Fic: In the Tracks of the Bear (Bearclaw/Strongbow, R)
My yuletide story, now that we can reveal. I know that, um... maybe two of you are familiar with the canon? XD (I don't think it's too inaccessible even if you aren't, though.)
(I had a huge crush on Strongbow when I first read Elfquest, so I was particularly delighted to get a chance to write this.)
In the Tracks of the Bear
Elfquest, Strongbow/Bearclaw, no spoilers
1600 words. Written for skittythegreat for Yuletide 2006
Non-explicit sex, possibly not worksafe
"You must be watchful," Bearclaw said. He scowled down from his perch on one of the Father Tree's lower branches, as if to impress his point by pure ferocity of expression on Strongbow. The dappled light through the leaves cast greengold shadows on his face. "You must pay attention. Any small detail -- the wind, the heaviness of the air, the color of the leaves -- can change the hunt."
** I have hunted before. ** Strongbow struggled to keep annoyance from his mind's voice. Bearclaw's temper was like a thunderstorm: swift to come and swift to go, but savage while it swept over.
"Deer, rabbit, boar." Bearclaw waved his hand dismissively. "They're not like bear."
** I have hunted bear, ** Strongbow pointed out. ** With you, in fact. **
"But rarely," Bearclaw persisted. "And bears require experience. With bear, you must be bold, canny, tough, swift -- "
** Silent? **
To Strongbow's mild surprise, Bearclaw slapped his thigh and laughed. "You have that one down, don't you?"
***
Even Bearclaw did not hunt bear lightly, and though he took pleasure from the hunt, Strongbow knew that he also did not hunt bear for pleasure. He hunted bear when it was needful: when the tribe needed the meat or thick pelts, or when -- from time to time over the seasons -- a bear went rogue and mad from illness. The bear they hunted now was the latter: beset by the foaming sickness, mad and destructive and, worst of all, threatening to spread its sickness.
They tracked it deep into the woods, and found it in a frenzy, snarling and dripping froth, raking the bark from a tree and churning the earth beneath its heavy-clawed paws. Bearclaw sprung lightly from his wolf-friend's back and scrambled nimbly up an oak. Strongbow followed his unstrung bow slung over his shoulder and knocking at the back of his thigh.
** Poor old beast, ** Bearclaw sent, and Strongbow heard a deep note of genuine regret in his voice. ** A shame he should end his life so ignobly. **
You see yourself very like them indeed, he thought, but did not quite have the nerve to send.
** Stay here, ** Bearclaw sent, his mind's-voice dark and furred as the bear they chased. ** I'll work my way around to the break. ** He sent an image of the place, across the clearing, where two tall trees stood perhaps eight feet apart, their branches mingling in an arch over the bare ground. ** Drive him my way, and I will finish it. ** Strongbow felt a flash of annoyance, to be relegated to brush-beating, but he held his tongue. If it took Bearclaw a long time to see his value in the hunt, so be it; he could be patient. Patience was an archer's virtue -- and not a virtue of Bearclaw's. He suspected his chief did not expect it, and would eventually, gradually, adapt to it, as he did so many things.
Then Bearclaw was gone, a silent stalking shadow gliding from one bough to another, hidden and then revealed amidst the deep green foliage. It was astonishing he was, even now, how fierce he was on the hunt, how stealthy and silent, when in the Holt he was all loud laughter, swagger, subtle as an avalanche. While he moved, Strongbow set the string to his bow and slipped an arrow from his quiver. Bearclaw was nearly invisible when he stopped, but his sending was clear as spring-water. ** Ready. **
Strongbow nocked and drew in one fluid motion. The arrow was nothing like enough to bring down a bear; half a dozen arrows could bleed one out eventually, but one would only irritate it, which was precisely what he wanted. He aimed carefully and loosed the arrow. It sang through the air and buried itself in the bear's haunch. The bear howled with rage more than pain and, as he'd expected, charged blindly forward.
Bearclaw dropped from his hiding-place straight onto the bear's heavy shoulders, his sword drawn. Strongbow watched with unabashed admiration as the sword flashed in a high arc, plunging toward the bear's exposed throat.
The bear whirled and smashed Bearclaw hard into a tree. His sword spun from his hand.
