The Princess and the Bear - Mette Ivie Harrison [20]
After that there were only stars above for light, and the hound noticed that there were no animals anywhere near them, as far as she could see—or smell. They kept their distance, as if they could tell that they did not belong amid this magic.
But the hound, for the first time since she had been touched by the magic that made her human, felt as if she did truly belong among others.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Bear
AFTER THE SPARSE meal was eaten, the bear allowed himself to put his foreboding about the wild man out of his mind. He was glad for a chance to rest at last. The gift of long life from magic did not mean boundless energy. And he hoped to learn much from these humans.
Their magic was more powerful than anything the bear had heard of, in his own time or in Prince George’s, but in addition to that, the bear felt enormous gratitude for the way these humans treated the hound. Even George and Marit did not see her as these people did. The princess had treated the hound like a hound, a wild creature. And she was that—but she was more, too. No one but this family had seen that as the bear did.
The sun faded in the sky and the stars came up. It was a warm night with a gentle wind. The bear remembered many a night like this that he had spent in his castle, watching others dancing and drinking himself to oblivion. He had awoken only to vomit into the wind, stare at the stars once, and go back to sleep.
He was a bear now, but how much happier he was here.
With the hound.
Frant spoke then, as if he had been steeling himself to offer this much of himself. It was the first time he had seemed to struggle, and when he spoke it was of magic—and his past.
The bear was glad that he understood, though he could not speak in return. The details of the story were very different from his own, but somehow the way the man spoke of it, it seemed much the same.
“My father was always proud of his magic, and though he did not speak of it openly, he and my mother taught me well,” Frant said. “Until—”
He struggled, then went on: “They were both killed when I was nine years old. A neighbor had come to warn them of the imminent attack, but by then the mob was too close behind. To save me, they sacrificed themselves and sent me to safety with him.”
A man daring enough to save a boy with the animal magic was surely a courageous one, thought the bear.
But Frant’s expression twisted with pain. “He left me alone in the woods, and told me never to return anywhere near my home or his. He said that if I did, he would be the first to light the match to my bonfire.”
All sympathy had gone, and the bear felt a low growl rise in his throat for this man who had pretended to help, then had abandoned a small boy to his lonely fate.
Frant nodded, as if he had been asked a question. “I have thought about it in the many years since then and I believe I understand now what he did. This neighbor lived on a farm adjoining ours. I think he hoped to claim my parents’ farm for himself. When they were dead, he had to make sure I could not gainsay him.”
There was no forgiveness in Frant’s voice.
“He saved your life,” said Sharla softly. “I must be forever grateful to him for that.”
“Only because it was easier to frighten a child than to kill him,” said Frant. “I owe him nothing for that.” He stared at his wife until she looked away. “I was left to raise myself. For many years I lived with the animals. Sometimes as an animal, sometimes as a boy. But soon I became lonely and I began to seek out others like myself—with the animal magic.” He nodded at his wife.
The bear stared at her, seeing both hound and human in her. But it was the human that stood out. What animal would have compassion for the one who threatened her mate? Not his hound, he did not think.
Sharla said, “My story is simpler. I did not discover who—and what—I was until I was nearly fourteen. My parents were horrified, and I woke one night to hear them discussing how they might kill me to prevent the stain on their reputation.