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Cedar's ears flicked forward and backward uncomfortably, while he shifted uneasily on the bench.

He was torn between equally valid moral imperatives, that were sadly, all mutually exclusive, and he was unable to make a determination which one he should act on.

Should he give the confused and clearly forgetful girl some of his bread? No-- That would be an insult to the baker, giving away his own goods, inside his own store.

Should he simply keep the bread all to himself? No-- That would be insufferably and criminally selfish....

Should he give the bag to the baker, and let him decide? No-- That too, would be an insufferable insult to the baker, and his hospitality.... Returning a gift was not acceptable.

Unable to come to a decision, he simply twitched uncontrollably like a fidgety child, while blinking and looking around the room with increasing levels of unease.

"If you need to use the privy, Mr bear, I am sure the proprietor would not object--" hazarded the prince helpfully, further flustering the bear.

"n.nah..." he stammered, fidgeting more obviously, until the girl left--

Finally, he worked up the resolve to address the baker. "I'm surry I cost ya a sale jus' naow..." he stammered. "---.... Still has some bread left.... I's sorry..."
The very moment that Matilda and the Prince entered the establishment, it was as if a glamour had passed over him. Ears came forward, and eyes sparkled, as the tone of voice went from gruff and serious to warm and jovial in an unsettlingly instantaneous way.

"Buh' is good ta know, an' is' right fine advice ta be careful. I'll do muh bes' ta min' muh manners when we git's ere, don'cha wurry none."

He made a jovial chuckle and showed only the most polite bit of teeth with a warm smile. "Thankya fer lettin' meh know!"

He turned his attention to the prince who had come inside, who seemed confused, and with a bit of melancholy. -- An emotional state he could relate with, for certain.

"How ya doin' young sir?" he chimed jovially, before motioning to the side of the bench beside him. "E'res room o'er 'ere fer you an' miss Matilda 'ere. Bench be good n' sturdy, shoul' hol' us all--- Come an be social!"

"Liss'n" Cedar said softly, but crossly. "Look like we gunna have 'his majesty's' boy in 'ere shortleh, so I gots ta watch muh tongue-- But les' git one thang straight 'ere."

He practically glared at Jazdia and the Baker.

"I ain't at-tall proud a what happen' back 'ere. Lotta poor folks los' 'er homes, and 'en some, an' I ain't no small part tuh blame. Em people didna ask fer at. Didna wan' it, fer sure! Aint none us want'ed at, 'cept da peoples as wants dis damn war. 'At dir'y ol' wizard in 'is purdy purple pajamas? At barstard woulda jus' kep' on hurtin peoples. Kep' on grindin' em inna da dirt, and walkin' on em, en wipin' da gore off'n 'is damn pointy shoes. An fer what, esactly? Money? What somebudy with at much pow'r e'en need wit money nohow? I don' need money-- What en? Pow'r? I ain't da brightest bear 'round, but e'en I kin see at sumbitch had pow'r ta spare-- So why does it? Only thang I can figg'r, is he wan' "CONTROL". Ain't enough to actually has pow'r, oh noes, gots to hurt odder peoples and rub 'er noses in it! Gotta keep em DAOWN. I's disgustin. I don right unnerstand how humans does it, an I dun wanna. Ain't in meh. I dun what I dun, ta make sure it end' right den an' dere. No more peoples gotta git hurt. No more lives ruin'd. I dun what I dun, 'cause I din' have no odder way."

The sound of bootsteps and steel armor clattering outside and approaching the door intensified.

"People likes at seems like dey be EAGER ta do at kinda thang. But I'll tells ya both somthun'-- 'Ere enough man in meh to be able ta choose fer muh ownself what I wanna do, an' how I does it- an I'd radder die in a dir'y wet hole, 'an capit'chalate wit' what you preachin. Ain't no amount a hot iron exist, ta compel me odderwise. Given muh druthers, I'da stuck 'round, and helped 'ose folks. Done all I could ta help em put 'ere lives back tughether afores we lef', but we aint got time... I ain't got time. Like uh said, 'bout two er three weeks, I's gonna be sawin' logs, weder I wants ta er not. I wakes up in at damn dungeon agin? Better bet your purdy elven arses-- I'd be lookin ta git out, and woudna be polite 'bout sayin' no ta any such demands."
"lettin' meh go 'r not-- I still has ta sleep. Is REAL hard on a behr ta be kept from sleepin' in da win'er.. Fat lotta good I'll do im in about 2 er 3 more weeks."