Shadow-quick, and without thinking, Strongbow leapt from bough to bow, keeping Bearclaw and the bear in sight. Miraculously, Bearclaw had kept his seat on the snarling beast, but his sword-arm hung limp from his shoulder, and his face was drawn in a rictus of pain. If he fell off, he would surely be mauled or trampled: even were he not killed outright, there was no cure for the foaming sickness if he was bitten.
** My chief? ** he sent, but Bearclaw's mind was a hard knot of pain, and he could not penetrate it. He followed the bear, gaining ground on its headlong rush, until suddenly he was in front of it.
No time to think. No second chances. He brought his bow up again, nocked an arrow and sighted along the shaft, and let it fly.
The arrow flew true and sank fletch-deep into the bear's eye. It staggered, propelled by its own tremendous weight, and fell hard and heavy into the fernbrake.
***
Bearclaw could never have been called a model of gratitude. His only words were curses, spat between his clenched teeth, as he clutched his limp arm. Strongbow sent to summon Rain, and the healer came mercifully quick on swift-footed Whitethorn. Mercifully, he brought dreamberries to dull the pain along with his own soothing hands. It was, thank the High Ones, a dislocation and a bad sprain, not a break.
When they left together for the Holt, Strongbow lingered untli he found Bearclaw's sword, hidden where it had skidded to a halt between the roots of a great oak.
***
** I don't understand, ** he sent, later, to Joyleaf and Moonshade where they sat companionably working. ** He has saved our lives many eights of times, and never with an ill word. Why does he object to good returned to him? **
Moonshade gave a little shrug. Joyleaf's fingers didn't pause on the leather she was cutting, but she sighed, and said, "He must always be the strongest. Surely you of all the tribe understand that?"
** 'Of all the tribe?' **
"You are most like him," Joyleaf said. "You never back down, either. ...You are also most unlike him, silent one. It is a combination sure to make you love or hate each other."
"Or both," Moonshade added, with a little smile curving her full mouth.
***
Bearclaw found him an eight-of-days later, sitting beside the stream, thinking. He stood for a while at Strongbow's side, unspeaking. Strongbow, ever comfortable with silence, said nothing either.
"Thank you," Bearclaw said. Never had Strongbow heard the words more grudging, as though they had been wrung from him.
** You would have done the same for me, ** he sent. ** You have done the same for me. And for all of us. **
Beaclaw made a dismissive gesture and scowled. "I am your chief. A poor one I would be if I let you come to any real harm that I could prevent."
Strongbow stood. ** You are my chief, ** he agreed. ** And a poor wolf in your pack I would be, to stand by and watch you come to harm. **
Bearclaw grunted. Strongbow nodded, and stepped past him, moving back toward the Holt, until his chief's voice stopped him: "Strongbow."
** Yes? **
"You are not as young or as inexperienced as I thought."
Which was a shock -- Bearclaw never admitted to a mistake, except to Joyleaf and even then very rarely. Strongbow turned a little, mouth open, to look at him. Turned, as it happend, right into Bearclaw, who caught his shoulder in one broad hand and touched his mouth to Strongbow's neck. Strongbow felt the rough brush of his beard, the warmth of his lips. His eyes shot up to meet Bearclaw's, startled, and he sent, ** Bearclaw? **
** You're a bit like me, ** Bearclaw sent. ** I like that. **
Strongbow licked his lips. ** I have admired you always, ever since -- **
Bearclaw laughed. "Silence is one of your virtues, archer," he said; "don't ruin the moment."
They wound up in his den; no one saw them slip there but Joyleaf, who gave them a secret smile and continued on her way. They were neither of them inexperienced, and they were neither of them inclined to give in, so it was all struggle at first -- Bearclaw snarling and laughing, Strongbow silent as ever, until challenge gave way to pleasure and they locked around each other.
Their minds touched, fleeting at first and then more often, not so much with words as images, feelings. They did not come close to one another's soul names, of course -- but deep in the moment Strongbow felt in his mind the thick pelt of the bear, the rushing of blood in one's ears during mortal battle, the smell of snow and pine trees, the two moons riding thin and high on the dark sky. Afterwards he lay gasping, and was glad for his own habitual silence, which allowed him to enjoy the remembered images without trying to put them in words.
But after a time he sent, dryly, ** Next time we hunt bear, will you let me do something other than brush-beating? **
Bearclaw laughed. "I'm not sure I'd go that far, archer," he said, and Strongbow laughed, and sighed, and put his hand over his eyes.
