A Meal Unlike any Other

I couldn't recall the exact moment, but it was a terrifying experience. I had informed my mother that I was going out to play, and as usual, she warned me not to wander too far since we were being hunted. Keeping her words in mind, I ventured out from our house situated in the corner of the forest. I decided to play near the tree where I often found solace, collecting flowers. However, just as I was about to pick a flower, an arrow struck it. Startled, I turned around to find a group of humans approaching. In panic, I dropped my basket of flowers and sprinted as fast as my legs could carry me, until exhaustion overtook me. The humans were closing in, and I found myself trapped between them and a large, menacing bear. Fear gripped me as I contemplated the dire options before me—being captured, killed, or sold off by the humans or facing the wrath of the wounded bear.

To my surprise, the humans burst into laughter and shot an arrow into the bear's leg, causing it to drop onto its feet and glare angrily at its tormentors. The humans continued to jeer and make noise, eventually leaving me alone with the wounded bear. Tentatively, I approached the bear, hoping to remove the arrow and provide assistance. However, the bear's anger, originally directed towards the humans, shifted its focus onto me. In a moment of instinctive self-preservation, I sank to the ground, my back against a tree, as I shuffled backward. I could retreat no further, and my heart sank as I closed my eyes, preparing for the bear's wrath. Yet, to my astonishment, the bear let out a roar and fled, its thunderous footsteps fading into the distance. Opening my eyes, I saw a young human boy hurrying towards me. He appeared apprehensive, his eyes betraying a hint of fear, as he asked if I was okay. Nodding cautiously, I remained wary of him, fearing that he might be associated with the group of humans from earlier. However, to my surprise, the boy sat beside me and explained that he too was lost. He had been separated from a hunting party while chasing a small rabbit. I couldn't help but chuckle, and I reassured him that I would guide him to my house. Together, we walked back to my home.

Upon our arrival, my mother slammed the door shut, leaving the boy standing outside. She scolded me vehemently while my father attempted to calm her down. I understood the dangers of harboring a human in our home, but I couldn't resist helping the boy in his time of need. I pleaded with my mother, who, although still furious, eventually relented and allowed the boy inside. She prepared a simple meal, using the goat meat my father had hunted the day before. The boy expressed his gratitude with impeccable manners and eagerly devoured the meager offering. He was clearly famished. After the meal, my mother provided him with directions, and he thanked us graciously before departing. Even then, my mother continued her scolding, her anger understandable given the ongoing hunt and persecution of our kind by humans.

Two years passed, and the humans launched an assault on the forest where our families and several other small communities resided. We hastily fled, but my father and other village men remained behind to defend against the invading humans. My mother, along with other women and children, including myself, sought refuge in the nearest city, Sinewood. The citizens of Sinewood opened their hearts and homes to us, offering shelter and employment.

As I closed my eyes, reflecting on this story, now told from a different perspective, I gazed at him. He recounted the tale with enthusiasm, unaware that I was already familiar with it. I listened intently, the emotions evident in his voice and the strength with which he placed his cup on the table. Tears welled up in my eyes as I heard the story from his viewpoint. After he proposed a toast, I raised my own cup into the air, exclaiming, "To a bright and hopeful future!" I mustered as much cheer and hope as I could before taking a sip of the wine.

However, a small annoyance stirred within me. I had never considered myself to be boyish when I was a child.