There was a home all alone in the woods. Not so common these days, but this was those days, back when distances were longer and the world was more lonely.
There was a boy, and he wasn’t very old, and he was off through the woods and into its deepest thickets to fetch in as many berries as he could carry – and maybe a little more than that, and maybe a little more than that too, and perhaps he could have a few mouthfuls or fistfuls for his stomach while he was there. Just a little. This was perhaps not so greedy as it sounds; you must remember that he was a very little boy after all, and could only eat and carry so much. Still, he persevered, and was nearly bent double under the strain of his load before he brushed aside a tangle of picked-clean branches and came face-to-snout with a small bear that had just finished trimming off a bush of its own.
The small bear twitched her nose at the boy, and the boy’s eyes got big, and they stood there for a moment.
“Go away,” said the bear. “Mine.”
“YOU go away,” said the boy. “They’re mine.”
“I’m bigger than you and I say they’re mine,” said the bear, and she stood up on her back legs and roared at the boy so loud that his ears crinkled up. He ran home and by the time he was there he’d lost his shoes and he’d lost his berries and he’d almost thrown up three times.
“No berries?” asked the boy’s sister. “What have you been doing out there so long?”
“Hrurp,” said the boy, and tried to explain. Then he threw up.
“Well, I see you stopped to eat some,” said sister. “And you didn’t bring any back? Lazy shiftless little boy, I should give you a whack.”
“Bllear,” managed the little boy, and coughed. “Bear.”
Sister frowned and tapped her chin. “A bear? What kind of bear?”
“A huge big bear,” said the little boy, holding out his arms to demonstrate. “She was twice my height and four times my weight and it roared at me until I ran away.”
“That’s a pretty small bear,” said sister. “Not so big at all. I bet she isn’t even grown-up yet, same as me and you. Well, mostly you. Get me a good stout stick and I’ll see about that.”
So the boy went and got his sister a good stout stick, fresh from the limb of a surly old oak by way of a lightning storm a few other days ago, and off she went into the deep woods and the thickets, thump thump thump, with her little brother scurrying along behind her like a mouse.
“I don’t see a bear,” said sister. “Better get to picking berries. I’ll just have a bit of a nap while I wait.” And she sat right down under the largest and most impressive berry bush and started snoring, quietly by firmly. The boy was annoyed by this greatly, and played a small game of catching stinkbugs as he picked berries and carefully dropping them one-by-one on his sister’s legs. This kept him occupied until he picked the last berry from a particularly large bush and met eyes with the small bear on the other side of it.
“Go away!” said the bear. “Told you already!”
“YOU go away,” said the boy. “They’re mine and my sister’s.”
“I’m bigger than you and I say they’re mine,” said the bear. She stood up and roared again, and she roared so loud that it woke up sister, who shot up to her feet in a flash, mashing all the stinkbugs under her feet in her hurry – squish squish squash.
“Back off from my brother!” she yelled, and she whacked the small bear three times: once in the stomach, once in the nose, and once on top of the small bear’s head.
“Augh!” said the small bear, trying to hold her nose and duck another bruise, and she ran away deeper and farther into the woods, leaving sister and the boy alone to gather up as many berries as they wanted. She didn’t stop running until she reached her family den.
“Stop making such a ruckus,” scolded her brother. “Mother’s sleeping, and if we make too much racket she’ll wake up and give us all such a cuffing that we’ll never stop being sore.”
“The berries are lost,” cried the small bear. “It doesn’t matter if mother beats me black and blue, my stomach will be sore enough that I won’t even notice. And yours too!”
“What now?” said brother.
“People have taken up our berry bushes,” she said. “Two people – a little tiny one I chased off, and a big scary shouty one. She’s harder than an oak tree and she roars louder than I do and she smelt worse than a skunk dipped in old pond scum.”
