The Final Days of Springborough

Patrick knew the bear scared the guards, but he did not care. He knew he could control the beast with the makeshift collar he had made for it. So, Patrick walked between the guards through the forest, three armored knights in front of him, who felt protected by the cover of trees from any lightening strikes, and two underwear clad knights riding horseback behind him, with a sixth knight, a poor, scorched soul who had not woken up, but was currently slung over a horse, being carted back to Springborough.

The mood was somber, since no one felt like they had accomplished much of anything on this day. They had set out to find one royal princess, and didn’t do so. They actually found they had lost another royal family member, the Ex-Queen Grace who, according to the knights who came back for Patrick, had left behind only her blood in her cottage. Patrick swore to himself to return to these woods when he was bigger, scoop up his grandmother’s cottage in his hands, and carry it back to Springborough. Then, if she was dead, and if she did haunt her old house, she would at least haunt it closer to home, and, who knows, maybe she’d come back to tell Patrick another story about when his parents were young.

The ache in the small giant’s legs from walking all the way was not gone. He wondered if a bear’s back was stronger than a horse’s, but he didn’t want to try. The bear was also still bleeding from the arrow wound to his side, which Patrick probably made worse in their fight when he used it against the beast.

No. Not beast, Patrick thought to himself, growing sad at the word. Bear. He’s not a beast. That’s not who he is. He’s a bear. He’s my bear. He’s my pet. I should come up with a proper name for him. Something respectful.

“Rodolfo,” Patrick called to one of the almost-naked Knights riding a horse behind him, one of the knights who had saved the lightening-struck knight.

“Yes, your highness?” Rodolfo replied, his flesh covered in goose pimples from being cold from the storm, and being quite bare. He rocked his body back and forth, moving with the horse, feeling saddle sore.

“What should I name my bear?”

The knight thought about it, wanting to give the young royal a good answer. Just the sound of the word “bear” reminded him of the kingdom children who played a game called Rock-Stick in the streets. A person would hit a rock with a stick that was thrown to him by a thrower, and judging on how far the rock would go once hit, would be how far the hitter would be able to advance. If you were able to advance four buildings down the street- you got a point. The kids loved to wake up Rodolfo on his days off to get him to play with them. They called him Bear due to how far he could hit the rock, and because he had taken to growing a long, black beard.

But, what would Rodolfo call a bear?

“Why don’t you ask the bear?” Rodolfo replied, hoping not to have offended his Prince with such a non-committal answer.

Patrick looked at his bear who looked back, sadness in its eyes. Sadness from losing the fight still? Sadness from being on a leash? Patrick reached over with his hand, his small fist burying itself in the long fur, as he scratched the bear’s neck. The bear seemed to like it, a small chuckle rising from the big animal’s throat. But, Patrick heard something else, a wheezing, something that might come from getting sick, or maybe from being internally wounded. They would have to get his new pet checked out when they got back. Patrick would hold down the bear as a town’s doctor inspected him.

After that, Patrick would have a servant fetch a wagon full of fish for his new pet, and the bear would realize just how good it was going to be to be a royal pet. A merchant in the marketplace was going to have a really good night when he sold all of his fish for the week in one day. Who knew this was all going to happen today, that Patrick would get himself a companion, and that the companion would bring joy to a merchant? This must be a lucky day.

“Lucky,” Patrick said, trying out the word on his tongue as he looked over at the bear. The bear looked back, his head nodding with every step it took, a slight limp growing worse in the leg by the arrow. “Lucky?”

The bear looked over, cocking its head at Patrick’s tone.

“You like that? Lucky?”

The bear huffed, splashing in a puddle with a step, splashing in another with another step as the group continued to shuffle on.

“A fine name,” Rodolfo shouted from behind over the storm, answering for the bear.

“Although, I doubt he feels lucky now,” Patrick said, running his hand through the bear’s fur. “Probably feels like a prisoner. A hurt one at that with the arrow. But, don’t worry, boy, we’ll fix you up. We have a doctor who will know what to do, and you can stay in the field with me; help me protect the castle. Nobody will mess with a bear. And we can keep each other company. And you’ll never have to worry about food. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like the luckiest bear in the world, your highness,” Rodolfo replied for the bear.

“Lucky bear.”

None of the knights would come around the bear, even after Patrick had knocked it unconscious, until the giant found a way to secure it. So, Patrick had used some of the bridles and reigns from the horses of the caravan, and he used some of the chains from their armor to fashion a leash of sorts. The first knight to offer assistance was Rodolfo, who Patrick was always fond of because he seemed like the one knight in his father’s guard that wasn’t bothered by children, and together, the two of them had figure a way to tie the bear to Patrick’s wrist. So, when the now-named Lucky Bear slowly came to, blinking away sleep, huffing into the muddy puddle his chin had fallen into, everybody watched as Patrick used the leash to keep the big, grizzly bear under control.

The caravan’s horses neighed, trying to get away, and at first Lucky Bear did try to attack. Perhaps it had once tasted the flesh of horse, and remembered how much it liked it, but it quickly learned who was in control. It almost broke Patrick’s heart as the bear lashed out at a horse, and quickly felt the leash bite into its neck, keeping it away. The first time the wild animal felt the taming, he looked at Patrick with the first pull of the leash like:

Who do you think you are?

At the second pull of the leash, Lucky Bear seemed to look like:

You’re the one that hit me!

And as the bear tried to start round two with Prince Patrick, the guards pulled their swords out to protect the royal child, and their horses rose to their back legs, their neighs shouting above the rain, the wind and the thunder, as Patrick and Lucky Bear were surrounded by what would be most certain death for the Prince’s new pet-

Lucky Bear, with some divine wisdom never known in the animal kingdom before, lowered his head without needing its leashed pulled, and bowed before the Prince. Most of the knights felt that this was simply an animal that didn’t want its neck pulled anymore, but Patrick saw it as a sign of respect. He saw it in the same way he saw his father’s subjects, the ones loyal to the crown, bend their knee in front of his father. Lucky Bear knew, somehow, who Patrick was. The royal prince had found himself a new friend.

So, without finding the Princess, without finding his Grandma, with losing his brother Thomas in the woods, and returning with almost half of the people they set out with, the small caravan continued its path to return to Springborough. Patrick was able to smile as he finally found himself a friend; a companion.

Lucky Bear.

Patrick had no idea it was the same bear his sister was on the hunt to kill.