Chapter Text
In the opinion of one particular Bowtruckle, being a Bowtruckle was a dull life indeed.
Most Bowtruckles clung to their home tree much like a baby bird to the nest. The home tree meant safety, it meant the company of other Bowtruckles, it meant food and shelter; it provided everything that the world outside the branches did not. As the Bowtruckle looked up at the tangle of tree limbs, he saw the other Bowtruckles amongst the waving branches, slow moving, quietly chittering to each other.
Placid. Safe.
Boring.
Boring was a human concept. Deep down, the Bowtruckle knew he wasn’t supposed to want excitement, wasn’t supposed to want anything beyond a good meal of wood lice and a nap in the hollowed trunk of the home tree. And oh, how he tried to want nothing more. Life seemed like it would be so much easier if he wanted nothing more.
Yet often, he found himself reaching spindly twigs toward another tree’s branches, curious, yet knowing that beyond was loneliness. Beyond was death.
So he stayed in the home tree. He ate the wood lice, took naps in the hollow trunk. He didn’t fight back when the other Bowtruckles pushed him off a branch or poked him with crunchy autumn leaves to see him startle.
He didn’t expect excitement to come to them.
The home tree was deep in the wood, deep enough that humans rarely came by. It was easy enough to hear them clumsily tramping their way through the underbrush, easy enough to hide in the trunk or in the tallest branches. And though he often peered out at the humans curiously, they never saw him.
It was better that way. Humans were dangerous, magical and non-magical alike. The Bowtruckle didn’t need spoken words or writing to know that much; the scent of fear from the other Bowtruckles was enough to put the whole branch on edge.
But the human that came that day, this magical human, he was different. While he was nearly as loud moving as other humans- he took no care to sneak around or try to hide his presence- he noticed everything. He easily spotted the hiding Bowtruckles in the branches, and the corners of his lips turned up in what the Bowtruckle would come to know as a smile.
The other Bowtruckles tossed bark and tried to frighten off the human; the human, with his wavy red hair and curious green eyes, only put his hands up and backed away, speaking soothing, low words. When the Bowtruckles settled down, he stepped close enough to the tree to set a wooden bowl at the base of it before he turned and left.
The other Bowtruckles were fearful of the bowl. They were fearful of anything to do with humans. But this Bowtruckle, this odd Bowtruckle- he had seen something in the human’s eyes. A kindness. He would swear to it, had he known how.
He climbed down the trunk of the tree to inspect the bowl, and found it full nearly to the brim of fat wood lice. It took some convincing to get other Bowtruckles to come down, but that evening, they feasted.
The human returned the next day. He didn’t come very close to the tree; he sat down at the base of another tree nearby and pulled something white and flat from his coat. He also pulled out a feather, and as the Bowtruckle watched curiously, the human began to drag the bottom of the quill across the white surface. He occasionally looked up at the tree of Bowtruckles, working quietly enough that most of the tree’s inhabitants grudgingly ignored his presence.
The odd Bowtruckle wanted to see more. He climbed out on the closest branch, now able to see that the human was making dark lines on the white surface using the quill. When the human noticed he was being watched, he smiled again, and he turned the white surface toward the curious Bowtruckle.
“It’s you,” he said simply, and indeed it was. The human had drawn the branch and the clinging Bowtruckles in the same way a Bowtruckle might idly carve tiny designs into tree bark, and the odd Bowtruckle felt a rush of excitement go through him. This was different, this was new.
But the human didn’t stay. He eventually packed up his things and left- but not without leaving behind another wooden bowl of wood lice. It was considerably easier to get the other Bowtruckles to help fetch the food from the bowl this time.
During the night, the glow came.
The wind picked up, and it smelled wrong. There was an orange glow shining and flickering through the trees, growing brighter as it came closer.
And hotter. So much hotter.
Fire. The Bowtruckle had heard of fire, in a way, in scared cries from other Bowtruckles when distant smoke was seen. But this fire started at night, and it was too close. There was no warning smoke, no time to move from the home tree.
The whole tree was alive with the panicked chirping of Bowtruckles, frozen in fright. The crackling of the fire was growing all too close.
“Protego Maxima!”
The human’s voice broke through the ruckus of Bowtruckle and fire, and a different kind of light flooded the tree. The magical human stepped into view, close enough to the tree that the Bowtruckle could see the determined look on his face as a barrier of white light sprang up around the tree. The light seemed to come from the stick he was holding- a wand, it was called, the Bowtruckle knew that much- and immediately, the heat from the fire was gone.
“Sorry to invade your space, my friends, but I’m afraid if I don’t your tree won’t last long,” the human said, and though the Bowtruckle didn’t understand the words, not yet- he understood the feeling behind it. He knew, somehow, that the human only wanted to help, wanted to protect them.
And protect them he did. For hours the human stood firm by the tree, seeming to renew his spell and feed energy into the barrier as often as he could. The fire raged through the night, and eventually the human had to sit down against the base of the tree, clearly exhausted from his efforts. Even the magical light barrier was put to the test by the intense heat and the fury of the flames.
The odd Bowtruckle felt a wave of gratitude; this human had saved the home tree, saved all of them. He climbed down, ignoring the chirping protests from the other Bowtruckles, and he set himself down on the tired human’s shoulder. The human opened his eyes and tilted his head to see what had joined him, and he smiled when he saw the Bowtruckle.
“You’re a b-brave one, aren’t you?” he asked, the words a bit of a struggle as he kept up the barrier through the last cinders and gusty winds of the fire.
The Bowtruckle wanted to understand. He wanted to see the drawings that the human had made of his tree, wanted to see where he went when he left the Bowtruckles.
So when the human finally, shakily, let down the barrier and stood to leave, the Bowtruckle held firm. When the human tried to put the Bowtruckle back on the branch, it held firm to his fingers with the sharp twigs of its hands.
“I’m not sure you should stick with me. It’s a bit…dangerous,” the human said, but the Bowtruckle held firm with a disgruntled noise. The human laughed softly, and then drew his hand back, letting the Bowtruckle climb back onto his shoulder.
“If you’re that determined, then I suppose you can tag along. But you’ll need a name. I can’t just call you Bowtruckle,” he said, picking up the case that seemed ever present at his side. “How about Pickett?”
The Bowtruckle chittered softly, holding tight to the fabric of the human’s clothing. He looked back at the home tree, back at all he’d ever know, and at the fearful, shocked way the other Bowtruckles were looking on.
He expected to feel sad, in some way, but instead he could only think one thing; he didn’t need a home tree. He had a home human, one who was brave, courageous, and kind, more sturdy and dependable than any tree could be. He wanted to see more, and he was ready- ready to be ‘Pickett’ instead of just another Bowtruckle in the branches.