Bear tilted his head at the Child, trying to figure him out.

"Oh. He doesn't like the night. He fears it," he yawned and stretched out his little arms. "I should probably get to sleep too. Lots to do tomorrow."

He bowed his head slightly, taking his leave and making his way back inside the hut.

Wren tossed and turned that night, unable to fully fall asleep. A brisk air kept washing over him and he attempted to bundle himself in the fur of a bear he'd once taken down, immediately simmering down. But something felt off. He felt as though he were being watched. Glancing over at Bear's bed, he sighed a bit of relief to find him curled up and snoring peacefully. As long as he was okay, that's all that mattered to him.

When the dawn rose, Wren was up bright and early, finding himself chopping wood to set on a fire. Bear made an appearance outside when the man had settled on his haunches, poking a stick into the flames absent-mindedly.

"About time. Was wondering when you'd start smelling it," Wren tossed a fish in his direction. "Soaked it in some berry juices overnight. So should be nice and-" he watched wide-eyed as the creature devoured it, licking his lips and fingers as he sniffed the air for more. Chuckling, Wren rolled his eyes and shook his head, "I'll have more later. Hopefully our traps actually caught something this time. Ready?"

The Child doesn't understand that- the night holds nothing to fear- but he hasn't understood anything about these creatures so far, so he makes no comment. He simply bows in return, watching Bear return to the hut before turning and slinking off into the woods.

He has no idea where he is, and the scents are full of the two strange creatures. It obscures the prey scents, and it takes him nearly the entire night to find the trail of a rabbit. After subduing and eating it, he returns to the hut to lick his hands clean of blood and contemplate. How long had this been here? What even is it? The closest thing he can compare it to is a broken-off tree made of stone, apparently hollow on the inside. Some kind of strange den, he decides, adding it to the list of incomprehensible things.

He creeps a little closer, sniffing around the perimiter and standing up on his hind legs to peer through the window. Seeing Wren tossing and turning, the Child startles and scurries back to the edge of the clearing, hoping he hadn't been noticed.

He remains there until dawn, when he's awakened from a light doze by the smell of fish cooking. He stands, shaking himself, moving just a touch closer and watching as Wren and Bear get ready for the day. As they set off into the woods, the Child follows at a short distance, purring to Bear again. He's still afraid of Wren, and would very much like not to startle him with a sudden appearance.

I am scared, the Child admits. I don't trust him. I don't trust you, either, but I know your shape. The familiarity of a four-legged creature makes the Child more comfortable around Bear, even though he should be just as wary as he is about Wren. He doesn't know these creatures, doesn't know where they're from or what their intentions are. And yet... here he is.

There is lots of harm in trying, the Child points out at he sits beside Bear at the treeline. I have tried to make friends with other bears. There was harm. He tilts his head as Wren takes off his shirt, studying his form. It's more like his own than he'd realised, and that makes him uncomfortable for reasons he cannot name. Is he one of these creatures? Does he even belong in the forest? He can't bear to think that, so he looks away, only half-listening to Bear.

What is magic? he asks absently, also watching the butterfly. As it escapes from Bear's paws, the Child holds out his hand, and the butterfly lands on his finger for a moment before fluttering off again. He's always liked the bugs, and they seem to like him, too. He turns back to Bear, settling down in the grass. I do not know.

Almost against his will, the Child returns to watching Wren, noting every way their bodies are scarily similar- and comfortingly different. The Child's body is thickly furred along his back, arms, and legs, while Wren's is not, and he lacks a tail- how odd it must be to be without a tail- and his ears are strangely shaped. They cannot possibly be the same. Should I approach? the Child asks nervously. From upwind? Across the river?

The Child takes a deep breath, pacing just out of sight as Bear returns to Wren. Does he want to do this? Is it safe? Does he have to? He feels oddly compelled to show himself to Wren, but that could just be overwhelming curiosity and not any higher obligation. His curiosity has gotten him hurt before, and he has no idea what Wren is capable of. Taking another deep breath, he stops, watching Wren for a long moment. He'll do it.

Padding upriver a bit so he's approaching from upwind, the Child slowly creeps out into the open, low to the ground and ears flicking anxiously. He keeps a close eye on Wren as he does so, making sure to keep a wide distance between the two of them. He wants to know he can run if it comes to that. He's tensing to dart already, and he doesn't think Wren's even noticed him yet. Still, he forces himself to sit at the edge of the river, dipping his hands into the water to drink from his cupped palms. He hates how it means he has to briefly break from watching Wren, but he wants to appear as non-threatening as possible. Splashing a little water on himself to make it easier to comb dirt out of his hair, the Child tries to act normal while glancing at Bear pleadingly, hoping he's doing this right.