(I had a huge crush on Strongbow when I first read Elfquest, so I was particularly delighted to get a chance to write this.)
In the Tracks of the Bear
Elfquest, Strongbow/Bearclaw, no spoilers
1600 words. Written for skittythegreat for Yuletide 2006
Non-explicit sex, possibly not worksafe
"You must be watchful," Bearclaw said. He scowled down from his perch on one of the Father Tree's lower branches, as if to impress his point by pure ferocity of expression on Strongbow. The dappled light through the leaves cast greengold shadows on his face. "You must pay attention. Any small detail -- the wind, the heaviness of the air, the color of the leaves -- can change the hunt."
** I have hunted before. ** Strongbow struggled to keep annoyance from his mind's voice. Bearclaw's temper was like a thunderstorm: swift to come and swift to go, but savage while it swept over.
"Deer, rabbit, boar." Bearclaw waved his hand dismissively. "They're not like bear."
** I have hunted bear, ** Strongbow pointed out. ** With you, in fact. **
"But rarely," Bearclaw persisted. "And bears require experience. With bear, you must be bold, canny, tough, swift -- "
** Silent? **
To Strongbow's mild surprise, Bearclaw slapped his thigh and laughed. "You have that one down, don't you?"
***
Even Bearclaw did not hunt bear lightly, and though he took pleasure from the hunt, Strongbow knew that he also did not hunt bear for pleasure. He hunted bear when it was needful: when the tribe needed the meat or thick pelts, or when -- from time to time over the seasons -- a bear went rogue and mad from illness. The bear they hunted now was the latter: beset by the foaming sickness, mad and destructive and, worst of all, threatening to spread its sickness.
They tracked it deep into the woods, and found it in a frenzy, snarling and dripping froth, raking the bark from a tree and churning the earth beneath its heavy-clawed paws. Bearclaw sprung lightly from his wolf-friend's back and scrambled nimbly up an oak. Strongbow followed his unstrung bow slung over his shoulder and knocking at the back of his thigh.
** Poor old beast, ** Bearclaw sent, and Strongbow heard a deep note of genuine regret in his voice. ** A shame he should end his life so ignobly. **
You see yourself very like them indeed, he thought, but did not quite have the nerve to send.
** Stay here, ** Bearclaw sent, his mind's-voice dark and furred as the bear they chased. ** I'll work my way around to the break. ** He sent an image of the place, across the clearing, where two tall trees stood perhaps eight feet apart, their branches mingling in an arch over the bare ground. ** Drive him my way, and I will finish it. ** Strongbow felt a flash of annoyance, to be relegated to brush-beating, but he held his tongue. If it took Bearclaw a long time to see his value in the hunt, so be it; he could be patient. Patience was an archer's virtue -- and not a virtue of Bearclaw's. He suspected his chief did not expect it, and would eventually, gradually, adapt to it, as he did so many things.
Then Bearclaw was gone, a silent stalking shadow gliding from one bough to another, hidden and then revealed amidst the deep green foliage. It was astonishing he was, even now, how fierce he was on the hunt, how stealthy and silent, when in the Holt he was all loud laughter, swagger, subtle as an avalanche. While he moved, Strongbow set the string to his bow and slipped an arrow from his quiver. Bearclaw was nearly invisible when he stopped, but his sending was clear as spring-water. ** Ready. **
Strongbow nocked and drew in one fluid motion. The arrow was nothing like enough to bring down a bear; half a dozen arrows could bleed one out eventually, but one would only irritate it, which was precisely what he wanted. He aimed carefully and loosed the arrow. It sang through the air and buried itself in the bear's haunch. The bear howled with rage more than pain and, as he'd expected, charged blindly forward.
Bearclaw dropped from his hiding-place straight onto the bear's heavy shoulders, his sword drawn. Strongbow watched with unabashed admiration as the sword flashed in a high arc, plunging toward the bear's exposed throat.
The bear whirled and smashed Bearclaw hard into a tree. His sword spun from his hand.
Shadow-quick, and without thinking, Strongbow leapt from bough to bow, keeping Bearclaw and the bear in sight. Miraculously, Bearclaw had kept his seat on the snarling beast, but his sword-arm hung limp from his shoulder, and his face was drawn in a rictus of pain. If he fell off, he would surely be mauled or trampled: even were he not killed outright, there was no cure for the foaming sickness if he was bitten.
