The Bear (Pt. 2/4)

A great crashing noise came through the Soundless Marshes' thick trees, demoting the effect of soundlessness.

Charlie's head popped up from the small boat like a prairie dog on the Dread Savanna. After a moment of listening to the thunderous crashing, he up and left, paddling the small oar as fast as he could.

His breath grew heavy and great puffs of vapor floated through the cold morning air. At once, he was at the dock and tied his boat to the small studs on the side of the short planks that made up the dock. Charlie stopped to listen once more, then took off, running toward his small, hidden shack.

Finally, Charlie reached the secret door to his home and swung it open as fast as it would go with all the vines concealing it, and dashed inside, slamming the heavy door behind him with a strength he didn't know he had.

A feeling of solace and safety swept over him, and he dumped his bag full of fish into a pot above the fire to boil. He thought of his father, teaching him how to boil the fish just right so that he would have provision enough for the winter days in which fishing was impossible.

Then he thought of the creature that killed his father. The same one crashing through the marshy, wet trees right now. The same creature looking for more prey right at this moment. The same creature that had just chased Charlie into his house. The very same creature that comes out of its den every year on this same day for one soul reason. To hunt.

Charlie now thought of this creature, this monstrous, reptilian creature, this giant, bloodthirsty creature, and made up many fantastical ways in which to kill this creature. Then, he realized, such methods had been tried before, and he had read of their failures in books. Random books picked up from the yearly market in the closest village.

Then Charlie remembered the very last trick in each of those books. Every single book ended like this: a hero, stepping up with the single, most powerful arrow, nocked into the single, most powerful bow ever crafted, and firing upon the beast, felling it like a tree in all its flaming glory.

Just then, Charlie had hope. Hope of a glorious revenge (and food) for years to come. But that hope was soon diminished, as he realized that no such powerful bow nor such powerful arrow had ever been crafted, and even if it had, he had no hope of finding it.

Charlie sighed, knowing he couldn't possibly kill this beast, this vile creature. At that moment he knew it just wasn't plausible.

In all this time with Charlie daydreaming, the pot full of fish had begun to boil over, but he did not notice, for he was caught up in a fantasy of the mind.

Charlie's dog, Maltus, tilted his head and let out a slight squeal at the pot of water and fish spilling onto the fire and wondered himself about his owner. Once the situation had been evaluated as much as the mutt could, he decided that a good bark would 'wake up' Charlie.

And so Maltus did just that. He mustered up his courage, for he was a small, shy dog, and let out as much of a bark as his tiny lungs would bear.

Charlie jumped to his feet at the sudden noise, beats, and creatures vile sill on his mind, whipping around to see his small dog staring at the pot above the fire.

Charlie let out a yelp and dashed to put out the flame, boiling water spilling on his arms. He growled in pain as the fire died out and dashed outside as quick as he could to splash some cold snow onto his burning arms. The relief hurt for a moment, but the burning feeling went down, and Charlie went back inside, mentally kicking himself for being so foolish to the point of forgetting that the fish were boiling.

Charlie found some scrap pieces of linen and wrapped them around his red arms, after applying a healing salve, of course.

All of a sudden, breaking through the silence of the marshy forest and Charlie's quiet, hidden home, a loud crash of a fallen tree cut through the wintry air. Charlie knew at once why the tree had fallen. Not natural causes, not a logger making firewood and timber to sell, but the beast. The creature he had so fatefully day-dreamt. The locals call him Telbes, Eater of All.

Charlie, however, did not know this name. And so in his mind, it was only the Dragon.

To be continued...