It was quiet in the tavern that night, which was unusual. Most evenings there would have been a large crowd, gathered in from the fields after their days labor, to eat, drink, and hear whatever news or stories were being passed around.

As it was, Bogden sat at the small table alone, about to begin a solitary meal. When he spoke, it seemed as though it was more to bring the sound of voices into still and silent the place than anything else.

“S’no beatin’ round the bush, ol’ Bogden boy,” he said between his first couple bites, “’tis a sorry state o’ things ‘ere these days. The mugs is all dirty, the tables an’ chairs is chipped and wobbly, an’ a man’ll die of old age ‘afore he can get a second pint.”

He downed his flagon in one big gulp and looked around but there was no sign of the server. He hadn’t really expected to see the lad, but he felt the gesture was needed.

“Still, though,” Bogden went on as he wiped his lips on the back of his hand and tucked properly into the slabs of meat on his plate, “the food’s best there is. No doubt ’bout that!”

For a while he just ate, relishing the meal. It was predominantly meat, though it was complimented with a few rooty vegetables; potatoes mostly with the odd radish mixed in. From time to time he murmured things like, “Oh that’s scrumy!” or else “I do like the kick these fat little roots has!” but in general he focused on his eating. All the while the tavern remained as it was with Bogden as the only occupant.

When at last he’d finished his meal, which was quite large and lasted for almost an hour, he leaned back in his chair and began picking through his teeth with a short dagger he produced from his waist. All that remained now of his meal were a few uneaten vegetables and the bones.

Bogden looked down at his table and then around at the other tables around him. A look of sorrow crossed his face and he looked this way and that as if hoping to suddenly see someone he’d missed noticing earlier on.

“Now’s a time a fellow wants comp’ny,” he grumbled, “An’ it’s my drat luck that no comp’nies ’round.”

He folded his arms over his broad chest and huffed out crossly.

“O’ course,” he grunted through a tight jaw, “They’s be ’round ifn I wasn’t ‘ere. They’s never liked me comin’ round.”

It was true. Every time he’d tried to come and hear the town’s news, or even to share some news of his own, he’d been mistreated. At best the people just ran him out of town. At worst they’d tried to kill him.

“They’s could’a been friendly,” Bogden grumbled, getting up from his seat and moving to the next table over where he spied a few unfinished drinks. “I’s been nothin’ but nice, a real gen’leman.”

Bogden sat down heavily at the new table and downed the first drink. It was, disappointingly, just water.

“Blech!” he said as he spewed the water across the table. “Who’s comin’ to the tavern an’ askin’ for water, eh?”

He grabbed the second flagon and sampled it first before just downing it.

“Not sure wha’ this is,” he said and looked down into the cup.

It was mostly white with a slight yellow or greenish tinge, it was hard to tell in the little light he had, and it had a sort of sweet flavor to it.

“S’not bad,” Bogden said, though unsure of himself, “but wha’ is it?”

He took another little sip and let it wash around in his mouth a bit longer before swallowing.

“BOY!” Bogden shouted out and the window rattled at the sound.

He waited a moment and the heard the tell tail sounds of light feet coming slowly from the kitchens. A small, sooty face looked out at Bogden. The boy was trembling.

“Wha’s this then?” Bogden asked as nicely as he knew how.

The boy obviously didn’t want to come any nearer to where Bogden sat and so Bogden got up and walked over to the boy, bringing with him the drink. The boy appeared to shrink down even further as Bogden approached but he didn’t run. Bogden liked that about the boy. He’d been the only one who never tried to hurt Bogden, and nor had he run away screaming.

“’Ere now,” Bogden said in a quieter voice and knelt down beside the boy. “Wha’s this?”

He held out the drink and the boy took it, looking at the contents. He looked back up at Bogden with a puzzled expression on his face.

“It’s milk, sir,” he said plainly, as though that should have been obvious.

“Oooh,” Bogden said and he nodded his head. “Righ’, milk…um…bu’ wha’s milk? Is it like mead?”

“No,” the boy said and managed a small chuckle, “it’s from the cows.”

Bogden scratched is head as he thought back to all the times he’d eaten cows and he couldn’t remember ever coming across any fluids like this before

“Is it somethin’ you get from stewin’ them?” He asked. He knew there were a lot of things people could cook up that were foreign to him.

Again the boy chuckled a little, and Bogden chuckled a bit himself if only to not seem so ignorant.

“It’s what the mums give their babys,” the boy said. “Comes from the udders, like a big water skin only its got that in it and the baby drinks it.”

Bogden stared hard at the boy to make sure he wasn’t fooling around with him.

