A boy’s walked past old trees as he neared his friend, Bear. Bear’s hind-legs were folded tight under his haunches, his forelegs pressing into the earth, as if the world were rising up from beneath him, and he had to push it down.
Boy walked up beside his friend, who stared straight ahead, motionless. Bear’s teeth were showing, each as thick as a human shin bone.
Hello, Bear.
Hll’llow.
May I stroke your neck?
Y’caan. Buchr g’nna loozyr haand.
Would you bit me?
Bear’s teeth shifted.
Why would you bite me?
The boy look at into Bear’s big, black eyes. They were perfect saucers, unknowable. The boy saw Bear’s struggle in his muscles, their tension translated into the rough grain of Bear’s fur. But the eyes were still. They were reflections of darkness on a lake where all the stars were hiding and the moon was new.
Bear spoke.
Because I am a bear, and sometimes, bears bite.
He moved his head away from the boy and his eyes fixed forward. The trees were pressing in, their greens and browns growing darker with each passing moment.
Boy stood next to his friend for a few moments longer, his hand moving a little as he stared at Bear’s neck. Finally, he bowed his head and turned to leave, the trees pressing in, and the sound of Bear’s hot breath fading away as the boy walked on.