Chapter 5: The Catch

"They took the bait!"

Music

Cloying worry fades from even the back of your mind as you cut through the field. The forest beyond is lush, regardless of the climate. Hues of amber and gold catch on the light of the sun, hitting hard off of the lake stretching further beyond. It appears that Father Wilhelm cracked the ice nearest to the center, and you have to wonder how he managed it given how thick the surface appears. A spear made of solid bone, sharpened to a fine point is adjacent to the opening, and you think you catch a glimpse of something sticking into the water. It's likely a decoy of some sort, but you respect Father Wilhelm's wishes to stay put and not investigate any further until he returns.

There's no way to get as much sun as you want (given the cold), but you get to appreciate a few moments in the light of day as you wait. You don't bother scolding Ray for eating some of the clean snow at your feet, more than happy to let him explore as he sniffs through the untouched drifts.

Before the cold becomes unbearable, a fur-lined nightcap comes back into view. Father Wilhelm is trying to spring through the snow towards you, but it's slowing his progress substantially. You walk over briskly to meet him, taking care to not stumble yourself. Unable to hide a cheeky grin, he calls out, "Richard! Get over here!"

"You really didn't have to, Father Wilhelm—"

His arms are full with a spare fur coat, a ridiculous fur-lined cap, a flagon, and two cups. Draped over his shoulders is a large animal pelt, which gets dropped to the snow almost immediately. "Don't give me that, you know I did. Hurry up and we'll get you sorted. Come on."

The sodden blankets you tossed around yourself get exchanged for some proper warmth, but you're shivering again in an instant. Everything hangs on you as if it were several sizes too large and somehow is also altogether too short.

A steaming cup gets pressed into your hands. Embracing its warmth under your palms as you both head back towards the ice— without looking or smelling the beverage— you're delighted to be capable of holding off on partaking of anything just yet. Father Wilhelm takes the item back from you with a huge smile after just a moment, gesturing for you to keep your balance. "Good! Good. We'll sort it out. Great. You'll be alright, Richard. Watch your step. Does the dog need to stay back?"

Ray seems eager to follow you, and takes a few steps forward onto the ice. You're terribly proud, as he keeps his footing without issue.

"His name is Ray. He'll be alright— won't you, boy—? Come on. Follow."

It's slow going given how bogged down you all are, but before long you make it to the center of the lake. You command Ray to keep safe distance from any breaks, and set the huge pelt from your own shoulders for him to lay upon. He takes to it instantly, while you turn to watch Father Wilhelm pull a wooden decoy from the water.

There's nothing on it. You grin at him. "Not much for bait, Father Wilhelm."

He balks, mocking offense. "I suppose you have a better idea?"

You hold your criticism, making a mental note to stash some food later if you get the chance as a better lure. The two of you remain standing, keeping most of the cold off of your frame and safely in the heavy fabric wrapped around you.

The decoy is dropped back into the water. Both of you watch it intensely.

"Father Wilhelm."

"My bait is fine, Father Anscham—"

"No, I— I've missed so much."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You really do. "I don't want to miss any more than I need to. Something isn't right. I know that the Gods affect me differently, and I still don't understand so much. It—" You look skyward, trying to enjoy the sun. "—it feels like I've been sleeping my life away. Do you have any idea why? What I might be able to do to make amends?"

The Father of the Church of Dream is clearly struggling to remain respectful, but fails to mask his enthusiasm. He places a hand on your shoulder, pulling your attention to him fully. "It's a blessing. You heard me before, but you need to learn to listen, Richard. You're so overwhelmed already— not that I can blame you." With a deep breath, the hand on your shoulder tightens. "Dream has blessed you time and time again with rest. With reprieve. There's no doubt in my mind that you only escaped from the ruins because He stayed your hand. Your soul. You've recovered from so much pain, thanks to His works. I suspect that you only need to keep respecting His wishes."

"The Gods are Merciful."

"You aren't convinced."

"Of course I am. It— it's a blessing in disguise, isn't it? Yet I— I still don't understand—"

"I'm willing to bet it isn't all rest, is it? How many days did you go without reprieve down there? Back home? I know how hard you work. Most of us do, to some extent. We could do something about it, but— would you really want to? Don't you—?" The mania in the priest before you is inescapable. Though your gaze is off of the sky, there's an azure expanse boring into you. Fractures of Dream glance through the priest's cracked smile. "Don't you want to know how He works through you? We could test it, of course, but I don't suspect you'd like it. Would you want to, though? We wouldn't have to start immediately..."

