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      "body": "![The Year Of The Bear Image.png](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmWJLdTxibGDroVJKJmPSgdAuRadU6k3gdXJL1SYswfkFx/The%20Year%20Of%20The%20Bear%20Image.png)\n\nIn the bear calendar, every year is the year of the bear.\n\nA cold, bitter wind accompanied the unending stream of snowflakes falling upon the ground. The thick clouds from which they descended blocked out the sky entirely. Below, drifts of snow capable of swallowing a man grew ever deeper. \nAny journey over the frozen mountains was a hard one at the best of times and this season was turning out to be the hardest some had ever known. Not because of the degree in which the elements raged but rather something more sinister at hand. Those that found themselves lost, or forced to drift beneath nature's embrace had done so out of desperate necessity.\n\nThe heavy laden steps of a man pushed, more than stepped, through the fall. Carmel: bundled in furs, white with crusted snow, shrouded for all the good it did him. He shook as he searched for somewhere to shelter. \nThe weather had been relentless over the two days he’d walked the mountain pass. This was not the season for travel, even if he was familiar with the paths to the fertile lands south. He had no choice: His homelands, remote as they were, were now inhospitable to him.\nPlague had crawled its way up into the high places, which were usually sheltered by such things. His way of life, the ways he’d known as he’d grown to manhood, had been choked out as if by some creeping weed. What embers remained were being snuffed out, or forced to flee in spite of themselves. \n\nBegrudgingly, Carmel was busy spiting himself and being lost out in the desolate cold was only the half of it. He stopped to survey his surroundings. Snow, ice, the odd cropping of rock. That, and the faint sound of agency on the air. \nPulling back his hood he held his breath and listened. It was voices, no doubt, but which direction he couldn't say. He pressed on, pumping his strong thighs, lifting and stepping, sinking then dragging.\nThere came a crack, the lurching feeling of brief descent. All around him the shelf of snow Carmel rode broke. He froze as an apprehensive moment passed, then the entire shelf collapsed, taking Carmel along. Noise roared in his ears. The world compressed and became black. \nUnrestrained in the chaos he tumbled and let out a roar only to be choked with snow. Ringing burst in his ear as pain shot through his head. Down he slid on stone and ice. Then, as suddenly as it began, it ended. \nDizzy, in pain, and too tired to move, he lay covered in snow. Fatigue and injury gripped him as he walked the tightrope of consciousness. \nTime passed. Sounds began to echo around, bouncing off the physical as well as the temporal. \nDarkness was replaced by light. Blurry figures, monsters, or savage beasts swirled above him. Wolves and bears. Jesters with streaks of rich color. Shamans, witches, or possibly something more grim. \nDark faces with hard questioning eyes. With paws and tendrils they freed him, and with paws and tendrils they hauled him along. \nAs he shifted, becoming weightless, the world spun wildly, grew ever brighter, and with a suddenness- winked out.\n\n*\n\n“What do you think, is he peste?”\n\n“He looks brut. Brut enough, anyway.”\n\n“Check him. The maladie takes many forms. Peste can progress with subtlety.”\n\nCarmel stirred at the sound of conversation but was yet to come completely to his senses. Around him blue and white icy walls stretched through dark caverns, illuminated by the warmth of fire light. Above him three figures stood. Behind them, a half-dozen more lounging throughout the sheltered space, warming themselves and eating. \nAll paid a mild, quiet interest in what was going on with the foreign agent. Carmel sensed the motion of one edging to his side. His hands began to move about his person as he roused to consciousness. \nWild eyes flew open. Instinctively he grabbed at the intrusion, tangling the man in a wrestle. Grunts, shouts, a flurry of motion; in a moments notice all three were on top of him. Strong as he was, the lone, prone fighter was no match. Forced to his stomach, his hands and legs pinned beneath theirs, he was left with nothing to fight with but his tongue. \n\n“Hey! Get off me you clouts!”\n\n “Check him!” The bigger of the three boomed through a burly beard. It was the same voice that had issued the command before.