A Bear Named Boo

The Black River

The ratty-looking sow from the river was tucked in a shadowy corner talking to old Turnik. I watched, fascinated, as Turnik yawned, exposing a ridiculous number of dangling, grey-haired chins. 

How can one bear have so many wrinkles? I wondered. I could practically smell his old-age musk from here.

I recognized some of the sows from the river, and one young boar who was just on the other side of cub-hood. Short of an uncommonly busy fishing day, I'd never seen so many Grizzlies in one place.

My ears flicked back and forth, picking up bits of conversation.

"The berries aren't at all what they used to be..."

"It's dry this year."

"...great teeming columns of them! I swear, every ant in Grizzlyland is coming into my den..."

I couldn't imagine this many Grizzlies coming together to complain about ants, and turned to Ravi to say so. He shook his head slowly, warning silence, so I bit my tongue. 

The bears below us grew more impatient too. 

I caught the word "inconsiderate" from a sow before her friend quickly silenced her. The small conversations died out, but nervous shuffling and loud "huff"s filled the clearing. A mood of annoyance and anxiety settled with the early morning mist, clinging to leaves and branches in heavy clumps. 

Jeera didn't show up until the moon was well clear of the mountain ridge but, despite their anger, none of the bears dared utter a complaint.

He was formidable. His fur was golden, his face was surrounded by a halo of grey tips, and when he moved his fur rippled over his tremendous bulk. He was much bigger than any bear I'd seen before. I shivered, grateful that we were far above his reach.

"I'm here for two reasons," he rumbled without even a "Hello". "The first is that the situation in the north is growing more serious. Rigel needs bears who are willing to defend our home to join him at the border."

No one responded, obviously. His audience was made up almost entirely of sows, most of whom had cubs to raise.

I watched with interest as the bears that had viciously chased my family on countless occasions lowered their eyes and tried to act invisible. Even the elders – the oldest Grizzlies whose skin fell to their knees and who were more grey than brown – chose to back down before this powerful boar.

"The second reason," Jeera continued dangerously, "Is to collect names of traitors and those who refuse to support our cause."

After that threat, several Grizzlies decided they were willing to pledge their strength against the White Bears after all: the young boar, two older sows, and one young sow who didn't have any cubs this season.

I marvelled. What kind of a bear must Rigel be, for all these sows to take their chances against invading White Bears rather than risk one Grizzly's displeasure?

Jeera grabbed a few more of the elders to join his ranks before he was satisfied. He didn't seem to care that they were so old that they moved about as quickly as a mountain.

"Now: names," he growled.  "There are traitors among us, and we need to find them. Don't be afraid to speak up. You will be rewarded."

I waited, heart pounding.

The sows shifted, but no one spoke.

"Unless I get names voluntarily, I will question all of your families individually," Jeera snarled.

A few mothers traded uneasy looks.

"Dune," one suggested quietly. 

I scowled. Dune was a young Black Bear, as harmless as an aphid.