Forest Of Beasts

Chapter 3: Sinking So Low

The forest was darkening, in turn reminding Gaston of how tired he was. He'd been walking at an adamant march for much of the day, something to match his indignant mood. But even he couldn't remain furious forever, at least not without a good meal and some sleep.

He peered behind him, anxious for a short second when he couldn't see the Beast. A moment later it appeared, pushing through some bushes with a grunt. It was getting harder to see against the dark of the forest, and Gaston was beginning to feel like the prey again, as much as he hated to admit it.

He consoled himself with the memory that the creature was apparently too soft hearted to kill him (more fool it, Gaston supposed). But perhaps it would still take him unawares, especially if it became too hungry. It was inevitable. Being an animal, it would give in to it's instincts sooner or later, Gaston knew it. It was only a matter of time.

And time was all he had.

Gaston stared up through the thick blanket of treetops, trying to catch a scrap of the dark night sky. It was clouded, covering up all the moon and stars, and the wind around him had become an iced chill. As odd as it seemed, it was almost as if the seasons had shifted within a single day from summer to winter.

He'd spent much of the day trying to figure out how he would kill the Beast. His earlier attempt had been a mistake; acting in anger was obviously not a good idea. He needed a better plan, and he'd made up his mind at last; night time would be the time to do it. The Beast would have to sleep eventually, and Gaston could use the darkness to his advantage, and launch a surprise attack. It'd be a quick and easy job.

Gaston didn't dwell on the rather ignoble side of it. It was a matter of survival, his own protection...

"Why have you stopped?" the Beast's deep voice was close, and Gaston staggered, before turning to glare at the larger shadow.

"Don't creep up on me," he scowled.

"Did you see something?" the Beast asked, ignoring him.

"No...I was just..." Gaston hesitated. His legs were aching in a tired protest, and yet the Beast continued to stride forward as if it could walk endlessly, perhaps into forever. "I thought I saw something," he amended, and pressed after the Beast, determined to keep up.

The Beast made a sound like intrigue, but didn't say anything else.

Gaston was glad. He wasn't sure he could combat communicating with the Beast along with keeping up a good pace too. He was as fit and healthy as the next person (far fitter, actually), but he knew very well (and reluctantly could concede) that this creature was physically much more capable than himself.

The thought brewed up some familiar resentment, and he glared at the Beast's back, wondering about all the possible reasons Belle preferred this monster. It was still too horrific to think about very deeply. Like something was pulling his beaten ego off the floor, just to give it another sound beating.

He stumbled again, angry thoughts distracting him, and then found the Beast standing in front of him, a clawed hand catching his arm before he fell.

"We should rest," the Beast said. It was more an order than a suggestion, and Gaston resented it even more.

He pulled his arm roughly out of the Beast's grip.

"I don't need to rest, Beast."

"It's late," Beast said, as if he hadn't heard him. "Perhaps this will be a safe place to sleep."

Gaston watched, still silently fuming, as the Beast examined the small clearing they'd found themselves in with a sniff of his nose and pricked ears. He looked more animal in this stance than Gaston had ever seen him before. His hands twitched, an automatic urge to reach for a weapon, to fell his target.