You want to match the priest's enthusiasm, and your interest certainly rivals his own. Fear for your station, for your connection to your Goddess, and a strong desire to wrest more control into your life raises your eyes and cements your determination to learn. Through it all, though, there's an undercurrent of anxiety. You think you can place why.

"This— this sounds sounds very interesting. What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Just a few simple tests—"

Intense fear writes itself all over you. It's so immediate that you actually take a full step backwards.

"Richard." He raises his hands. "Shit—"

You're torn between nervously laughing at a fellow man of the cloth using an expletive, the absolute horror of being propositioned for more abuse, and the immediacy in which the Father of the Church of Dream is trying to test the waters of your ability.

You recognize the fervor, the devotion, and his love for his work. Nervous laughter wins out, along with another step backwards.

"Don't panic, please. Nothing like invoking Him. A mere exploration of how He's seen fit to bless you. Getting a little extra sleep, or staying up awhile later if you have some business to attend to. Will you hold this a moment and sit down? I'm sorry, Richard. I should have realized—" His words seem to be blurring together, but the flagon is being held in your direction clearly enough. You try to settle your gaze on it as Father Wilhelm drops a pelt from around his shoulders onto the ice below you.

You're smiling nervously, trying to still your incredible unease. You take hold of the object, simply wanting him to stop reaching his arm out to you.

I'm not something to be poked and prodded at. I'm not a weapon. I'm not a curiosity. No matter how much he wants to know of Dream, this is still abuse.

Mercy, the possibilities, though—

Dissatisfied by how much you enjoy the warmth spreading through your hands, you remain standing for a moment, trying to get your nerves to calm down. "I believe I am— not entirely equipped for this, Father Wilhelm. N-not yet."

A very apologetic look is being pointed at you. "Of course. It was terribly presumptuous of me to have asked. Please forget I said anything—" He winces. "—not literally. Just drink some of the damn wine, Richard! I mulled it myself."

You hesitate again, sitting down on the fur stretched out beneath you both. The ice is so firm that you can't help but wonder if Ray is uncomfortable, but he's sprawled out just off behind you, clearly enjoying himself.

Father Wilhelm has been muttering to himself, and you can't help but feel a little guilty for how much he's trying to aid you. "...to think I've been providing for the country and clergy when another Father needed my services more than..."

The grimace that's been plastered on your face softens. You'd probably do a lot worse, in his same position. He's at least had the decency to ask you at every turn how much you want him to share with you. He's kept his word, protected you, and you haven't the faintest idea where he's been for the last week.

"I want to understand, Father Wilhelm. You must be under tremendous strain to be doing all of this for me—"

"No, no. It's quite alright. Go on and have that drink, though. I'm trying to tease out something here."

There's a slight tension as Father Wilhelm gets out the cups he's been carrying with him.

He grins at you broadly and sincerely. "It's okay. We'll talk while we drink! I'll keep an eye on you. Don't forget. You're going to pour mine first, alright?"

With no small measure of unease, you unfasten the cork under your palms. It's so cold outside that steam immediately catches in the air, flooding you with the scent of spice and honey. It's unbelievably decadent, but you manage to fill both cups before you without issue. There's no demon in you. Your hands steady. Reassurance blossoms alongside the steam gathering around each mug.

Father Wilhelm takes the flagon back out of your hands the moment you're done, capping it and shoving the item deeply in his coat with another broad smile. "Wonderful." He places a hand as kindly as he can on top of both cups, covering them from sight as he beams at you. "A toast? To allies! We have several, Father Anscham! More than I could have hoped for."

You look back at Father Wilhelm with as little judgement as you can muster, and an equally unhinged expression.

This man has listened to me without question. He hasn't ridiculed me, and to the best of my knowledge has protected me with everything he has. I might not agree with his methods, but we're both only human.

You try to roll your shoulders back a little, and loosen up as much as you're able. Your smile remains unseen, but can be heard as you look sternly to the priest across from you. "A toast. To proper company."

The smile that beams back at you is so genuinely relieved that you really don't mind as he hands a cup over.

