Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Jane Yolen
sniffed it out, declaring it safe, they sheltered there for the night. He slept by the entrance, filling the opening with his big furry presence.
Atalanta put her head against his flank, using it as a kind of pillow. With each breath the bear took, his body rose and fell beneath her head. After the grief of the day, she was happy to be lulled to sleep that way.
Her last dreaming thought was that tomorrow would bring the start of a new life. A life in the wild. Or maybe, she thought—remembering the bear that had mothered her—maybe it was a return to her old one. Either way, she promised herself she would be ready.
CHAPTER SIX
THE WOODLAND GOD
T HE BEAST’S TRAIL WAS not to be found. For days the two of them hunted for it, casting larger and larger circles with the deer’s few pitiful remains as the center of their search.
They returned each night to the cave that had become their home.
For the first few days, the search was all that had mattered. But as it became clear the beast had really disappeared, the two of them began to enjoy sharing the wild together. They chased through the trees, splashed happily in the streams, found wild berries and sweet honey, and ate fish the bear caught in his big claws. He even learned to like the fish cooked over an oak fire, for Atalanta could not stand eating it raw.
However, one morning when Atalanta woke, Urso was not in the cave.
She got up slowly, stretched, poked her head out of the cave entrance, thinking he was off fishing on his own.
“Urso,” she called.
There was no low growling answer.
“Are you hiding?”
Still no response.
Taking her javelin and knife and water skin, she went down to the river. She checked their berry bushes, their honey tree, even tracked halfway back to the deer clearing.
There was no sign of him.
So she did what she should have done at first, would have done at first if she’d not been in such a hurry: follow his trail from the cave.
He’d made no attempt to disguise his tracks. They led north.
“Now why are you going there?” she whispered. She was resolved to follow him. But something stopped her, something her father had once said about male bears. “They are solitary creatures.”
Well, he hadn’t been solitary in the past week.
She thought about that. Perhaps he had done that for her, to help her, his old littermate. But now he needed time to himself.
Sitting on her haunches, Atalanta stared northward. “You’ll return, bear,” she whispered. “When you’re ready.” She was sure of it.
But now, for the first time, she felt truly alone. She tried the word out loud. “Alone.” It was less frightening that way. “Alone!”
Actually, she’d never had much to do with people. Never really wanted to. Her mother and father and the forest had been enough for her.
Oh, once in a while her father brought home hunters he knew who were in their woods. Sometimes she’d accompanied him when he went on a trading journey to the villages of the Arcadian plain. There they’d bartered deerskins, rabbit pelts, tusks and antlers for corn, cheese, olives, wine. He seemed at ease with the villagers, bantering back and forth with them.
But on those visits, when she’d stood in the marketplace, Atalanta had been aware of the stares she drew—from children and adults alike. Somehow they could sense her wildness and wanted no part of it. Many were the fights she’d gotten into, wiping the smirk from a mocking face with a slap from the butt end of her small spear. No matter how outnumbered she was, she always held her own—kicking and clawing like a crazed wildcat.
“There’d be no trouble if they’d only leave me alone,” she’d told her father. “All I want is to be left alone.”
“You’re too wild, daughter,” he told her.
“I like being wild.”
She thought about the villages now.
“I can manage just fine out here,” she told herself. “They have nothing I need. Nothing.”
But she missed the bear.
Urso
Atalanta put her head against his flank, using it as a kind of pillow. With each breath the bear took, his body rose and fell beneath her head. After the grief of the day, she was happy to be lulled to sleep that way.
Her last dreaming thought was that tomorrow would bring the start of a new life. A life in the wild. Or maybe, she thought—remembering the bear that had mothered her—maybe it was a return to her old one. Either way, she promised herself she would be ready.
CHAPTER SIX
THE WOODLAND GOD
T HE BEAST’S TRAIL WAS not to be found. For days the two of them hunted for it, casting larger and larger circles with the deer’s few pitiful remains as the center of their search.
They returned each night to the cave that had become their home.
For the first few days, the search was all that had mattered. But as it became clear the beast had really disappeared, the two of them began to enjoy sharing the wild together. They chased through the trees, splashed happily in the streams, found wild berries and sweet honey, and ate fish the bear caught in his big claws. He even learned to like the fish cooked over an oak fire, for Atalanta could not stand eating it raw.
However, one morning when Atalanta woke, Urso was not in the cave.
She got up slowly, stretched, poked her head out of the cave entrance, thinking he was off fishing on his own.
“Urso,” she called.
There was no low growling answer.
“Are you hiding?”
Still no response.
Taking her javelin and knife and water skin, she went down to the river. She checked their berry bushes, their honey tree, even tracked halfway back to the deer clearing.
There was no sign of him.
So she did what she should have done at first, would have done at first if she’d not been in such a hurry: follow his trail from the cave.
He’d made no attempt to disguise his tracks. They led north.
“Now why are you going there?” she whispered. She was resolved to follow him. But something stopped her, something her father had once said about male bears. “They are solitary creatures.”
Well, he hadn’t been solitary in the past week.
She thought about that. Perhaps he had done that for her, to help her, his old littermate. But now he needed time to himself.
Sitting on her haunches, Atalanta stared northward. “You’ll return, bear,” she whispered. “When you’re ready.” She was sure of it.
But now, for the first time, she felt truly alone. She tried the word out loud. “Alone.” It was less frightening that way. “Alone!”
Actually, she’d never had much to do with people. Never really wanted to. Her mother and father and the forest had been enough for her.
Oh, once in a while her father brought home hunters he knew who were in their woods. Sometimes she’d accompanied him when he went on a trading journey to the villages of the Arcadian plain. There they’d bartered deerskins, rabbit pelts, tusks and antlers for corn, cheese, olives, wine. He seemed at ease with the villagers, bantering back and forth with them.
But on those visits, when she’d stood in the marketplace, Atalanta had been aware of the stares she drew—from children and adults alike. Somehow they could sense her wildness and wanted no part of it. Many were the fights she’d gotten into, wiping the smirk from a mocking face with a slap from the butt end of her small spear. No matter how outnumbered she was, she always held her own—kicking and clawing like a crazed wildcat.
“There’d be no trouble if they’d only leave me alone,” she’d told her father. “All I want is to be left alone.”
“You’re too wild, daughter,” he told her.
“I like being wild.”
She thought about the villages now.
“I can manage just fine out here,” she told herself. “They have nothing I need. Nothing.”
But she missed the bear.
Urso