\n\nHands began to rummage and with more aggression this time. They tore at a near empty coin pouch; turned out pockets filled mostly with damp lint; and ripped at a necklace, made of coarse string, that held a single gold colored coin. Off to one side a small pile began to form.\nIf these were looters or seekers of fortune they’d be sorely disappointed. \n\n“Hey, hey!” Carmel barked, watching helplessly as a savage looking woman detached herself from the nearby wall and knelt down beside his belongings. \nShe regarded him from beneath a hood. Her face, Carmel noted, had been darkened with a mask of charcoal, with streaks of blue paint beneath the eyes. She spared him no emotion and turned to pick over his spoils.\n\n“Well, what do you find?” The bearded man questioned as the three continued their struggle on top of Carmel. The fight was futile and Carmel had all but resigned himself to saving his strength for later. \nThe woman unwrapped a bundle of cloth and tossed the contents closer for his inspection. \n\n“Dried meat. Not much but it’s something.”\n\nHe grunted.\n\nThe woman looked closely at the gold disc. On either side was the matching portrait of a woman. “Interesting,” she intoned.\n\n“Hey! Don’t be getting any ideas.” Carmel roared, his face half-mashed into the hard icy floor.\n\n The woman regarded Carmel once more then let the trinket slip through her fingers. \n\n“More brut than peste. If the maladie had settled the meat would be first to go.” She rose to her feet.\n\n“Are you brut?” The burly man asked, addressing Carmel for the first time.\n\n“What?” Though the words made sense to him, Carmel couldn't fathom their meaning. The confusion was clear on his face.\n\n“Where are you from, wilderman?” The bearded man seemed to speak more slowly, as though comprehension might be an issue. The question, though, was a fair one.\n\n“The High Northern Wilds, the Roving Hamlets. A place where we know a thing or two about hospitality, you big fat jerk.” Pinned though he was, Carmel wouldn't give any quarter.\n\nThe big man relented and, not sparing any of his weight, pushed his way to his feet . “Let him free,” he ordered. The other two released him and Carmel thrashed his way to freedom.\n\nhttps://www.patreon.com/Butonfly\nhttps://www.minds.com/Butonfly",
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      "body": "![Word Art.jpeg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmbdwW2qeTpJgHmKxZ2v51RkT6Qpx4CTeX5qYhvMHDBhbK/Word%20Art.jpeg)\n\nThe gates of Silkwood were tall and heavy, made of thick branchless logs harvested from the very swamp in which they stood, watched closely by a loose guard of men under pools of firelight. \nEntering would require marching up the gravel strewn road, waving friendly at the gate, drawing back ones hood, and stating who you were or what your intention might be at such a late hour. \nSquib knew all this because he’d watched it happen many times before. Which was why he always opted for a side route, shrouded in darkness, made possible by a grappling hook acquired in this very town. \nHe always enjoyed his trips into town despite the very real dangers he faced. The rewards, however far outweighed the risks, and they did so particularly on this very trip. \nSquib scaled the wall with ease, pulling his small body up in a horizontal walk, then throwing his legs up over the top. He came down with a thud that left an imprint in the mud. \nThe sack of goodies over his shoulder was adjusted. \nCasting a pointed ear he waited, breath drawn, listening for any alarm at his intrusion. Quiet as a practiced sneak, he edged his way forward, traversing building after building, clinging tightly to shadows in search of the house with the red door.\n\nSquib knew the way and yet the fairly formal layout of the town disorientated him. He had trouble wrapping his head around the interior of the square palisade with it’s neatly fashioned buildings inside. Though the odd feature did help to unmuddle his tendency toward confusion. Such as the  T-junction running through the northern half of town or the stone tower that soared near its center. \nHe couldn't help but stare. It sprung out of the earth like a tree and its peak appeared to be home to a large number of birds. Squib had never seen it up close but from all the avian traffic he took it to have some manner of purpose. \nIf Squib were completely free to move about he’d have investigated more closely- if for no other reason than to sate his curiosity. Seeing as he wasn’t free, he’d always erred on the side of caution and stuck to simple trade. \nHe could only imagine what might happen should he be discovered in a confined space two tree lengths high in the air. If one of these humans got a hold of him, likely mistaking him for some sort of egg-thief, they might think to show him one of the open archways spaced periodically up the stony walls, and send him on his way; Nose first no doubt. \nSquib shuddered at the thought. No, best to stay on the mud where it was relatively safe. Best for Squib to stay where he belonged. Relatively speaking, of course.