He snorted.

"unless he need a doorstop, or a rug. What he gunna do nex'? Roun' up all da lil' bunny rabbits an mice inna kingdom, an' put em on da fron' line? Hell, I ain't e'en FROM dis kingdom-- I come here ta stop a waar, an' at's all!"
Cedar sighed at the idea that yes-- Very much so-- He was probably not going to be a very welcome guest in Kindeance once news of what happened in Fanghorn got out.

It bothered him terribly what had happened there.

He slumped visibly at the table, the bravado of his cheeky retort to Yvonne being let out like a popped balloon: the melancholy of Reinhold going home, simply colliding with being discretely reminded of 'what exactly he did' at Fanghorn in a spectacle of self loathing and self pity.

"Go on home, I guess." he said absently, not making eye contact with the Baker. "Aint got time tuh set thangs righ' afores I has to 'die' in muh den fer da win'er.... ... I hopes it were worth it."

He suddenly found he really wanted a drink.
The Baker's warm invitation was very thoughtful, and he made a polite attempt at a short bow and tipping of the head to indicate his acceptance of the invitation, before moving toward the proffered bench.

"Thank ya kin'ly sir. Much apprishiated."

He was just about to draw attention to the sack of day-olds the Baker had graciously supplied, to share what was left, when Yvonne busted into the room.

Cedar frowned, then sat down at the table but continued looking at Yvonne.

"Wull--- I mos'ly jus' wan'ed tuh git cleaned up, and git a bite ta eat-- but de LAS' TIME I did 'at 'round 'ere, da lot a yas came up wit some cokamamie plan ta go topple a tow'r while I was out havin dinner, an didn' tell meh till mornin! Rounded meh up outta bed and stuff'd meh in a wagon wit nary an explanation! Had tuh put Two an' Two tugether muself watchin Veron'ca do 'er stuff in a cup o water."

It was not ENTIRELY the reason he had come inside, but it DID adequately deflect the implication that he was being willfully and needlessly negligent to their "VIP".

"I jus' wann'ed ta know if'n I shoulds be 'spectin gettin pounded inna da groun' like a fencepos' a secon' time roun' or not."

He snuffed at the air.

"Hey-- Whatcha been drinkin? --"
As the two finished their meal, Cedar waved goodbye to the old man, then placed the empty stew pot in the general place that the Baker had indicated.

He wasn't sure why, but he was very sad to see the old man go. He kept reminding himself that Reinhold was NOT his father, no matter how much the old man's personality and lifestyle coincided. He had his own life, and it was time to go their separate ways.

He heaved a sigh, then decided to go check on the horses. There was still some bread left, and the creatures would enjoy a nice treat, he felt.

The horses where tied up, right where they had been left. Absently, he tried to reassure the nags that he was not going to eat them, having already just eaten, before offering chunks of the bread. It was always a slow process, winning the trust of herbivores. Their instinct was to be wary, and his nature did not align well with circumventing that.

He rubbed their noses gently, despite the wide-eyed look it garnered him. He looked behind and saw Matilda and the Prince still seated within. Matilda looked all-business, and ready to chew iron into nails. He decided that was poor company, and the wary horses were a better option, in his opinion. Maybe they would like a good brushing?

He turned and headed to the small livery barn the Baker kept for all-nighter patrons to put up their horses for the night. He'd surely find what he was looking for in there.

The tackroom was immaculately kept, something the bearman noted as probably indicative of the man's fastidiousness, and he located a stiff boar-bristle grooming brush in short order. It felt small in his hand, but then again, anything human-sized always did. The door and interior of the tackroom too, were woefully undersized for a person of his stature. Carefully, he squeezed back out the door with his prize, then closed it neatly behind him, and returned to where the horses were tied, then started grooming them.

As expected, they were not the most receptive of his ministrations as a groomsman. After several minutes, and irritated horses that just wanted him to leave them be snorting air at him, he gave up. Then he had the idea of using the brush on himself-- and wanted to kick himself for not thinking of it sooner.

The baker did not seem to have an easily accessible well outside, for whatever reason. Cedar could only make wild guesses as to why, but for whatever reason, there just wasn't one. This lack had put a damper on his earlier plan to get a quick wash, and get the muck off of him that way, but the brush posed a less thorough, but alternative method of getting clean. At least it would get the majority of it off.

