Ballad Of The Forgotten: Chapter 4: Part 3:

Sense came thrashing into him one day.

Their barn was an old, disused wooden structure, situated near the edge of the woods. Beyond the barn stretched out an overgrown field of yellow sorrel, the sunny flowers giving a softness to the neglected and forgotten place. There was a road beside the field, where he could often hear carts, horses, and sometimes a lonely whistle or two.

Ever since he could walk, he would inch closer and closer to outside, longing for sunshine and air, and sometimes rain. She had warned him to be careful if he had to step outside, since the ground was uneven, especially after the rains.

But he was better now. He had stopped needing one crutch and had started to use one. As if hearing his wish, his leg worked almost smoothly now and so one day, he decided to step outside.

It was a soft afternoon. The sun was mellow on his skin and the scent of the forest hypnotized him, unbearably sweet and icy. He sat on the chair he had dragged outside, sitting near the edge of the flowers.

The Storyteller had told him that she would be leaving on an errand, so she had left the food and water ready for him. Reminding him to take care of himself, she had left. It was probably late to ask her now, but he wondered where she got the food from.

Never mind. He was enjoying the sun on his face, his mind a complete blank, and biting his nails to keep them shorter. He could have done a better job with a knife. Sometimes, he reached out for a flower, crushing it between his fingers and smelling the scent. Such delicate shapes, yet sturdy and obstinate creations. He sat there for quite a while.

Suddenly, a few paces from him, a tree shook abruptly, sending birds flying through the branches. His eyes snapped into focus, peering closely to see what has caused the disturbance.

Two ears, rounded and searching, flicked in the air. Then the head rose in the air, emitting a low guttural growl. Two smaller shapes rushed down from the tree, calling out, shrill and helpless.

He stood up to return to go inside as the head turned in his direction.

He froze, forgetting all the lessons he was taught in hunting class. He could hear his heart jump like a frightened chicken, as he tried to keep himself level-headed.

"Breathe in," he thought, "remember what your father told you. 'Stand still. Look away. Watch. Speak softly.'"

The creature was magnificent, a force of nature, the brown of its fur glowing a rich reddish-golden in the sunlight. He could only have a glimpse, but the look in its eye was astoundingly intelligent. The cubs stayed hidden near their Mama, who was watching the man attentively. After ascertaining that there was no threat, the bears started to walk across the field, a little away from him, but he stood still, refusing to budge until they were gone.

Then they stopped in the middle, sniffing the air, looking at him again.

If he was going to die like this, after everything he'd gone through, it'd simply be humiliating. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, wondering how she would react to finding his lifeless mutilated body near her home. Wouldn't it be rude to make such a gruesome discovery near one's home? Would she even feel the impulse to react to his death? Would she feel angry? Or would she begin to show emotions that he would be unable to witness?

"Not here Mama."

It was only a whisper, but the effect of her voice was like a giant glass of cool water, putting an end to the terror he was feeling. He peeked at her quickly, noting the faded leather and the brown, mud-stained clothes. She was calm, as always, but her eyes were alert and scared. Some of that terror came back, as he tried to think of ways of saving her if things escalated.

She whispered again, "Not here Mama."

The bear considered her presence, sniffing in her direction this time. Then it walked in the opposite direction, away from them.

They both stood frozen until it was gone. Then she rushed towards him. He expected her to berate him for not listening to him, but all she said was,

"Fuck."

He felt his lips moving on their own accord. "Fuck."

He looked at her remorsefully, "Sorry, I shouldn't have–"

"No, it's fine. I didn't know bears were here either."

"I should have done something–"

"What–get mauled?"

They both chuckled, relieved.

"You did good," she patted his hand, "I was going to piss myself standing."

He gawked at her, "What–you were afraid?"

She looked at him incredulously. "It. Was. A. Bear. A mum, no less."

"Oo-ooh", he let out stupidly.

"I'm going to pee. You want to get inside?"

"No. I want to clear my head."

"Well. I'll join you."

She hurried inside the barn, walking awkwardly. He held his nose to stifle the sniggers, and then he laughed to himself heartily as soon as she was out of earshot. He heard a mug of water crash into the earth and a groan escaping her, and he chortled helplessly.

She came back sheepishly, having heard him laugh at her. He felt a little sorry. She couldn't help but give him a lopsided embarrassed smile.

It was almost evening.

Well, he had lived another day. Only a few moments ago, he was afraid of being torn to pieces, or worse, crippled horribly, of never being able to see her again, of never seeing any emotions on her face except the calm indifference he was used to seeing.

But here she was, embarrassed and occasionally giggling, beside him and his heart was still beating. He was so glad of living that he was lightheaded and seeing the sunset on the horizon filled him with a light he couldn't put into words.

He remembered the questions she had asked him when he suddenly decided to go back to his brother. Only now was he feeling the weight of those questions. The lack of care he had for his life, for her life, and the actions he almost took.

"We will have to leave. Bears can be curious." She spoke thoughtfully.

He looked at her with all the tenderness he could muster in his heart. As if sensing his gaze, she looked up at him, watching his eyes.

"Yes." He spoke, deciding in his heart, "we'll have to live."