\n\nSquib found what he was looking for, not so much from the colour but the familiar shape and stony steps that lead up to the red door. It was dark in this narrow slice of town and nobody had any business being there. Except, of course, for Squib. \nHe gave the door a knock, a knowing, communicative tap, and then waited. Moments passed, slowly like swamp sludge. Squib’s ears piqued to listen, movement beyond the door, feet shuffling over floorboards, a faint light appearing through the cracks in the wall. \nSquib sank back quickly into shadow, disappearing beneath the black cloak he wore, blending seamlessly into the night. The door creaked open slowly allowing the light to spill over the stone steps. \nIn the doorway stood a middle aged man, thinning around the joints, with fading hair, a scruff of beard covering his chin, and spectacles over his nose. He had a robe about himself, a candelabrum in one hand, and an expectant look to his gaze. \nSquib remained still and hidden, allowing the swamp crickets and distant, chirping frogs to greet the man in his stead.\n\n“Well? Come on then!” The man said throwing the door wide.\n\nSquib emerged, slowly, cautiously, looking this way and that. Confident no one was watching, no one had seen, he scampered inside. The door closed heavily behind them. \n\nAlready Squib had moved to take up residence on an overly sized kitchen room chair, the sack he carried was hoisted with both hands and its contents spilled out onto the table. \nSquib watched as the man moved slowly about his living space, retrieving his ledger and the chest in which he kept some of his prizes. The old man had gold, he always had gold, but Squib couldn't find much value in that. Not out in the swamps where he spent most of his days. \n\n“So, what have you brought me?” The old man asked in a tired but friendly voice.\n\nSquib had never asked why the old man had treated him so fairly when so many others had not, but he suspected it had everything to do with mutual benefaction, and the shiny gold discs Squib’s trade brought him. \nSquib began sorting the contents of his sack into something that resembled order, and small piles of assorted brick’o’brack began to form on the table. \n\n“Good season, good stash. You be pleased with swamp goods.” Squibs said with glee. \n\nHis command of the humans tongue might have been garish to the refined ear, but Squib prided himself on his mastery. He wouldn't rely on it to get himself out of a sticky situation, but knowing he could communicate his thoughts and desires soundly to someone willing to listen was to have achieved something great, especially for someone such as Squib. \n“Good” was one of the first words Squib had ever learned, and it was one of his favorites. With the word ‘good’, he could convey so much of what he felt was important in the world, and as far as the humans seemed concerned ‘good’ was something to aspire to. \nGood outcomes, good times, and ‘goodies’ were all things Squib held very close to his heart.\n\nThe old man hummed as he shone his light over the wares. Squib could see his calculating eye, and watched as the slight twitches of his tongue, teeth, and lips denoted his tendency to form lists and ultimately do sums. \nSums were not something Squib could command. He was not good where sums were concerned. Yet he knew the worth of his haul and his haul was.. “Good, yes?” Squib asked again, spreading a garish smile that showed wide rows of menacing teeth.\n\n“Tis good.” The old man agreed. \nHe reached for the chest which Squib noted had a well oiled hinge. Perhaps the best oiled hinge he’d ever seen, the smell of which tickled his nose every time he came. Like a dog at dinner it always gave him the warm tinglies. Something about getting treasures out of boxes at sparse intervals throughout the year could do that to him. \nThe old man retrieved a small box and a package wrapped in thin leather, and passed them across the table. \n\n“What is it?! Is this it!? Yeessss!” Squib hissed in excitement, almost doing a jig on his seat. He chuckled as he opened it, folding back the leather and revealing his own wooden box with its own oiled hinge.