“So you’s all jus’ go out there an’ poke them udder with a knife and drain the milk?”

“What? No!” the boy cried out in shock. “We just have to sort of squeeze them and it come out. Use a bucket to catch it and all.”

Bogden looked back down at the milk and took another little sip. He was beginning to like the stuff.

“Show me,” he said after swishing the milk around again in his mouth.

The boy didn’t move at first, looking still more stunned at Bogden’s request but when Bogden shooed him on with his hand the boy turned and lead Bogden through the kitchens and out into the back courtyard where the animals were kept.

In the far corner, stood a solitary cow. Bogden approached it carefully so as to not spook the creature but he may as well have been invisible for all the care it seemed to give him and the boy as they approached. It chewed contentedly while staring at the fence post as though entranced.

“So I just sort of squeeze it?” Bogden asked as he laid his hands along either side of the cow.

“Um, no,” the boy said hurriedly and rushed forward to pull Bogden’s hands away from the animal. “Just hang on a moment.”

He rushed off back towards the kitchens and returned a moment later with a metal pail and a wooden stool. He set the stool down beside the cow and the bucket beneath it.

“Now I’ve seen wha’s comin’ from the backs o’ cows ‘afore an’ I know it’s not milk.”

The boy actually smiled and let out a real laugh.

“Get down low so you can see,” he said.

Bogden used his hands to wipe clear a space on the ground, moving various animal droppings and such aside before he lay himself down so he could better see what the boy was on about.

“See this?” the boy asked, pointing to a strange piece of anatomy on the cow he’d never noticed before. “That’s the udder. You grab it like this,” he went on, demonstrating as he did so, “and squeeze it downward.”

As he did, a thin stream of milk shot out of the udder and into the pail.

“It’s a magic cow,” breathed Bogden.

“No,” the boy laughed with delight. “All cows do this. Or, at least, all the girl cows do, after having a baby. So do lots of animals, actually.”

Bogden could hardly believe it, but then again, most of the time he’d spent around animals was as a hunter and he’d never taken much time to observe their rearing behaviors. He wasn’t sure at all how a baby cow would manage to grab the udder and get the milk out, but he was just going to leave the conversation where it was for now since the boy seemed to be thinking that Bogden was making fun now.

“So,” Bogden said, getting up into a sitting position beside the boy and the cow. “Guess I made a mess o’ things in there.” He pointed back towards the tavern and the boy followed his gaze in looking back towards the building. “S’pose they’ll be comin’ for me soon.”

The boy shrugged.

“I’m not sure anyone’s left to bother you.”

“Wha’ you mean?”

“Well,” the boy began, “the first time you came to town, you killed the farrier and his boys.”

“They was tryin’ to cut me!” Bogden said at once. “I would never have hurt them if’n they’d let me be.”

The boy just nodded.

“Well, after them, the next time you came into town it was that preacher and his folks that tried to fight you off.”

“Oh wasn tha’ wha’ they were?” Bogden asked. “Didn’ know they was religious. They jus’ kept shoutin’ an’ carryin’ on an’ throwin’ stones an’ such. Woulda left ’em but they followed after me with fire and sharp sticks so I had to stomp them.”

“Then there was that time when you went to the blacksmith.”

“The who?” Bogden asked. He’d never heard of a lot of the people the boy was mentioning, but then again, he’d never been given the chance for proper introductions.

“He was the man you stuffed into the deer and roasted over the big fire.”

“Oh yeah!” Bogden exclaimed. “He had some good meat on ‘im,” and then at seeing the boys expression of revulsion and horror, added, “but I only ate him ’cause he refused to let me use his fire for the deer.”

“Don’t you eat everyone you kill?” the boy asked and he paled as he did so.

“S’not right to let food go to waste,” Bogden stated matter-of-factly. “Never knowin’ when your next meal may be.”

“People aren’t food,” the boy murmured.

“Oh, I know,” Bogden corrected himself and he tried to comfort the boy as best he could, patting him gingerly on the back and speaking softer. “Least ways they’s not proper food. ‘Specially not for you. Not right to eat your own kind. But like I’s sayin’, I expect the others will be here soon. I should go.”

Bogden rose to his feet but before he could go a single step the boy’s hand shot out and grabbed the edge of his loincloth.

“Please don’t!” The boy cried out, suddenly desperate. “I’m all alone here now!”

Bogden looked down at the boy in shock. No human had ever asked him to stay before. In fact, the boy was the only one who hadn’t ever tried to attack him.

“Whatchoo mean? Aint no one left here?”

The boy shook his head.

