Brena
Brena stared at the bear, frozen between fear and awe. She had seen bear hides used as rugs and curtains in her clanhold. She knew bears were big. But she had never seen one alive before. Nothing had prepared her for the real size of it.
The bear was as large as an aurochs bull, but had sharp teeth and thick fur the color of honey, darker like cinnamon around the back legs. Black goo dripped from an arrow wound in its hind leg.
"Girl," Brena said, careful not to use her daughter's name. She kept her voice calm but firm when she commanded: "Walk until I can't see you. Then find your sister and run back to the clanhold."
"But Mama, what about you?"
"Go."
To her great relief, Gwenika obeyed and ran into the woods.
Brena carried a bark-fiber sack on her shoulder. Inside, she kept useful items: herbs, a water skin, lumps of salt and sugar, and small jars with elixirs, each sealed tight.
"I've helped many wounded animals," she said, lowering herself into a crouch, arms relaxed at her sides. She tried to look as gentle as possible. "I can pull out the arrow and stop the bleeding."
The bear shook her head, like she understood.
"I know what you are," said Brena. "I know why you came near my daughters. But if you want help, you'll have to come to me. I won't let you trick them with your faery charm."
"Stay away, human," growled the bear. Her voice was low, but clearly female. "I'm not so weak yet that I can't still kill you."
Brena's heart pounded. Bears did not speak. Faeries did.
"I knew it. You are a Brundorfae."
The bear trembled and tried to back away. Instead, she fell with a thud. Her body shook again, and she let out a howl of pain.
"Let me help you," said Brena. "I have healing herbs."
"I don't want your cursed human help!" The bear thrashed, dry leaves cracking under her huge body.
"Then why did you come near us?"
"Didn't think you could see me," the bear said, breathing hard. "Human children see us. Grown-ups usually don't."
"Well, this grown-up sees you just fine," said Brena. "I know why faeries go after virgins. Once a woman's had a man, she's no longer foolish enough to trust your kind."
The bear made a strange sound—part snort, part laugh—but it ended in a roar of pain. She tried again to knock away the arrow.
"Are you going to let me help or not?" Brena asked.
"No! I said leave me alone!"
But Brena stepped closer, slowly. Her heart was beating so loud she was sure the bear could hear it. Even wounded, a bear was still dangerous. A fae bear was worse.
When she reached the bear's side, Brena knelt and looked at the wound. The bear shook, too weak to stop her.
Brena tried to remember what her mother had taught her about war injuries. Watch out for the barb. The arrowhead always wants to stay inside, to keep causing harm.
"I have to cut it out," she warned. "It will hurt, I'm sorry—"
"Just go away!" The bear showed her sharp teeth. "It's poisoned. It could kill you."
Brena took out her stone knife and began to work. She moved quickly. Even so, the bear groaned and shook with pain. Brena didn't let herself flinch.
Finally, the arrow came out whole. It was black all over—shaft and feathers—with no clan symbols. The obsidian tip gleamed like a wicked grin. Brena didn't touch it directly. She wrapped it carefully in a leather oilskin.
The bear was still bleeding, but the arrow's removal gave her strength. She rose and shook out her fur. Then she stood on her back legs, tall as a totem pole. Her yellow eyes gleamed with anger.
"I suppose you think I owe you now," the bear said. "You expect wealth, love, luck, or power. But all you did was pull out the weapon. The wound isn't healed. It can't heal unless that arrow tastes human blood. Will you kill someone for me?"
Brena stepped back. "I tried to help you, and now you're asking for a mariah?"
"You humans kill each other all the time," said the bear. "You have two daughters. Do you really need both?"
"Stay away from them, faery!"
"You brought this on yourself," the bear snapped. "I told you not to help me. The arrow needs death. I'm immortal—I can't give it what it wants—or else all Yellow magic will be Cursed by my death. But you're human. You took the arrow. Now you are responsible. If you find someone to sacrifice, I'll be healed. If not, I'll stay in pain forever. It's up to you."
"I won't kill for you."
"I won't make you," growled the bear. "I didn't want to give you this choice. Whatever you think about the fae, we are not your real enemies. This wound is not just mine. There is a wound in the world."
A crow cried out in the trees. The bear pushed past Brena's shoulder and limped into the woods.