You put the entire contents back in a matter of moments, trying your best to enjoy it. There's far more honey than you'd prefer. It's a poor attempt at masking all of the spice. You don't even recognize most of the herbs, and suspect it's either too exotic for your palate, or that you drank it too quickly to tell.

Despite the discomfort, it's such a relief to have some warmth spreading through you. You begin fishing around in your robes, with the further comfort of Yech's flask still situated comfortably in your chest pocket.

Father Wilhelm looks extremely confused. You're more than happy to explain.

"We're both men of the cloth, aren't we?"

"Yes...?"

You lean in a bit, fully occupying your companion's attention. "You have performed a miracle, Father. I believe I need some time apart from the Gods— after everything I've endured."

Shock, legitimate disbelief, and so much pride fires back at you.

You continue to attempt an explanation, with the heat in your face intensifying. "I understand th-that I was the one to broach the subject—" The look beaming back at you is so overwhelming that you have to look away. "Will you please— please understand, I never would wish to impose on your work, but if you could avoid—"

You tense your hands on the flask under your grasp, trying to manage the request as best as you're able. The concept is so alien to you that it's harder to choke out your words than it was to put back the wine. "If-you-could-please avoid acknowledging any discussion I try to make regarding— regarding the Gods. During my stay here with you." You take out your flask completely from your shirt and coat, looking apologetically to the man across from you. "I need to regain perspective, and recover."

Father Wilhelm blanches slightly, but holds his complaints.

You murmur a request right next to the side of the flask. "Something fruity. Mulled, with grape sugars."

Father Wilhelm crosses his arms, watching you with a blend of amusement and surprise as you knock back the flask without hesitation. "I should have known you'd have a sweet tooth. I'll use less spice, next time."

You're unbelievably grateful to not be given a hard time. Yech's sorcerery eclipses anything a mortal man could brew. You can hardly taste it with how fast you're drinking, but a full-bodied wine clings to you.

It's almost as sweet as the memory of a friend who never once questioned you.

You pull away for air eventually. Head swimming from the weight and heat, you look down to the flask— to the gold and check marks on its underside— before placing it closely back against your heart.

"You stopped." Father Wilhelm raises his eyebrows, and lightly tips on the decoy in the water.

It takes you a long while to reply. Enough that Father Wilhelm's fussing continues uninterrupted for some time.

Alongside the warmth of the sun and the frost beneath, there is an itch and a claw for further sensation. The further need at the back of your mind is demanding that you take in more. You're aware that you're likely already inebriated, and your stomach is fit to burst, but you can't quite care. You finally find the words you're looking for— laced with Yech's benevolence. "It took a demon of generosity to teach me, but— I have to show myself Mercy, too."

Your attention is totally pulled away from the compulsion. Father Wilhelm dives for the spear alongside the water before there's even any movement below the surface. You immediately recognize his weapon as the smoothed and sharpened remains of a colossal demon. It's likely one of the priest's most prized possessions, but there's no time to linger on examining it further.

There's a tug on the line in the water. With more dexterity than you'd expect, the priest moves towards the crack in the ice— and drives his weapon straight into a fish that's caught on his meager wooden decoy.

You have to leap up to help the relatively thin man stagger back from the edge of the ice. "Careful—!"

"Easy, easy! This thing is sharper than it looks, I got it—"

"No, you don't, step back—!"

You pull hard on the back of his coat, keeping him from slipping cleanly into the frigid water. Staggering backwards, Father Wilhelm keeps his footing by driving the base of his spear beneath him. You slide back a few feet on the ice from the sudden lack of a hold, but maintain yourself with a little difficulty.

Ray is up on his feet as well, but you command him to stay back. Your eyes go impossibly wide. Their verdancy meets an even deeper green.

A striped perch— a little smaller than you were expecting given the fuss— is skewered clean through on Father Wilhelm's spear. Blue eyes containing the slightest trace of divinity beam at you. Swirls of paint fades from his sight.

You're both still a little out of breath— keeping a safe distance from the crack in the ice— but everything seems stable enough to walk back to the spread of furs and fishing supplies.

Music

Steam rises in the air from your breath as you both look over the catch. You're genuinely impressed, watching intently as Father Wilhelm unfastens the perch. "Amazing. How did you manage it without any real bait? I can't believe it—"

He looks with a wider smile than yours over to Ray. "The Gods are Merciful! Think he'd like it?"