Idly, he returned to the door of the livery stable, took a seat on the ground nearby, then started brushing. Puffs of dust, and bits of mud flaked off with each passing of the bristles, as they worked through his fur, and did their magic. A few minutes later, and he felt like a new bear. He was still dirty of course, but the majority of it was now several patches of dirt, dust, and undercoat fuzz that clung to the grass where he had pulled it from the brush during the process. Respectfully, he returned the brush where he found it, then considered going inside. He had seen several of the others already go in without him, and now free of the dried on muck, he should be mostly presentable to go in, if still rather under-dressed. Clothing was mostly a formality anyway.

He stood up, and gave his fur a shake. A poofy cloud of dust billowed out as he did so, ejecting the last of the heavy soiling. The rest would cling to his skin until he could get a proper wash, but at least it wouldnt drop off and leave "leavings" for the baker and his daughter, if he went inside.

Eager to break the melancholy of his mood, he headed back to the terrace, collected the now mostly empty vegetable bag, then entered the door.

Cedar was still surprised about being gifted the entire pot of what was surely a fine stew that was only about a day old, tops, judging from smell and texture.

Slow cooked, but never allowed to just sit around and go rancid. The meat and vegetables might have a bit of a mushy texture, but there would be nothing at all wrong with it in terms of health complications. Some people preferred their stew this way in fact-- something his father had told him once. Something called "Braising."

(Not that he ever really had the patience. Getting it up to critical temperature and breaking down the vegetables enough to be tender was usually all he ever bothered with himself. -- In the times he bothered to cook the food anyway. Cooked food was more of a 'special events' thing. Raw wild vegetable, picked at the peak of ripeness, was his usual-- often fortified with insects and wild mushrooms. Depends on where he was in the forest that day, and what the day's itinerary was. He had been quite honest with the baker about not being picky. --HUMANS-- his own father included, some of the time-- were the ones that seemed needlessly picky on foodstuffs.)

He was ravenous, and was just about to simply cram his face into the pot, when a thought occurred to him. The old man, Reinhold-- He had no reason to stay any further with the group, and the man had been literally starving as well from the lack of good hunting. It would be almost criminal to send the man home to starve, while hoarding a free pot like this.

"HOY OL' TIMER!" he bellowed into the darkening hours near where the carriage should be. "YA STILL O'ER DERE?"

"What do you want, Bear?" came a bit of a surly answer. "I'm grabbing my shit and going home. I'm tired."

"Da baker feller lef'-us a big arsed pot o grub-- Wonder'd ifn' ya wanted some, at's all!"

"Baker huh.. For free? What, he didn't spit in it, did he?"

The question left him puzzled. Why would the baker spit in the soup? It was a thing he just couldn't wrap his head around. Why would you do that to perfectly good soup, and then give it to somebody? Was this one of those human rivalry things? Food is hard to get, and it clearly took a whole day to get the soup the way it was in this pot-- why would you? To the food?

He shook his head, then sniffed at it again, paying very careful attention, checking for traces from the baker, and coming up empty on the inquiry. There was no evidence of such an "Additive."

"Dun smell like it---" he drawled, as Reinhold sauntered up to the terrace, bow slung over his back for carry, and dusting the road dust off his trousers. "Why'd sumbuddy do summat' like 'at anuhoo? He lef' us sum bread tuh. Don' make no sense ta spit inna food like at, an' show'r us in so much. Hell, Dun make no sense ta spit inna food noway nohow. Ya sure at wizard didna zap ya in da head dere ol' timer?"

"Baker doesn't give ANYTHING away for free." the old man said flatly. "you've either impressed him, or somebody in your group has leverage on him somehow. If I were you, I'd be more careful with that one."

