Bolrin the Bold
Part 2 - Felicia
Bolrin slammed the mug back on the bar top. How many drinks was that? He had lost count. He glanced over at the intimidating Imperial who now had two companions around him. They occasionally laughed amongst themselves, all the while observing the drunken Bosmer. Bolrin contemplated whether he should put their faces into the floor, but ultimately decided that Felicia needed care more than he needed blood.
He stood up rather suddenly and caught himself on the table. He dropped a small coin purse on the bar and stumbled towards the door, the Imperials watching him all the way. Right before he left, he slipped a piece of venison into his cuirass, Felicia would be hungry. He was met by a bitter wind that chilled him to the bone. Few people were outside tonight, besides the occasional beggar, huddled in his tattered bedroll. As he made his way towards the northern gate, his mind started drifting once again, back to days long ago...
Plop.....crunch.
Plop.....crunch.
Plop.....crunch.
Bolrin watched as the last bits of the makeshift coffin were swallowed by dirt. His family stood in silence as Burd filled the rest of the grave and patted it down. He easily lifted the large stone slab and slid it into place. It was a simple headstone which read Felicia across the middle. Bolrin held back the tears with all his might as his mother gave way to sobs. She turned and went inside, slamming the door behind her.
Dondir, Bolrin's father, stared down at the grave, as if he could see past the dirt and rock and wood, where his mother lay peacefully. He showed no sign of emotion, no words were said by anyone. After an hour had passed, Dondir silently turned and went inside. Burd patted Bolrin on the head and lumbered off, back to work at the anvil. Bolrin stayed until his toes were numb and eventually forced himself to go inside.
He remembered some of the stories his grandmother told him through the past weeks. She spoke of his great grandfather, who had been the Champion of Cyrodiil. She said he had moved back to Valenwood not long after the Oblivion crisis and had settled down. This was where Felicia had grown up, among the great forests. Among the towering trees and the haughty Igma. As much as Bolrin hated to see his grandmother in this condition, he loved the stories. He didn't know how much of these stories were true and how much Felicia had made up in her feeble state.He frequently dreamt of Valenwood, where it was warm and life abounded.
At the age of one hundred eleven, Felicia had quietly passed away in her sleep.Bolrin mourned for months and tried to keep himself busy with work and chores. At the age of thirteen, he was now able to craft his own weapons with Burd's permission. He would practice with his hammer night and day, demolishing dummies and makeshift targets. He was becoming a competent fighter, his muscles hardened and showed definition. He felt stronger each day.
One cool evening, Bolrin was out splitting the wood of a tree he had recently downed. He kept a wary eye for Thrud and his goons. Hil had recently bragged of a father-son hunting party that was headed out tonight. Bolrin did not want to be caught alone with a band of Nord hunters, especially Hil and his father. As he listened between each swing of his axe, he caught the sound of a distant yell accompanied by several thuds. He decided he would split a few more blocks and head home. As he finished his work, he heard low grumble accompanied by a gravelly moan.
As he peaked from behind the nearest tree, he saw the bushes shake and a large, furry mass push through. He froze, gripping his ax tightly in his hands. The brown bear was twice as tall as him and that was on all fours. She examined him for a moment, then limped closer and closer. She was standing a foot away, breathing heavily, staring straight into his eyes.
He quickly glanced to her side, the shafts of a half dozen arrows were buried deep in her stomach and shoulder. Wide eyed, Bolrin clenched his ax, frozen in fear. The she-bear slowly lowered her head and placed before him a small, fuzzy lump. It rolled about for a second or two and then found its footing. Bolrin watched as the little cub tugged at his deerskin boots, happy as can be.
The mother bear gave him a long, sad look and nudged his chest with her nose. Slowly, Bolrin leaned down and picked up the little cub, who squirmed about, searching for its mother. The bear watched its baby for a few more seconds, then slowly turned and lumbered back through the brush. Bolrin wasted no time as the sounds of hooping and hollering got closer, they had picked up on the mother's trail. As he quickly made his way home, he could hear the sounds of the hunt in the distance and the loud angry roar of a bear.
Bolrin found a large, hollowed out tree trunk not far from his home. He used his ax to carve a big enough entrance and cleared out the rot on the inside. Using pine branches and twigs, he put together a temporary door and set his new cub down in her den. She stumbled about, exploring her strange, new home. He laughed as she rolled on her back and waved her paws in the air, being as playful as possible.
He fed her a little smoked venison, which she didn't seem to care for. As he watched the cub play, he realized the responsibility that came with it. He would have to plan feeding times, take her out for hunts, find a larger home when the time came. As he contemplated whether he, a thirteen year old boy, would be able to care for this little bundle of life, the cub crawled into his lap. It leaned against his chest and placed its forehead against his, staring into his eyes. From then on, Bolrin knew he and the cub were meant to be together.
"Well, what in Jode's name am I going to do with you?"
The cub replied with a little grumble and then curled up next to him, ready for sleep. He left a little more venison on the floor and got up to leave. Before he returned home, he carved her name above the door, so he could always recognize the spot. As he marched off, the word Felicia still dripped with sap in the bark of the tree...
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