“Well now,” said brother, raising his hackles. “Well now! We’ll see about that. I claw my marks on oak trees as I see fit, and I roar louder than the thunder, and as for smells, you’ve seen what I’ll eat. I’ll shiver them down to nubbins, both of them, see if I don’t!” And he stomped off with a lot of angry muttering, stamp stamp stomp, with his little sister scurrying ahead of him.
“Don’t you learn?” asked sister when small bear came into sight again. “Go away! These are our berries to pick! Be sensible and be scared of me.”
“You should be scared!” small bear told her. “Now clear off and let us eat in peace.”
“No,” said sister, and she might’ve said more but just then brother came into sight and opened his mouth and what came out was the rankest, loudest racket that had been heard in that place since the world was put together. It nearly peeled the bark off the trees, and the nearest berry-bushes shed their crops and almost withered on the spot.
“Aah!” yelled sister and the little boy, and they both dropped their berries and ran away home on the spot, stopping once halfway to throw up. Brother’s breath smelled like the inside of a dead fish five times over and old berry juice.
“Well, this is a problem,” said sister.
“You could’ve beat him,” said the little boy, “if you weren’t so scared.”
Sister whacked the little boy on the head. “Hush up. He was a bit of a lot too big for that. No, I think I can’t beat him. We’re going to have to get some more help now.”
So sister and the little boy packed up some lunch – no berries, sadly – and made a walk all the way up a hill of stone and moss to its top, where there was nothing but some old juniper bushes in the sunlight and a broken old tent, which was where big sister was staying.
“Open up and help out!” called sister, smacking the tent with her good stout stick.
Big sister opened it out and came out, and gave sister a bit of a look while she was at it. It was a pretty nasty bit of a look, and it made sister get quiet fast.
“I was trying,” said big sister, “to sleep. Late nights hunting take their toll.” She stretched and shook and scratched herself, some of the big teeth in her hair going click-clack softly as her fingers ruffled them. “Now, what needs doing in such a loud, rude hurry, eh?”
“A bear is stopping us from getting berries,” said the little boy, “and it’s too big for sister.”
“It’s a huge big bear,” jumped in sister. “He was over twice my height and four times my weight and its breath was the worst thing ever. Ever.”
“That’s a bit of a bear,” said big sister, “but I’ve heard of worse. And the blowhards always fall down the fastest. Get me my club and my horn and I’ll see about what needs doing.”
So sister and the little boy grabbed up big sister’s horn and club – it took both of them to lift the club – and gave them to her while she had a quick breakfast of old jerky. And then they packed up and followed her down the hill and through the deep woods and into the thicket at big sister’s quick jog, trit trot trit, two of sister’s footsteps for every one of her’s, four of the little boy’s.
Small bear was browsing from the largest and most impressive berry bush when she saw big sister come into the thicket, and her eyes got as big as saucers. “Broffer!” she called, and nearly choked on her berries.
“Eh, hum, what?” said brother. He raised himself up out of the shade from his snooze and saw big sister face to face, already right there in front of him.
He stared at her, and she stared back.
He snarled, and she snarled back.
He roared, and she roared back.
And then he swiped at her, and she dodged and hit him in the head with her club so hard that he thought he saw every single star in the sky before sunset.
“OW!” said brother, and then big sister punched him in the jaw. “OW, OW!” he yelled, and she stomped on his foot. “OW OW OW!” He roared again and tried to bite big sister, and she screamed at him and jammed her club in his teeth.
“OW!” said brother, and took another heaving swipe that tossed big sister head over heels into a berry bush. She came barrelling back out teeth-first and tackled him into a wrestling, thrashing ball of angry fur and fists. Hair and blood and trampled bits of greenery and berry mush flew everywhere.
“Oh no oh dear oh no,” mumbled small bear, who was hiding underneath the largest and most impressive berry bush.
“What’s wrong?” asked the little boy, who was also hiding there.
“They’re being too noisy, too noisy,” said small bear. “They’ll wake up mother. She’s trying to sleep now and she’ll be very angry if she has to come sort all this out. Oh dear oh no, they’re smushing all the berries, too! Mother will be VERY angry if she sees all this.”
