“He’d play with me, Burl! I’m sure he would.” She stood in the shadow of the tree one morning, not long after the master had left for the day’s fishing. Her toes tapped against the mossy roots. “And mayhaps…he’d be my friend.” The scraggly old fir shrugged. Some needles fell and sprinkled her hair. “We could run together. Hide from each other. Aye, and climb some trees!” More needles. She looked down at the blackened skillet in her hand, which she’d brought outside to wash in the sea. It still smelled of that morning’s breakfast: smoked herring and seaweed cakes. She grinned, knowing that was a breakfast the bear might have loved—though he’d probably rather just have some fresh berries. Aye, big ripe ones from somewhere in the forest. Her mouth turned down. Somewhere in the forest. Finding the bear would mean going back there again. Deeper than before, probably. And playing with him would mean going deeper still. Right into the arms of the ghouls! She shook her head and leaned against Old Burl.
