Page 9 of The Withering Wood

“What?” she snapped.

It shook its head, nodding in the direction behind it. It glanced back at Cerise, then swung its head around before turning again to her. Motioning her to follow it. In her fantasies this morning, the bear obeyed her, not the other way around.

“There are important tasks to accomplish, bear.” She fixed her focus to the fence once more, tapping Beloved on the wood and scanning for the black tendrils of disease.

It growled louder, a puff of anger in its grumble. It pounded its paws on the ground, the thin layer of ice over the snow cracking with its determination.

Cerise glared at the beast, which once again thrust its head to the side, begging her to follow it. With a sneer, she returned to her work. Whatever the thing wanted, it could wait. It didn’t get to barge into their lives and dictate how they lived.

An agitated, desperate roar erupted from behind her, raising the hairs on Cerise’s arms and shooting the blaze of battle readiness through her veins. She swiveled, Beloved aimed at the creature, bracing for its attack.

But the bear remained in place, and when the dagger of Beloved leveled at it, the beast whined. It plopped onto its bottom, hind legs spread in front of it. It lolled its head as close to a hunched shoulder as it could and swung the opposite fore paw to the scrunched side of its body. It grunted with each motion, swaying as it struggled to maintain its balance on the back legs while motioning with its front.

The swing of its legs grew faster, the huffs and grumbles growing more desperate and persistent. A stab of pity shot through Cerise as the poor beast toppled over with a frustrated grunt. It sighed, exasperated, and crawled back onto its legs.

She squinted at the creature. It had been attempting to draw attention to its side.

“The rune?” she asked, and it nodded. “What about it?”

It thrust its head back again, toward the forest.

Cerise cast her gaze over her shoulder, ensuring Eirwen wasn’t in ear shot. Even so, she lowered. “You know about the ones in the forest, too?”

It nodded and huffed, seeming relieved. It rose to its legs and motioned toward the woods with its head.

Cerise tapped Beloved into the ground, leaning on it. If the bear knew something, she needed to follow. Yet, she couldn’t leave her work incomplete.

“Fine. We’ll go look at them. But later. When I’m ready.”

The bear groaned as Cerise returned to tapping Beloved against the wooden fence posts. A moment later, heavy footsteps lumbered around her, stopping at the fence several posts ahead. The bear rose a paw and tapped the wood.

“Careful, beast.”

It rolled its bright pink eyes, sourness flooding Cerise’s stomach. Such a disrespectful creature.

Yet helpful, too. It continued tapping the posts, seeming to watch for movement.

“Check for signs of the disease, too.”

It grumbled in response and at the next post, its eyes lingered several seconds longer, scanning it for the curse.

She observed the bear for a dozen fence posts and gave the ones it worked on a second assessment. All posts remained solidly in place. No black marks stained the wood. Perhaps she could trust the creature with this task, after all.

It would halve their time, allowing her to scour more of the forest for food and runes.

A sick foreboding weighed her down at the first post she skipped.

This bear hadn’t been doing this for years, like she had. Its eyes weren’t trained like hers to note the curse. Its ears weren’t attuned to the minute cracking of wood as it strayed from its place.

Her laziness, her want to trust the bear, might allow Azkanix’s curse to leak into the home.

If it did, all would be lost.

They’d either have to return to Tyrnoraen, which Cerise would never do, or they’d need to somehow survive in the woods without Zyrdriel’s blessing. Which was another impossibility.

Cerise’s brief moment of relief crashed, the burden of their life heavy on her shoulders.

She checked each post the bear did, just in case. To her surprise, when the creature noticed this, it didn’t seem offended. It didn’t roll its eyes, grumble, or huff. It simply stalked beside her, a silent companion, while she checked the fence.