The Final Days of Springborough

Patrick had not seen hide-nor-hair of anyone for a long while. When the rain began to fall, he immediately cursed his luck that he’d be all alone in a forest when the storm was to come in. Of course he was, he felt. He had been safely nestled in his field, on the opposite side of the kingdom, and all he wanted to do was tell somebody of the clouds he saw, and only his luck would get him very far from the castle, lost in the woods, alone with only his fearful imaginings to accompany him when the storm hit.

No, Patrick thought, not his fault. It was Thomas’ fault.

But, could he rightly blame Thomas? For it wasn’t even Thomas whom Patrick was going after to see. It was Kyrstin, because Kyrstin was more sensible- she would know what to do. She’d be able to calm Patrick down. She would use her smarts, her ability to see the silver lining in things, her mental know-how to show Patrick just why it was he was safe where he was. But, no, Thomas was more emotional, more prone to making a decision at the spur of the moment without thinking, and if Patrick was going to say yes to an adventure of Thomas’ he probably should also ask himself whether or not he’d be okay if Thomas ran off and left him behind on said adventure.

Because that is what Thomas did.

And now Patrick knew.

Within three minutes of the storm starting through the trees, Patrick was amazed at just how soaked he was. It seemed that at the beginning he could count the drops on his face one minute, and that his shirt was stuck to him the next. And, there was no end in sight. His inner thigh muscles sore from walking now hurt with every step as every step felt like sludging through more and more mud. He had to rest, or he would faint in the middle of nowhere. And so he found an overturned trunk a couple feet off the path, where he nestled under some trees away from the rain, in order to plant his rump, and massage his calves. He tried to catch his breath. He tried to twist his torso one way then the other, working out any sore muscles that he collected on the voyage. Nothing seemed to work.

Young Patrick looked around himself. He couldn’t hear anything but the pitter-patter of the raindrops on all of the leaves above him. Where there once was sun, filtering through the canopy, now it was blocked by smog or dark clouds. Wind would rustle the branches, shaking off collected water, showing the underside of the leaves which would appear to be lighter, making it almost seem like the forest was giving off a shimmer. It didn’t seem so scary. Not to him. If anybody, while he was in his field, would ask him if he wanted to be in the middle of those woods yonder alone, he’d almost shake with fright, adamantly saying “No. No he would not.” But now that he was out here, it wasn’t so bad. Almost peaceful. And even if he was already soaked deep in the forest, he knew the storm had to be much worse without the foliage above him. He was glad for the coverage.

The wind picked up, swaying the large, wooden trunks, sending the tops of the trees back and forth, and giving Patrick peeks at the darkening sky, and the flashes of lightening. It looked as ugly above him as it did when it was growing on the horizon. He wondered if it could get any darker. If the storm could get any worse. He tried to remember how bad storms could get, but it all seemed to peek with the lightening, the thunder, the wind. He couldn’t predict it getting more out of hand than where it was currently.

That’s when he heard the growling.

Patrick the Giant had kept his back to the woods, which proved to be his mistake, as nothing wild would have ambled down the path he was currently facing. He probably thought that anything out at the time of day, in this storm, would have sought shelter, and therefore the only things silly enough to be soaking was Patrick and his tree trunk seat. And at first, he didn’t even know if he actually heard a growl. He thought maybe it was thunder. As he kept hearing it, he thought maybe it was the way the rain drops were landing on something. Maybe a hollow part of a tree was giving the low groan. As it got louder, he thought it might have been something in the wind, or the wind itself, maybe filtering through a hollow reed like a person blowing into the lip of a glass bottle.

The growling got louder and closer, and Patrick had begun to hear the saliva of whatever great beast was coming around catch in its throat. He heard the breath, haggard and hoarse, between the growls. Little Patrick turned around, his eyes blinking rapidly, his eyelashes protecting them from the rain, and he made eye contact with the large brown bear that was bleeding from an arrow sticking out of its chest.

Although Patrick could see the feathered end of the arrow, he didn’t know what kind of damage it had done to the bear, as the beast seemed to be moving quite well. The arrow was lodged, dangling down between the bear’s great big legs. Blood soaked the fur of its one leg, and as each of its four paws made prints in the mud, the one front paw print was always rimmed with red. The bear had seen Patrick, and for no reason whatsoever, was barreling down on the boy who had just stopped to rest. With only a couple of yards to go, and Patrick already feeling the effects of the long distance already travelled, he knew there was no way he was going to outpace the bear. The only option Patrick had was to put up a fight, and he had no idea how he was actually going to do such a thing.

So, Patrick stood, keeping the trunk between him and the four hundred pound, grizzly beast. They squared each other up, Patrick keeping his head low, his chin to his chest, staring right back into the grizzly’s cold, brown eyes. Both of them were winded. Both of them were trying their best to collect themselves, to cool down their skin which seemed on fire, to shake the feeling that they both were too tired to fight the other. The bear began to side-step, to get around the trunk of the tree, and Patrick did the same, keeping the century old log between them. He needed more time. He needed to figure out just what his advantage was going to be. He had only wrestled Thomas before, and Thomas probably wasn’t as powerful as what now stood before him.

