She was fabled to be the daughter of Reason.

“Come, please. Sit with me”, says Little Girl to Young Bear. Her tiny hand patting the spot to her left. Coaxing him, making promises with no words.

Young Bear hears Little Girl and moves slowly towards her without caution. His movement is synchronized with his thoughts. Thoughts perhaps abnormal for a young bear. -Yesterday his world was different. Yesterday this moment could never have existed. Yesterday he was not he, and she was not she. Yesterday was for the ignorant trout and indifferent pines. Yesterday, he slept.

“Please Young Bear, my baby bear, please, come sit next to me.” With lips quivering and eyes quickly filling with griefhoney, Young Girl cannot understand why she needs him to settle near her so badly. She doesn’t care about reason in a time like this. She threw it to the Great Winds, because dissection does nothing for beauty but poke it with pins and expose the shadows to light.

Young Bear doesn’t sit. But he’s close to her now. He can feel her, smell her, taste the air around her. He’s becoming alarmingly aware of himself and her blending into each other, of the honesty he wishes to embrace. He pushes his snout into her hair, the wetness from her eyes dampening the fur on his face.

Nearly in a whisper, in a prayer, she says so close to his ear, “Please, Young Bear. Please, sit with me. Don’t think of the trout, the pine, and I won’t think of the wind and pins. Please, Young Bear, please, sit with me.”