it."

Ylvir assumed the same seriousness as his father when he copied the short nod he was given earlier. "I will."

And with that, father and son came to a new understanding of one another. Ylvir did his utmost best to keep his end of their bargain, and Reul taught him as he said he would in return.

Ylvir was quick to realize that his father was not the same kind of teacher as his mother was. When he struggled with something, Reul would let him, not giving away any answers. He taught him the minimum, and left the rest for him to figure out. It was the most frustrating thing Ylvir had ever experienced, but he also found it to be the most rewarding. When he worked and thought hard about how to get the small instrument to do as he wished and was actually able to achieve it on his own, he was left with a satisfaction and pride akin to when he was able to raise his own flowers.

Reul didn't show his own pride for the growing boy so easily as his wife, but Ylvir was still able to sense it in the littler things, like when he ruffled the fur upon his head, or patted the feathers on his shoulders, or just gave him a simple nod or even a small glimmer of a smile.

And after hours of practice and laboring to master the small instrument and make it his own, with every spare moment devoted to it, and improving every time he picked it up, Ylvir came to play the penny whistle beautifully.

~*~

Reul sat down in his chair by the fire alongside his wife, closing his eyes and letting the distant melody of the instrument he was most familiar with wash over him. He opened them again when he heard the equally musical laugh of Aloris, looking to her, only to find her blue eyes already on him.

"I dare say he plays as well as you, Reul," she spoke wistfully, and they both traveled back to the past with her words, remembering their days of youthful hopes and dreams and the naivety of inexperience, carried easily along by Ylvir's tune.

Reul shook his head. "No, I don' think so."

Aloris was taken slightly aback. "You don't? But listen to him. He's... outstanding."

Reul nodded, and Aloris was almost shocked to see a smile on his lips. "Exactly. He's better."

But the mother and father weren't the only ones to hear Ylvir's magical tune as he thoughtfully played in the forest. The wind buoyed the notes further, to the village folk. They listened to the soaring song intently, finding themselves touched by its enchanting melody and the secret stories it told like a whisper in an empty night. And every one of them that heard it all wondered the same things. Where did this song come from, and who was behind its crafted tales?