The bear ignored the startled looks he got as he walked the boy through town in search of his uncle’s home. The possum barely said two words the whole way there. He felt like he should have said something, but he had never been a bear of words.
Once the boy’s uncle recovered from the shock of finding a bear on his front step, he recounted the events of the day to the elder possum, who joined his nephew in mourning the loss of his sister and brother-in-law. When the bear was satisfied that the boy was in good paws, he turned to leave without so much as a goodbye. He wasn’t much for prolonged farewells.
“Wait!” the possum called out to him.
The bear stopped and turned his head back to look at the boy, “What?”
“Will you come back to visit me sometime?” This was the sort of experience that bonded two furs.
The bear shrugged. “I live in the woods.” Words that said it all, he felt. When he saw the disappointment on the boy’s face, he relented. “I come to Vawsing once or twice a year. When I do, I could come by and see if you’re around.”
It was enough of a promise for the boy, “I never got to tell you my name. I’m Darron.”
“Nice to meet you, Darron,” the bear replied. “My name is Barnaby.”