Prologue: Ursidae Prince

Prologue



Lying in the shade of Grandmother Willow, Brink stretched his small well-muscled body and lazily scratched across his ribs ruffling the moss brown fur. He relaxed and watched as the wind teased Grandmother’s branches.  The moan and creak of the old woman’s wood, the clatter as the long tendrils bounced together and the shush of leaves fluttering in the strong breeze created the symphony Brink had come to hear. The color of his fur created the illusion that he was just another of Grandmother’s root knees.

A sigh teased at the edge of the music. Brink sat up, and in a few hops he clung to the side of a mighty oak; his tiny fingers curled around the edge of the bark.  He climbed the trunk and emerged among the top most branches. ‘Human,’ the sigh whispered again.

He collected the noise in the back of his throat and felt it reverberate to his toes. The thrum of his call was repeated four times and was echoed back to him. His brothers and sisters were coming. Each trymph emulated a virtue of the trees they lived among. Sebul often sat for days to watch the buds blossom; his virtue was patience. Clahm emanated peace. Cawny never wavered; her virtue was constancy. Ajia's every movement was like a dance; she was the essence of grace. Argute, the oldest, held all the knowledge of the forest; his virtue was wisdom. Brink was strongest of the trymphs.

Each trymph wore an undercoat of fur that reflected the colors of the forest from Brink’s moss brown to Ajia’s musty gold.

Troth approached the human child who had collapsed against Grandmother Willow. His virtue was trust. He gently brushed his hand across the girl’s ankle and she relaxed slightly from the fetal position. Clahm brushed the girl’s temple with her fingertips. The young woman unclasped her hands and sighed. “I’m so tired.”

The trymphs faded into the underbrush and Grandmother Willow blanketed the girl with leaves. When the girl awoke she brushed back the leaves and found the pile of nuts and berries near where her head had lain.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she looked around. Birds sang in the trees and a subtle hum vibrated through the air. She looked at her surroundings as she munched on the sweet berries and tangy nuts. A stream babbled nearby and she stepped over and bent down to wash her face and get a drink. She looked back at the tree, which had given her shelter.

“You are the most beautiful tree I have ever seen.”

Grandmother’s branches shivered in response and her tendrils danced around the maiden.

Brink separated himself from among the tree’s knees and in two hops rested on his haunches in front of the girl. He felt his full fluffy tail quiver with excitement and fear. He tugged at the tuffs of hair at the tips of his pointed ears.

“Brink,” he trilled his small hands clasped against his chest. He extended his hand toward her.

She hesitated a moment and then responded, “Sarina”.

He shaped each syllable, “Sa” came out like a sign, “Ri” rolled around his tongue and “Na” became a yawn.

“Yes, Sarina,” she pressed her own hand to her chest.

Brink’s brothers and sisters separated themselves from the surrounding trees. In turn they each clasped hands to chest: “Troth”, “Ajia,” “Clahm,” “Argute,” “Cawny,” “Sebul”.

Brink took a step toward her, “Lost?”

“Yes.”

Argute scanned the forests edge, “How?”

“My mother sent me into the woods with an assassin.”

“A-sas-sin?” Troth hissed the evil sounding word.

“A man to kill me.”

Ajia spoke looking around at the dense forest. “Where?”

“He was too kind and let me go.”

Clahm came forward offering Sarina her hand. “Scared?”

Sarina reached down with hand extended. “Yes.”

Clahm stroked her palm, and the worried crease of her brow relaxed.

“We keep safe.” Brink hopped forward with outstretched arms.

Sarina hesitated then gently lifted him, he scurried up her arm and perched himself on her shoulder.

He knew many men came into the mountain forest, some good some bad. Someone was trying to kill this human child on this side of the mountains. The trymphs would guide her across the mountains to the forest of the setting sun. Brink remembered the human man who filled the woods with music. They would find him. They would find the minstrel.



"Ursidae Prince Chapter One"