\n\n“It arrived two weeks ago. Good timing, if I do say so myself.” The old man smiled but then busied himself with his ledger, already making notations. \n\nSquib ran his tongue over his lips, savoring the moment, sliding the pads of his fingers over the smooth wood that someone of his standing had no right in ever touching. His thumb peeled up the latch. The lid folded back revealing a fat leather pouch three times the size of his fist.\nThe old man spared a glance over the rim of his glasses as his hands busied themselves with a pencil. \n\n“Hard to come by that was. Not to well sought after, but scarce enough to keep a thoughtful price.” \n\nSquib pried open the drawstring revealing a fine purple powder with a greasy sheen. “Three handfuls, yes?” Squib asked.\n\nThe old man nodded, “Three handfuls. I should know better than to ask, but what exactly do you want that for, anyway?”\n\nAlready, Squib was tightening the drawstring to place the pouch back in its box and squirreling it away within his belongings. He had no interest in revealing his secrets to the old man even if he could sympathise with a curious soul. \nHis eyes only narrowed at the thought, a sinister thought, crossing his mind at the painstaking process he’d put himself through to get this far. Still, some semblance of an answer whirled it’s way around his head and rolled its way out on his tongue, a chant more than anything, like a shopping list spoken aloud to keep him on his path. \n\n“Two handfuls for payment. One handful for Squib.” He told him. But to who and what for, the old man would not know. \n\nThe old man only seemed to nod as though he’d been through all this before. “Oh yes, because that won’t leave me wondering more than ever, will it? Have it your way. Keep your secrets you green scoundrel. Hopefully not to the detriment of anyone I should know or care for…” Already the old man was busy within his book, murmuring all the while, as Squib spared him his own glance. \nThey had an understanding. There was trust there, Squib thought. Enough anyway, at least for this. The old man had his secrets too, Squib could tell. It took one to know one. \n\n“All is good, Old Tom not need worry.” He reassured, though Squib was never sure just how sure Old Tom could be. There stood a healthy level of caution between them, Squib thought. This was good. “Trade finished. Must go!”\n\nThe door swung shut behind him as Squib took to the shadows once more. The cool, wet air of the swamp splashed against his face but he felt warmed by the thrill of the package he now carried. Unlike the shrill, scared creature that slunk into town before, now Squib walked with a hastefull spring in his step that bounded more than anything. \nHe barely even noticed the twang of foul air that tickled his nose as he rounded a corner and nearly bumped into one of the towns guard on the last pull of a piss. \nSquib startled, catching his feet about as quickly as he did his breath. The man was equally as surprised, albeit more frightened given his precarious state of vulnerability. \nHe yelled, reaching for his weapon while correcting himself in one awkwardly dangerous movement. By that stage, Squib had already turned and fled. \n\n“Goblin! There’s a goblin in the street!” The guard called as he gave chase. \n\nSquib’s ears twitched at the commotion of noise that stirred all around; Somewhere a couple of dogs barked; Shouts from other men and the trampling of boots nearby; The mysterious absence of crickets and frogs normally present at night. \nSquib dashed for the shadows and squeezed through small spaces, but the town was so small his pursuers seemed to catch the curtails of his cloak wherever he went. \nHe made back the way he came, drawing closer to the red door, a line of men funneling through the pathways behind him. The scraping of armor and clatter of steel spurring his heel. \nWham! A hollowed block of wood struck Squib in the face. He caught whiff of fine oil and heard the smooth scrape of a well oiled hinge. \nAll around gold sparkles caught the torch light as they toppled, coming to rest all around as Squib lay sprawled in a daze on his back.\n\n“Sorry about this.” Old Tom whispered from above, then brought his chest of spilled treasures down hard upon Squibs head. \nThe lights went out.\n\n\nhttps://www.patreon.com/Butonfly\nhttps://www.minds.com/Butonfly",
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