'Weren't e'zactly free-- Moars, 'whole lot fer a silv'r'-- But dey's plenty ta go 'round. It'd be criminal not ta ask if'n ya wanted sum afores ya head home-- As fer bein' careful....' Cedar leaned in close to Reinhold, and practically whispered at him "I'd be right scared ta jus' 'head home ta bed' ifn' I was you. People's as kin occupy a whole damn town like at bullshit at fanghorn an' pesti? Dey gots real strong opinions about gittin dey're plans fucked up, and lil' peoples like us tends ta git shit on. Like em poor barstards as had dere houses burned. I aint none tuh happy 'bout flattenin' their houses fer 'em on top-a-it all neither. Ifn' sumbody deserves ta git fucked o'er fer what happened, it be yours truly-- but em kinds? I might not be de oldes' an' wisest-- At's muh pappi's job-- but I dun noticed muh own self 'at 'at sort like ta gits revenge 'emselves, and dun' take tuh kindly ta havin' de're plans ruined. Ya needs a spot to disappear tuh, come track meh daown. I'll FIN' a spot fer ya. Caint stay awake fer many more weeks af'er dis, but hell, I'd put ya up in my own house while I sleeps off da winter downstairs, ifn' it come ta 'at. Ain't got no food at home, seein as I don' eat inna win'er, but I won' be usin' da fireplace nor da bed neither. Freeze up dere tryin' ta hibernate. Gots a nice cozy hole full a leaves un'er a trapdoor fer at. Nuh 'ere, have sum food wit' me."

Cedar extended a somewhat twisted and misshapen, but otherwise perfectly edible baguette style loaf to the man out of the bag the baker had deposited with the large cauldron of stew.

"Didn' leave meh no bowls 'douh." muttered the bear. "Mebbe ya fin' a loaf in 'ere ya kin use instead..."

It was a trick his dad had shown him. You bake an especially dry and crusty loaf in the shape of a ball, rather than a baguette or a slicing loaf, then you cut the top, and cut out a hunk of the inside with a knife before filling it up with a thick and heavy stew. The thick, dry crust keeps it from seeping all the way through, the soup softens the dry loaf, and you end up with a 'bowl' of soup that you simply just eat. If you are careful, you don't even need utensils. Out in the woods, and living with next to nothing like their family did, it was an inventive and useful trick.

He wished he hadn't left the kukri with his dirty robes in on the back of the carriage, but he figured Reinhold to be the prepared type, being another forest dweller, even if of a different persuasion, as he dug in the bag until he found what he was looking for, more or less, then handed it to the old man. "Dis'l hav ta do."

"I still dont know what to make of you bear." the man said with a bit of a wry smile, while accepting the bread loaf. "But you don't seem half bad. I STILL don't know how your dad didn't get eaten alive though."

Cedar chuckled, then dug around in the bag some more, looking for a similar loaf for himself, extracting it, before simply biting the top, and hollowing it out with his muzzle in lieu of having a knife. Humans he had found, had no conception of the idea of 'talking' to animals. If they did, they considered it a nonsensical aspect of a children's tale, not a practical aspect of life. Animals themselves usually lived a very 'inward' life, with vocalizations rather than words, and no conception that was even possible to share their feelings in ways other than outward action or simple utterances. The first few times you 'talked' with them, they were almost always terrified by the experience, no matter how gentle and calm you were about it. Humans -- and bears too-- were scary to most animals anyway, and the combination usually left them so rattled that they questioned what was real and what wasn't for days afterward. There was no easy way to explain the kind of 'slow growing' partnerships he and his dad forged with the other residents of their home to the old man. Even less of a way to explain how such a partnership could turn romantic. Humans, like the wild creatures he called his friends, had their own view on what things in the world were like. For humans, animals were dumb creatures without any comprehension of anything besides basic needs or wants. Many considered them incapable of feelings or desires, and thus a non-issue when it came to causing them harm. Such notions were simply unfounded, but explaining the truth to them was often impossible. Words lacked the... substance... that 'the connection' offered. You had to try and wrap up complex ideas like this in metaphors and analogies, and other abstractions, where with an animal, the core concept itself was what was presented, just as it was. (You just had to hope they could understand something that complex without blocking it out to protect themselves.)

"I's complicat'd." muttered the bearman before swallowing the mouthful of bread. He snapped the long baguette in half, then used half of it to scoop stew out of the pot and into his "bowl", while holding the pot by the wire handle and tipping it forward. "Les' jus' say 'at wil' critters has more in em an what mos' people realizes-- Dey jus' sees an' un'erstan's da world diff'rent. Ya gots ta speak 'er language, sorta speak."

"Hey, I didn't say I wanted a lecture, I said I didn't understand it." rumbled the old hunter, who had produced a pocket knife, and had more eloquently cut his own loaf, much like his dad did, before extending it to him to be filled.