** My chief? ** he sent, but Bearclaw's mind was a hard knot of pain, and he could not penetrate it. He followed the bear, gaining ground on its headlong rush, until suddenly he was in front of it.
No time to think. No second chances. He brought his bow up again, nocked an arrow and sighted along the shaft, and let it fly.
The arrow flew true and sank fletch-deep into the bear's eye. It staggered, propelled by its own tremendous weight, and fell hard and heavy into the fernbrake.
***
Bearclaw could never have been called a model of gratitude. His only words were curses, spat between his clenched teeth, as he clutched his limp arm. Strongbow sent to summon Rain, and the healer came mercifully quick on swift-footed Whitethorn. Mercifully, he brought dreamberries to dull the pain along with his own soothing hands. It was, thank the High Ones, a dislocation and a bad sprain, not a break.
When they left together for the Holt, Strongbow lingered untli he found Bearclaw's sword, hidden where it had skidded to a halt between the roots of a great oak.
***
** I don't understand, ** he sent, later, to Joyleaf and Moonshade where they sat companionably working. ** He has saved our lives many eights of times, and never with an ill word. Why does he object to good returned to him? **
Moonshade gave a little shrug. Joyleaf's fingers didn't pause on the leather she was cutting, but she sighed, and said, "He must always be the strongest. Surely you of all the tribe understand that?"
** 'Of all the tribe?' **
"You are most like him," Joyleaf said. "You never back down, either. ...You are also most unlike him, silent one. It is a combination sure to make you love or hate each other."
"Or both," Moonshade added, with a little smile curving her full mouth.
***
Bearclaw found him an eight-of-days later, sitting beside the stream, thinking. He stood for a while at Strongbow's side, unspeaking. Strongbow, ever comfortable with silence, said nothing either.
"Thank you," Bearclaw said. Never had Strongbow heard the words more grudging, as though they had been wrung from him.
** You would have done the same for me, ** he sent. ** You have done the same for me. And for all of us. **
Beaclaw made a dismissive gesture and scowled. "I am your chief. A poor one I would be if I let you come to any real harm that I could prevent."
Strongbow stood. ** You are my chief, ** he agreed. ** And a poor wolf in your pack I would be, to stand by and watch you come to harm. **
Bearclaw grunted. Strongbow nodded, and stepped past him, moving back toward the Holt, until his chief's voice stopped him: "Strongbow."
** Yes? **
"You are not as young or as inexperienced as I thought."
Which was a shock -- Bearclaw never admitted to a mistake, except to Joyleaf and even then very rarely. Strongbow turned a little, mouth open, to look at him. Turned, as it happend, right into Bearclaw, who caught his shoulder in one broad hand and touched his mouth to Strongbow's neck. Strongbow felt the rough brush of his beard, the warmth of his lips. His eyes shot up to meet Bearclaw's, startled, and he sent, ** Bearclaw? **
** You're a bit like me, ** Bearclaw sent. ** I like that. **
Strongbow licked his lips. ** I have admired you always, ever since -- **
Bearclaw laughed. "Silence is one of your virtues, archer," he said; "don't ruin the moment."
They wound up in his den; no one saw them slip there but Joyleaf, who gave them a secret smile and continued on her way. They were neither of them inexperienced, and they were neither of them inclined to give in, so it was all struggle at first -- Bearclaw snarling and laughing, Strongbow silent as ever, until challenge gave way to pleasure and they locked around each other.
Their minds touched, fleeting at first and then more often, not so much with words as images, feelings. They did not come close to one another's soul names, of course -- but deep in the moment Strongbow felt in his mind the thick pelt of the bear, the rushing of blood in one's ears during mortal battle, the smell of snow and pine trees, the two moons riding thin and high on the dark sky. Afterwards he lay gasping, and was glad for his own habitual silence, which allowed him to enjoy the remembered images without trying to put them in words.
But after a time he sent, dryly, ** Next time we hunt bear, will you let me do something other than brush-beating? **
Bearclaw laughed. "I'm not sure I'd go that far, archer," he said, and Strongbow laughed, and sighed, and put his hand over his eyes.