I watched Barok sleep soundly and felt my chest tighten.
What had he done to make his neighbors hate him so much? Didn't he have family—someone who could have taken care of him? Growing old alone is terrifying. The slow decline, the moments of confusion, the way people start seeing you as a burden instead of a person.
Back at the library, I had met so many elderly patrons like him. They told me stories, brought me cookies, and always had the best book recommendations. Seeing Barok reminded me of them—and it made me ache.
I looked around the cave. There was no food anywhere.
And I really didn't want to be food.
So before he woke, I prepared something safer. I manifested fresh salmon and beehives, placing them carefully near the stone wall. When Barok finally stirred, I hid in a rock crevice and watched.
His eyes lit up.
He devoured the salmon eagerly, then slurped honey straight from the hive, crunching through the larvae with delight.
"I knew they never forgot about me!" he said again and again, his voice bright and giddy.
My heart sank.
Did he think the others had brought this for him? That the forest still remembered?
I sighed softly.
"Who is there?" he called suddenly, his voice sharp. "Show yourself."
I stepped out, quickly thinking of what to say. Talon's inflated ego flashed in my mind—maybe confidence was the way to reach him.
"Greetings, dear ruler," I said, bowing. "I am Shelly. I was appointed by the forest folk to serve you. I'm new here, so please be patient with me."
Barok studied me. For the moment, he seemed calm—himself. He waved me closer.
"Welcome to Pele," he said warmly. "And thank you for the food. These are all my favorites. I can't travel to the river anymore, and the hives are too high for an old bear like me. You said you were new—what clan are you from?"
Then his expression hardened.
"You're not from the Savanna, are you?"
I shook my head quickly. "No! I'm from the Bunny Tribe—far from the safari plains."
He relaxed at once.
So he had history with the Savanna beasts. I waited, careful. He paced to the cave entrance, then turned back.
"We must stay alert," he said. "The Safari Kingdom sends mercenaries to expand their territory."
"Yes," I agreed firmly. "I'll pass your orders along."
Satisfied, Barok yawned, sat down, and soon fell asleep again.
The days that followed were exhausting.
Sometimes he was a warrior, reliving old battles. Sometimes he was a frightened cub calling for his mother. Other times, he was calm and wise. No one offered help—but many watched. Some praised my patience. Others waited for me to admit they were right—that caring for him was too much.
I ignored them.
As Igor once said: never burn bridges. And even if they didn't know how to help Barok anymore, I knew they cared—just as deeply as he once cared for them.
Within weeks, I found a rhythm.
I followed the Goldilocks Principle—responding just right. A comrade when he was fierce. A caretaker when he was childlike. An apprentice when he was himself.
It worked.
Though I did have to remind him of my name constantly.
One afternoon, while he was clear-headed, Barok offered to teach me how to stack rocks.
"It takes patience and balance," he said solemnly. "A sacred practice. A reminder."
As he stacked stone upon stone, he began to talk.
"I devoted my life to protecting Pele," he said quietly. "I was respected once. Loved. But duty left no time for family. When the Savanna intruders came, I stood between them and my people."
His hands trembled slightly as he placed another rock.
"We drove them away. They never returned."
I listened, unmoving.
"But time… time does this to you," he continued. "You slow down. And suddenly, you're a burden. No matter what you gave—no matter how much you sacrificed—eventually, you are forgotten."
I broke.
Tears spilled freely as I hugged him.
"Why are you crying?" he asked gently, like a child.
"I'm just… so happy," I sobbed. "Because you are such a good boy."
When Barok fell asleep, I stepped outside.
The forest creatures were waiting.
"I have a favor to ask," I said.
The next day, I led Barok out into the sunlight.
He froze.
The inhabitants of Pele stood in rows, offering flower necklaces, baskets of salmon, baskets of bee hives. Cubs cheered, praising him as a hero. Voices rose in gratitude—for his service, his protection, his sacrifice.
Barok smiled.
A warm, peaceful smile.
We spent the day celebrating him.
That night, we sat on a grassy hill beneath the stars. I pointed out constellations, telling him great leaders became part of them.
Sleepily, he reached for my hand.
"I believe in the Goddess," he murmured. "Thank you… for making me feel loved."
Then he drifted away.
I collapsed beside him, crying as the breeze stirred the grass and the forest gathered around Barok—for the last time.
I hope his final days were peaceful.
And that, at the very end, he knew he was never forgotten.