The Bear

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I'm not an old man. I'm barely a man! But I feel old and worn and as if the rest of my life will be no more than a long and empty wait to die. For I have failed; I cannot escape that truth.

The irony of that reality does not elude me. I have spent most of my life simply trying to find physical control, trying not to drool on those with whom I speak, or trying not to trip during the most basic activity of walking.

From the depths I ascended, beyond my expectations or highest hopes, to what I considered perfect physical and mental control. Even beyond that I incorporated gemstone magic as if it were a mere extension of my will and want. From the valley to the mountaintop I journeyed, and the point of my life was the climb.

The climb. The meaningless, self-delusional ascent to nothingness… What is it worth to Jameston, dead because he walked beside me? What is it worth to the memory of my mother, Sen Wi, her prized sword taken from me by a Hou-lei warrior woman whose very philosophy is anathema to that which my mother and father held dear? What is it worth, truly, to Garibond Womak, the man who raised me as a son but was mutilated and died because of his defense of me?

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