The bear, feeling the woozy effects of blood loss, stepped forward, onto the trunk, and roared. Patrick was ten feet away, but he felt the warmth of the rotten breath, felt some of its spittle on his face. The bear was trying to intimidate him, trying to make the small boy run, because neither of them wanted to fight, but neither of them had the energy to flee either. When Patrick didn’t budge, as he stood there and observed the bear, the grizzly stepped over the log, slumping back down into the mud, grunting as it did so. Now with five feet between them, Patrick readied himself. He spread his stance, he held out his arms, spread his fingers, ready to grab hair if he had to.

The bear snorted, as if disbelieving this kid was actually going to try to put up a fight. It approached the young Prince as if not wanting to kill something so young. And even when it finally came after Patrick, it did so with its head down, a final thought of: Oh well, tiny human. Let’s get your life over with…

The head down was all Patrick needed for an advantage as before the bear could raise its head, Patrick was on it, using his Giant inner strength to keep the bear’s head down, to keep its jaws from raising. The bear strained its neck, trying to lift itself to see its opponent, surprised at the young boy’s mass. Patrick put more of his weight on the head, driving the bear’s snout into the mud. The beast grunted, shook, put its front paws under him to push up, but the arrow reminded the bear it was there, and it couldn’t strain more against it.

The bear used its back paws to step forward, and Patrick slipped against the mud, his feet moving backward. It felt like he and the bear were of equal strength; at least equal weight. Every time the bear pushed against Patrick, the young boy pushed back, not wanting to give the bear a chance to raise its head and maybe attack him with its sharp teeth. The bear pushed again, Patrick sinking his feet into the mud, trying to find purchase. It wasn’t until the bear, fearing for its life with its snout deep into the muck, its oxygen depleting, starving for a breath, that Patrick’s heel found a root unexpectedly, and the young Prince was thrown off balance and to the ground.

Nothing hurt. The bear whipped its head back, snorted the mud out of its nostrils, focused its eyes on Patrick, and let out a full, deep, prolonged cry, its large lips trembling around its agape mouth. Patrick kicked out, scooting as far away and as fast as possible on his back, his hands now coated in mud and leaves. The boy grimaced and grunted, trying to gather courage within himself. The beast, realizing the opportunity for an upper hand, immediately gathered itself, and trotted after the boy, quickly covering the distance between the two of them. Before Patrick knew it, all light was blotted out as the bear was over him, and all he could do was put his hands in the air, and keep the bear from chomping down on his flesh.

Patrick grabbed and pulled, ripping out handfuls of fur by the bushel, trying his best to reach down and grab the arrow, which might put the bear in such pain he’d forget about the boy, but Patrick couldn’t seem to reach it. An inner giant with short arms, he cursed his absent growth spurt. He held his forearm to the bear’s neck, keeping the bear’s mouth just far enough away where every time the bear bit down, Patrick could feel its loose, harmless hanging lips on his cheek.

The four-legged animal kept trying to use its black-clawed paws to get to the prince, but its one paw was useless due to its wound, and so it couldn’t gather enough stability to swipe. The Giant wrapped his hands around the wet fur, pulling the bear down on top of him. The bear’s legs flayed out, and before it could get its feet under him, Patrick pulled down again. The bear growled, bit, tried to eat Patrick, but couldn’t find the small boy underneath him, giving Patrick the time to kick the bear repeatedly until he finally found the edge of the arrow with the toe of his shoe.

Once Patrick’s foot hit the wooden rod, the bear squealed, and tried to get up off Patrick and away. The young Prince wouldn’t let go. Wrapping his little arms around as much of the bear as he could, he kicked the arrow again, sending the bear into unimaginable pain, whimpering and crying as Patrick held onto him. He felt the animal shudder and beg to be let go, and when the beast seemed to give up and give in, Patrick finally opened his clenched fists and let his grasp of the fur go.

The bear rolled off of the boy, limping, and shivering. Patrick looked up, watching the rain fall down on him. He realized he was breathing especially heavy, feeling like he could not catch his breath. He coughed, rolled over, felt like throwing up in the mud, but didn’t. He paid attention to where the bear was, but for now, it seemed like they both called a respective truce. Both Patrick and the bear, on all fours, coughed and spit on the muddy path.

When the bear’s crying started to turn back into growling, the young prince began to stand. He looked at the bear, Patrick’s shoulders rising and falling as he sucked in the breaths that seemed heavy from the rain. His fists clenched, rainwater ran off his knuckles like minuscule waterfalls. The bear huffed and puffed, ready for another round, angry at the young boy for causing it such pain, steam rising off its back from its body heat meeting the cold air. Patrick couldn’t tell if his own small body had another round in him. As lightening flashed and the thunder clapped the loudest so far, the bear roared and charged.

Patrick clasped his fists together, jumped into the air, and with all the power in his chest, shoulders, and arms, brought his double fist down hard on the top of the bear’s head.

That was all it took.

When the underwear clad troupe of knights bounded around the path’s bend on their horses, the first ones drew their swords at the sight of the prince so close to a bear. Noticing the animal still breathing, talk came around that they should “kill the beast to save the realm.” But, Patrick sat there in the mud, no longer caring about how wet he was getting, or how close the bear was to him. The prince had taken the opportunity, with the bear passed out, to run his fingers through its fur, gently petting it. Patrick scanned the guards and knights. He was not completely surprised that he didn’t see his brother’s face among them, but rather caught off guard that they all were almost naked.

If Thomas ran off without him, why not a couple moment’s later run off without the guards?

“No, we’re not killing the bear,” Patrick said, standing up, looking at all the men who didn’t possess the strength the young lad did. “We shouldn’t kill things just because they scare us.”