Page 7 of The Withering Wood

The bear huffed, exasperated.

“For what purpose?”

“I don’t know!” Cerise’s body vibrated, the physical aches and mental worries of the day somehow both weakening and electrifying her nerves. “Which is why I don’t trust it. I don’t know what it wants. And neither do you. You know better than anyone that not everything that shows you kindness is good intentioned.”

Eirwen’s face flickered, shock-widened eyes twisting into a disbelieving grimace before falling flat. Cerise’s stomach dipped to her gut. That look never meant anything good.

“Come inside.” Eirwen motioned to the bear with an ivory hand, scooping the fish into her arms and sweeping by Cerise without another word.

Shit. This day just kept getting worse.

Now she’d have to mend what she broke with Eirwen and keep a diligent eye on the cursed bear.

Adjusting the wood pile in her arms, mustering the last tendrils of strength for the day, she followed them into the cabin. Cerise ducked low below the threshold so that Beloved, still strapped to her back, wouldn’t thunk against the entrance.

Eirwen guided the bear to the glowing fire, infusing their cabin with warmth and light. The creature, in its intelligence or complacency, sat to the side, away from Cerise’s mound of furs and blankets. Still refusing to look at her, Eirwen took the fish and lantern to the counter to cut.

Cerise laid the wood near the fire, face scrunched with the fierce pain in her leg. She usually didn’t go this long without resting or Eirwen caring for her knee, yet she’d been distracted by the runes found in the forest today. Her nerves hummed, the discomfort and fatigue draining her. As she placed the last block of wood, a dizziness swept over her vision and she dropped it, the entire pile crashing to the ground in pounding, cracking thumps.

Cerise groaned, squeezing her eyes shut to stamp down the urge to rage, to shout and kick the errant pieces of wood, imagining how satisfying the sound of splintering wood would be, mimicking the thunderous anger in her chest.

A low grumble and gust of hot breath pushed against her. Cerise’s eyes shot open, the bear breaching her space, lumbering toward the fallen wood.

Swinging a hand to Beloved’s shaft, ready to swipe around into the bear’s flesh, she said, “You better watch yourself, beast.”

It huffed, dismissing her, and batted a paw at the nearest wood block, rolling it back to the pile.

The scent of fish guts filled the air as Eirwen cleaned the bear’s offerings. Cerise quivered in place as her body threatened to collapse, but she didn’t want to sit down until she was certain the bear wouldn’t lunge at her. She remained frozen in place, hand on Beloved, gaze fixed on the creature that rolled each piece of wood back to its rightful place. Using its jaws, the beast stacked the pile once more, each block precisely balanced. It even tossed a fresh log into the flames before returning to the far side of the mantle and flopping to the ground again, closing its eyes with a contented sigh.

Leaning on Beloved, Cerise lowered herself to the floor, keeping a wary eye on the beast. It saw she was hurting and decided to help her. Or perhaps it simply wanted the fire higher so it could curl against its heat. Yet, if that were true, it wouldn’t have needed to restack the pile of fallen logs.

Perhaps the kindness was a manipulation.

Or maybe Eirwen was right. Maybe the creature wasn’t evil at all.

Perhaps whoever carved the runes into Azkanix’s bones was the same one who carved into the bear’s flesh, laying some sort of spell on it. But what could the curse be?

A grumbly hum escaped Cerise’s throat, a soft pity growing under the hard shell around her heart as she observed the resting creature. Yet still, there was something about its strange, pink eyes that kept her uneasy. Something familiar that pricked at the back of her memory she couldn’t place.

She reflected on her time in Vhypael’s Temple and Zyrdriel’s Order. Recalled every cleric, soldier, commander, and enemy that she could, but none of the faces conjured in her mind had pink eyes.

Perhaps it was a symptom of the runes.

No, there was something else lost to her memory.

Eirwen sat between Cerise and the bear, sliding fillets of fish on a grate that sat over the fire’s flames. Her sister tucked her long white hair behind an ear and rolled Cerise’s left pant leg up, slow and delicate, revealing the swollen knee. Without a word, Eirwen pressed her chilly, slender fingers into the ache and summoned her magic, pulling the cold from Cerise.

The bear flicked open its eerie eyes, paws under its jaw, watching frost form on Eirwen’s fingertips then melt away.

With her muscles and nerves relaxing, the pain ebbing away, Cerise said, “I shouldn’t have⁠—”

“I was a child,” Eirwen snapped, keeping her gaze on Cerise’s leg.

“I know,” she replied through gritted teeth. “If you’d let me finish, I was going to say I shouldn’t have said what I did. It wasn’t your fault. None of it was. I just don’t want it to happen to you ever again.”

Eirwen sighed, shoulders slumping. “My ever vigilant, stalwart protector. But Cerise, not everything in this world is evil. You must give some things a chance.”

“If you’d brought a big, snuggly rabbit into our house that’d be one thing. A bear is a little more difficult to innately trust.”