by Hanna Rose
Once there was a young king. He ruled his kingdom well and justly. He was king because he was the first in that land. All others who came after had to bow to his will. His subjects, being fine folks in general, seldom had cause to feel the long arm of his law.
The second to arrive in this young and new kingdom became the king’s first and best friend and later the general of his army. They trusted each other implicitly.
Soon more subjects began to arrive. Eventually the king took a wife; now much older than when he first ruled, the king was graying but still in his prime. When his wife sat next to him in court, all remarked on his young and beautiful she was.
There was peace. And there was peace for many long and happy years, until the god-giants came.
They arrived as if they were a swarm of locusts, a plague. They took the good king’s subjects, simply plucking them out from their homes whenever they pleased. The king asked a neighboring kingdom for help, but this other kingdom was much smaller than his own and had already felt the presence of god-giants before his. They could offer no help.
The king could only watch helplessly as his people were taken or even destroyed by these mad god-beings. His queen was ripped from his side. His friend, the loyal general was held hostage and eventually disappeared: missing in action. The king himself was kidnapped several times, but his goddess always came to save him.
Now the old king lives in exile, his glory days behind him, waiting and waiting for change.
And as the bear in the girl’s arms thought about what he had lost, he was grateful that he had not lost this: the embrace of his goddess.