It's not exactly a gamble, but it will do. "Show me how you made the catch, and I'll show you how to safely feed him."

There's a moment of hesitation. A droplet or two of blood comes off of the fish in Father Wilhelm's unscarred hands.

His smile takes on a hint of nervous laughter, tossing the fish over to you. "You probably should handle him. I'll show you regardless! Catch!"

A lifetime of training with a shield and your nerves make it trivial to see the item coming towards you. You'd like have caught it even without prompting. The satisfaction of grabbing the slippery and surprisingly warm item carries over into your grin. It's not hot to the touch, but you expected something beneath the ice to be frigid.

Ray seems equally delighted by the catch as you call him over. The two of you go through a number of commands, up to and including the mastiff balancing the fish on the tip of his nose before tossing it into the air and nearly eating it whole

His delight only seems to be eclipsed by Father Wilhelm's, as he whistles softly and waves you back over by the water the moment you seem to be finished. It's a small matter to pat Ray on the head, to get him to relative safety away from the cracks in the ice, and to settle back down next to the brunette. There's practically frost on the ends of his hair, tucked as the bulk of it is beneath his preposterous hat. He seems to have set down his cigar, sipping idly at his wine for a moment before replacing his smoke, and taking up his fishing gear. You can't help but wonder if you're equally frost-bitten, or look equally silly, but you really don't mind.

All of your focus is directed towards the man's movements. He's slowly lowering the decoy further than you thought it could reach. "See, Richard, they like the dance. Little hops and jigs. You don't need to feed them, you just need to show them a good time!"

An elbow nudges at your side. You could almost enjoy the teasing, but frown back, shrugging the motion off. "What is that, there—"

"Probably a trout." His focus sharpens even further. The priest slips into silence.

"You're stopping?"

"They need rest, too! Watch."

A number of pauses are made between gradual movements on the decoy. He alternates until the trout has its full attention on the lure. A gradual pull up on the line seems to lead it almost straight to the surface.

"They took the bait! Get back!" As it nears the surface, Father Wilhelm sets everything aside to take up his spear. You comply, tensing and confident that he's going to slip again.

There's a blur of furs and fabrics. A splash as the bone spear strikes the water. Another fish is skewered from the lake. There's no stagger, only your frigid forms quickly backing up and eyeing the speared trout with pride. It's significantly larger than the last catch, healthy, and serviceable for a meal.

You're both beaming at each other. Father Wilhelm tosses up one of the furs he'd brought with him, revealing a small basket. His prize is stashed away before he turns to you, positively glowing. "We'll get one more and head inside."

You practically jump at the opportunity, eagerly accepting the wooden decoy into your hands, and entirely forgetting your earlier skepticism.

You're determined beyond all human measure to prove your merit as a fisherman. You call upon not the Gods, but your own experience. The years you spent with your own Father along the Eventide River, with humble nets and baskets. The fast current and biting cold was always a welcome respite from trying to help on the farm, and you took to the water far better than a scythe or shovel.

Your long fingers are still just as adept. Your memory is just as sharp. It's a simple matter to mimic the motions you were shown just minutes ago with absolute expertise. Nothing as difficult as stealing away in the dead of night. Not to the banks of the Morinburn River, using nothing but the fireflies and your knowledge of the current to find your purchase before sunrise.

You don't have to hide or worry about distractions, allow yourself to relax, and feel out what's biting. You don't even have to squint to see a shadow— larger than any fish you've ever seen— pass near the deepest reaches of the lake.

Your pulse picks up. Your smile must be broader than it's ever been as you delicately lower the decoy.

Father Wilhelm doesn't say a word, eagerly watching over your shoulder with his spear in hand. His instruction was excellent, but your own luck and skill seems to have rewarded you far more than his patience or even the blessing of his patron.

There's no bite. Not yet. You dangle the decoy, letting it move through the water, tempting the shockingly intelligent beast below the surface. You almost want to laugh. Having contended with so much more fearsome creatures, this trifle is nothing more than sport. It's good sport, though. The beast ducks away from you, darting into the shadows, making you work your arms and hands around the wooden lure.

The game is more challenging than any other fish you've encountered by a wide margin. The two of you play for long minutes, with the last of the sun's ray peeking over the edges of the treetops. You don't mind, and never dare take your eyes off of the water— only catching a glimpse of pinks and reds against your purchase.