"Fair 'nuff." rumbled Cedar, once more using the baguette to spoon up soup into the old man's 'bowl'. "I jus' wann'd ta poin' out-- ain't no part a mamma and pappa be 'forced'. 'em two loves each odder. Ain't no reason ta eat each odder, no more an you an some country girl would." He took a generous bite out of his bowl, slurped the juice back, then swallowed hard. "Fer sum reason, people's has a hard time unnerstan'in dat part. Thinks a bear caint fall in love. I kin assure ya, at aint da case at all. Momma an poppa gots ways ta talk wit each odder, an' dey does. Respects each odder. Loves each odder. Simple as 'at."

The old man shuddered a moment, shook his head, then distracted himself with his own bite of soup-bowl. "It's definitely not something I have ever considered even remotely possible." he said flatly. "I cant help feeling unnerved looking at you."

"At's 'ow mos' people's sees it. Ya gits used ta it. Hell, half da time, dey waitin' fer ya to try an' eat em or sommat. Muhself? I only half-unnerstands half da stuff you humans gits upta." He sucked down another bite. "Mos'ly seem like a big arsed waste a time, ya asks me."

"what do you mean?"

"Well-- takes people as has real big fancy 'ouses--- Like at 'king' fellar, or at crazy big place packed all elbow-ta-asshole wit' peoples, Rascade..." He made a general motion with the baguette in the direction of the capital. "Why does you human-folk live like at? What ya really git from havin' a house like-at? Gotta fin' ways to convince odder humans ta live wit, and help ya keep a big arsed thang like at from fallin in on ya-- Got so many a ya all packed inta one spot, ya'all goes nuts, an' robs from each odder. Keels each odder. If ya listen ta what people says in da dark alleys and such, ain't none a ya happy 'ere-- so why does it? Make no damn sense at all." He slurped in another bite, then sucked it down. "Meh? I gots a roof o'er muh head ta keep da rain out, ain't got no nosy neighbors all up muh butt worried 'bout muh damn lawn, nor hatchin crazy idears 'bout what uh might nor might not be plannin on doin' to em --or hell, ta dere daughters-- suh many a ya human types wit' young girls think's I's gunna just grab some girl up an' drag er off wit me and has muh way wit' er or sommat-- aint like at 'tall-- Da hells wrong wit de lot a ya, thinkin' stuffs like 'at--- True, uh wants ta start a fam'ly muself sumday, but NOT LIKE 'AT! Make no damn sense at all, but ya's seem real keen I be plannin it like at-- Naw-- Insteads, I just sit at home, wonderin' how it e'en might be possible ta broach da subject wit' a girl three times muh age, and likely as not ta take offence at da mere suggestion. What a fellar ta do, eh? So, fer da mos' part, I just sticks ta muh own self-- Gots friends wit' da fores' critters an' fores' folk-- Pixies an such-- Helps muh pappi out wit' plantin' trees, and flow'rs. Nice, hones' livin."

"I had... Not even considered this." the man said, eating another bite of his soup bowl himself. "But I understand how you feel. I prefer my little shack on the end of town myself. Quiet, and cozy, and its all to myself, mostly. More so since ..." he trailed off a second. then resumed ".. Since they murdered my friend. Thank you for helping me put an end to his killers, by the way."

"Dun mention it."
"Oh--- Uh-- I didn' see ya 'dere." stammered the bearman, confused where the two had come in from. "If ya got business wit' da baker, by ull means, go'on 'head! 'ere, lemme move aside."
"Aww... 'ats right kind a ya, buht I cain't ask 'at a ya.. I ain't got much coin, an' nuttin' wort' keepin' come free. An' really naow, I's used ta eatin' stuff mos' folk wouldna even think could be. Tabl' scraps 's jus' fine. ... An' I still dun wanna mess up ya floor. Fur hol' more gunk 'an ya realize. imagin' de bigges' dog ya ev'r sawr all covered up in mud, an' make it as leas' five times dirtier, an 'ats what it like. Gots ta clean up af'er muh own self a' home, and knows how right shit it be ta clean up, so I'll kindly stay ou'side. I won't c'nsidr' it no offense gittin scraps either-- S'long as it a favor tuh yeh tuh be gittin' rid o' it-- Work out fine fer us both."

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