“How angry?” asked sister, who was a bit squished, being half-underneath small bear’s behind.
“She’ll knock us all black and blue right through the fur until we won’t be able to sleep all winter,” said small bear. “And she’ll maybe eat all the berries left over just to teach us a lesson.”
Just then, there was a noise that rumbled on through the ground – like a rockfall, but throatier and meatier.
“Oh no, she’s woken up,” moaned small bear. The earth began to tremble and shudder. “Now we’re in trouble.”
“What can we do?” asked the little boy.
“I don’t know, I don’t know!”
“Make them stop!” said sister, and she jumped out from underneath the largest and most impressive berry bush, pulling the little boy along with her, and they each grabbed one of big sister’s arms.
“Let go!” shouted big sister. “I’ve almost got him.”
Brother bared his teeth and shook himself and small bear landed on his head, knocking him straight on his nose. “Get off!” he said. “I can turn this around still!”
Mother shuffled into the clearing and everybody stopped paying attention.
Mother wasn’t very big, but she took up a lot of space standing there, patchy fur ruffling in the breeze, grey old face bobbing as she looked around with bleary eyes. The world sucked in on mother, draining away all the details at the edges.
She didn’t look very happy.
“Wurt-“ and it sounded like that because mother’s jaw was all stiff and could barely move“-iss going on hur?”
Big sister looked at mother and didn’t say anything, but she adjusted her hands on her club three times in a row.
Brother looked at mother and opened his mouth then shut it then opened it again and seemed to forget what he was doing.
Sister very carefully shoved little brother and small bear. They blinked.
“We…” said little brother. “Were…. Picking.”
“Berries,” said small bear. “Berries. We were all picking berries.”
“Together.”
“Yes, together!” said small bear. “We were helping each other.”
“Pick berries,” added little brother. “It’s easier that way.”
Mother looked at big sister and brother with her beady little eyes. They glistened. “Wurt arr dey doing? Dey’re rooining de bushesh.”
“He had a stinkbug on his nose,” said sister.
“And big sister was helping him with it,” said small bear.
Mother took a sniff. “Grar! Be murr crrful wif de bugsh! Only gt so many burriesh errey yeer, cant wist dem.” She snorted and scuffed at her snout. “Desere mih burriesh nyways, shuld ask prmissin.”
Brother coughed and hacked and spat out his tooth, which had been stuck in his throat. “We, ah, err,, ack, wanted to surprise you,” he rasped.
“Yes,” said big sister. “With a gift, a present of food for you in exchange for your berries.”
Mother smiled. “Brahh, childen plyin nishe fer treetsh, always de shame. De burriesh arr fer fmly.” She thought a moment, rubbing her head with a claw. “Bruuuutt….nothingses people cant be fmly.”
They all looked at each other.
“I would like to have a mother again,” said the little boy. “Even a very hairy one.”
“It would be nice to have a sister,” said small bear. “Or two.”
“I wouldn’t mind another, littler sister,” said sister. “I can only boss around one little brother so long.”
“It would be good to have more small hands to find the good foods,” said brother. “I don’t mind eating the foul stuff, but it gets tiresome. I miss softer foods.”
“A mother,” agreed big sister, “would be nice. And a brother that I can hit properly.”
“Gud!” said mother, and she bobbed her head happily. “Nuw gitta pcking, ‘m hungry.”
They got picking. It took a lot of work, but they did it.
There were two homes after that, all alone in the woods. Two homes and a tent. A home, a den, and a tent. And a path that wound around them, rough, untravelled by many feet, but marked by blazes and clawmarks and the thud-thud of feet large and small. A quiet sort of trail, meant only for a few people that would nod and move aside to make room for one another. Certainly no worn road.
But this was those days, back when distances were longer and the world was more lonely.
Well, a little less lonely.