With a gentle pull, you start to drag the behemoth's attention to the surface. Father Wilhelm actually lets out a gasp when he realizes the size of its shadow, but doesn't dare to interrupt as you begin to lean back.

Standing upright, you call out with a huge grin as the fish is lured straight towards you both. "Now!"

You keep a close eye on Father Wilhelm. He plunges his spear into the water, and is nearly dragged under in an instant.

You both cry out simultaneously. Ray begins to leap over to aid you. Digging in your heels— shouting at Ray to stay back— you seek the best foothold possible against the unforgiving ice. Wrapping your arms around the man's waist before you is the best leverage you can manage.

He's nearly dragged into the water. There's a huge surge kicked up, violent splashing, a cacophony of shouts to coordinate wrestling the beast back, and a battle for what feels like an eternity against something that surely weighs half as much as you do.

With a cry of success, every ounce of strength in your meager frame, and a huge kick back from the priest under you, you both collapse backwards. The full weight of the catch and your teacher nearly lands on you, but you push away at the last moment. It's probably a good thing, given the groan elicited from Father Wilhelm and the barbs littering his weapon. You both seem to avoid any injury, as you get to your feet and see that your fishing partner is utterly incapable of doing so.

With all due respect, you both laugh lightly. He's pinned by the largest fish you've ever seen. You let out another cry of victory— and way more physical exertion than you're meant for— to heave the colossal purchase off of the man's chest with his assistance. The behemoth flops safely onto the ice. It's another trout, but so monstrously large that you'd pin it near four feet from end to end.

You both can't help but simply stare at it in wonder for a few moments, admiring the catch and soaking in the last few rays of the sun.

The moment Father Wilhelm is back on his feet, a hand is placed firmly on your shoulder. He pats you a few times, reluctant to let go. "Incredible! Absolutely incredible! Must have been in the lake longer than I have! I can't believe it! May all the Gods be praised— but that was all you, wasn't it?! Simply incredible!"

Your face is beginning to hurt, for how unused it is to smiling so hard. You really don't know what to say.

"You've got a few things to teach me. Simply amazing. I'm going to need your help getting this inside. Let's get going. I'm going to catch my death out here after all that water kicked up."

The catch easily weighs a third as much as you do, and is over half as tall. It's a miracle you were able to get it out of the water at all. Your heart is still racing from the exertion of pulling Father Wilhelm out from the edge of the water, and the heat in your limbs and face has you feeling more alive than you have in a long time.

Staring down at the biggest fish you've ever seen— your face aching from smiling so hard— you can't help but give credit where it's due. "I would be more than happy to help you with our catch, Father Wilhelm."

You think you might catch a legitimate tear of pride from your companion as you both toss the remainder of your supplies over one another's shoulders, and bear the weight of your victory together. Ray is more than happy to nudge you along, but you command him to get ahead to the house, slightly worried for how cold he must be getting. The sun is rapidly setting, and by the time you both laboriously make it through the snow banks to the front door, night has fallen completely. You're exhausted beyond measure, but still steal a glimpse of the night sky, the woods beyond, and the trail of snow you've both left in your wake.

It takes you both all the strength you have left in your wiry bodies to open the front door, get the fish inside, and slam down the wooden defense. No words need to be spoken as you collapse into the closest armchair to the hearth, still smiling. A large part of you wants to help clean up, but every inch of your body is screaming for relief.

You sink as deeply as you're able into the cushions, shaking off the snow-dusted furs and watching as Father Wilhelm tosses more wood onto the dwindling flame. He's more than happy to still praise you, despite being soaked to the bone, and clearly more exhausted than ever.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you made a fuss about staying out. Must be four feet long! Wish it would keep for long enough to take back home, I'd have the skin mounted. Should make for a good story, though, eh?" The fire is roaring again in mere moments. Cracks of blue turn back to you, beaming and absolutely delighted to see you actually sitting down.

You grin back sheepishly, unable to hide your enjoyment from the excursion. Sure, your body is on fire— but the burn is a healthy one, and you suspect that you'll need a lot more where it came from.

Father Wilhelm leaves you to the chair. "A tall tale for men who like to talk! And we do have some talking to do. Let me go get some more clothes for us both, and we can decide what to do with the fish. Can't have a cold coming on now." Waving with a free hand to reassure you he's coming right back, his voice trails out through the main hall as he peels away. "...unbelievable!"