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” he said. “Each time you came to town, more and more of them tried to fight you off but you just killed and ate them and now…well…the last of us were hiding in the tavern when you came and…

The boy’s voice trailed off and Bogden rubbed the tuft of hair that grew from the top of the boys head.

“Can you live on your own out here?” Bogden asked and the boy shook his head.

“But I could come live you you, maybe?”

“Hmmm,” Bogden thought, “I’m not sure my livin’ would suit you.”

“Then, maybe, could you live here?”

The boy locked eyes with Bogden and Bogden noticed that the boys eyes were wet now. It was something he’d noticed in humans sometimes, but didn’t know what it meant or even if it was a normal human thing. Maybe it was a disease. For now he decided to ignore the wetness.

“I think I could stay here,” he began, “but I worry more of your kind’ll be comin’ along before long and  they migh’ have issue with me. Like the ones who was here ‘afore.”

“What if we just say you’re my dad?” The boy asked, but Bogden could see a number of problems with that course of action right away. For one thing, they looked nothing like one another.

“If they believed us,” Bogden began, “then they’d just try an’ kill us both.”

“What if we say you were cursed by a witch or something?”

Bogden shivered. He didn’t like talking about witches and magic and things of that nature. The last time he’d eaten a witch everything he ate for the next month tasted like dirt. Although, it seemed lots of people were similarly afraid of witches and magic.

“Would people believe that?” Bogden asked.

“They might,” the boy admitted, “but you’d have to really try and act like a human.”

“S’not hard to do tha’,” Bogden sniffed.

“You’d have to wear proper human clothes,” the boy instructed, “and no more eating people, or anything else a person wouldn’t eat.”

“Now wait a minute,” Bogden said and he pointed a finger to his loincloth when he next spoke. “I is wearing proper human clothes, see? I gots it off that one you calls preacher.”

“That was a cloak,” the boy said. “You’ll need to wear pants and shirts and all that too.”

Bogden grumbled. He didn’t like the thought of that. Clothes were strange and he only wore the one piece of cloth because he thought it would help the people like him better. He’d learned long ago that wearing their skins certainly didn’t make them like him better, which was weird since it worked on elk and bears and other animals. Still, humans were strange creatures.

“S’no clothes big enough for me,” Bogden finally said and he thought he’d won the argument.

“I can make you some,” the boy countered. “I know where there’s bolts of cloth and I can sew them for you.”

Bogden glared briefly but when he saw how the boy wilted beneath his glare he softened his expression somewhat.

“I is just wantin’ to come an see wha’ all these people is doin’,” Bogden said suddenly without meaning to. “I isn’t wantin’ to kill an eat them all but they’s all just kept comin’ and fightin’ see? What was I suppose’ to do, eh?”

The boy was quiet for some time and Bogden thought he’d scared him senseless at last, but then the boy got up from his stool and took Bogden by the hand and began leading him back towards the tavern.

“If we can convince the next people who come through,” the boy said as they walked, “that you’re my dad, transformed by a witch, then you can stay here as the owner and hear all that the people have to say.”

“What about’s explainin’ all the dead people?”

“Tell them the witch did it. You finally killed her but not before she cursed you.”

Bogden nodded. He didn’t know much about humans, but the story sounded good to him.

“So what be I callin’ you then?” Bogden asked. “If I’m to be your dad then I ought to know your name.”

“Well it’s me who should know your name,” the boy replied, and then explained. “We get named after our parents.”

“Huh, that’s strange. We get named after where we’re born.”

“So what’s your name?” the boy asked.

“I was born in a den in a bog, so I’m called Bogden. So what I call you?”

The boy made a face, sort of pinched and wrinkled up that Bogden wasn’t familiar with.

“I guess I could be called Bogdenson,” he replied though with obvious dislike for the name, “or maybe Bogson?”

“I was born in a bog,” Bogden mused aloud, “because no humans go near bogs, so I think humans don’t like bogs. Maybe we shoulda not call you bog? Maybe Denson instead?”

“Denson,” the boy said aloud as though trying out the sound of it. “Yeah, I think that could work.”

“Good,” Bogden exclaimed and he clapped his hands. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew humans clapped their hands when they were happy and excited. Denson clapped his hands too.

“Now let’s go make you some proper clothes.”

Bogden allowed the boy, Denson, to lead him on through the tavern and back out into the town and down the street. It was a small and quiet town. One that had once held dozens of people but now only held two. Bogden hoped they could convince others to come and stay. He was, after all, still very eager to hear their news and stories, even if it meant having to wear pants and shirts and only eat the humans food.