The Princess and the Bear - Mette Ivie Harrison [34]
“I will go this way.”
“That is the wrong way.”
“I will do what I wish,” said Richon.
Chala slapped him across the face.
“What?” he said, startled.
“You will not delay us with your stupidity. If you are hungry, I will show you the stream with the fish in it. Then we will be on our way.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Something crossed his face, a fleeting expression of memory, and understanding. Then he said, “I am acting like a spoiled brat, aren’t I?”
She nodded.
“I am sorry. It is this body. I find myself doing what I would have done before, without thinking of it. It is what I was most—” He stopped.
Chala pointed the way.
This time Richon bowed his head and followed her.
She did not get his fish for him, however. Let him do that himself, and grow into the man he should be.
He walked into the stream without taking off his boots, and then proceeded to drench himself trying to grab a fish out of the water. He had no technique, no patience. He would see a fish, leap for it, and find it had slipped away, fully warned by his splashing about.
Finally he seemed to get one, more by chance than anything else. He pulled it out of the water with a wide grin on his face that seemed to transform him from a boy into someone she could see as a king. There was power in that smile.
Did he know it?
He held the fish high, still flopping, and looked at Chala. “No fire to cook it on,” he said.
“No time for a fire, either,” she said.
He did not argue. He found a stick and pierced the fish through the head to kill it swiftly. Then he grimaced as he dropped the whole thing into his mouth.
It was not a big fish, but it took him two bites to get it down. He struggled with the chewing, then held his stomach afterward, as his face went ashen.
Chala thought it was his conscience bothering him, for he had sworn to give up eating the flesh of animals as his penance. But surely that was done now! The magic would not keep him living without food here, in this time.
To calm him, she offered: “It is the way of the world. One creature dies to give another life. The fish did the same, killing others to preserve its life. So long as you do not waste.”
“I have never eaten a whole fish raw before,” Richon admitted, grimacing.
“It is not your guilt, then?” asked Chala.
“I will think of my guilt later,” said Richon. “For now, I will try to stay alive.”
Which seemed sensible to her. Perhaps more sensible than the bear had ever been.
But it was as if she now knew two different creatures, the bear and the boy king.
She would have done anything for the bear. But for the boy? She felt as if she were starting all over again with him. She told herself that she should feel the same for him, no matter his form. Just as she thought he should feel the same for her, woman or hound.
It was all so confusing.
It had been different before, when she had taken the body of the princess. Then she had never tried to make herself accept the human form. She had known it was not her own. It had only been a disguise.
But this—she had to learn to live with this. All of it.
“You do not think less of me for eating the fish?” asked Richon, turning back when he found that he had started the journey down the mountain and left her behind.
“No.”
“You are sure?”
“You did nothing wrong, of that I am sure. But I will have to get used to you as you are now.”
“And I you,” said Richon, his eyes taking in her figure in a way that Chala thought was not entirely objective. He had always looked at her with kindness and compassion, but now there was something of possessiveness in his face that she was not sure she liked.
“Your kingdom,” said Chala, trying to move his attention away from herself and back where it belonged. “It waits for you. Or do you not care about that anymore?”
Richon flushed. “I care about it. I care about nothing else.”
Not entirely the truth, but perhaps as much as he was willing to say aloud. That was the way it was with humans. They did not speak the full truth. They held it back always, so they could appear different than