“Why not?”

“Because, child, it is forbidden.”

“Why is it forbidden?” Millie looked up at the elder. He was patient, and could see in her eyes, her countenance, that she was not being defiant, merely curious; As the young always are.

“It is forbidden because it is forbidden, that is all you need know for now, child. Stay clear of Gau-Do, little one. Nothing good can come from it.”

Millie stood in the watchtower next to the Elder-on-Watch, the base Sergeant-at-Arms, Andre Djilas. He was called an elder, but that always struck Millie as a silly name, since most of the ‘Elders’ were about the same age as her older brother, Jenex. She wasn’t even sure if Andre needed to shave more than once-a-week yet. But, he was the elder in the tower at the moment, so he was as good a conversational partner as any.

“But, you’ve never been, you know, close to it?”

Andre looked down at her. Not annoyed—he was glad to have the company, the evening watches seemed to take forever when he was alone—but in no mood to cover ground that used to be covered during the Lessons.

“No closer than this, and this is close enough.”

“You’ve seen it, though?”

“Of course I’ve seen it.”

Millie’s eyes grew wide. “You have? What does it look like?”

“You serious? You can see it whenever you want. It’s right there.” Andre pointed past the open field, past the river, to a tree-line of evenly-spaced conifers.

Millie looked and looked, but saw nothing. “Where?”

“Here,” Andre said, handing her his binos, “look there, just past that rock that looks like Director Riggan.”

Oh my, she thought, it really did look like Director Big Nose (as the children had secretly called him for as long as he’d been in charge of the Academy). Millie was about to ask how to change the focus when her finger found the knob. She scanned east from the rock, into the trees.

There! She saw something! Something moving, slowly, lumbering around, frustratingly staying just behind enough flora-trash to never quite be visible.

She began to pick up pieces of images, putting them together in her mind like a puzzle. It was big, round-backed, furry. The fur was a dark-dark red. It walked on all fours—wait, but it could stand, reach, like a man—then back to all fours. Its limbs looked massive, strong. It had little round ears on top of its head, but she still hadn’t seen its face.

Wait!

It was about to come into a clearing. It was going to—

“Okay, that’s enough.” Millie felt the tug of the strap against the back of her neck as Andre pulled the binoculars, “I need those back.”

“But—“

“I’m on duty, kid.”

Millie spent weeks—how many, she didn’t know exactly—going to the tower, sitting atop the overcrossing, getting kicked off of rooftops, trying desperately to catch another glimpse of Gau-Do. She wasn’t sure at first if it was merely her need to complete the task, having come so frustratingly close that night in the tower, or if there was something else drawing her toward the creature. She stopped caring about the why, though, and become singularly focused on completing the mission she’d given herself.

It was getting close to Frost Season. Millie was still at it, still trying, still sneaking her father’s looking glass, still straining her eyes. She knew that she was running out of time, at least until The Warming started, some months later. You can have one more—okay, three more—days spent like this, she told herself. It took one-and-a-half.

Morning.

She was supposed to be feeding the chickens and collecting the eggs, but instead, she went to the same watchtower where she’d first seen the creature.

Gau-Do.

The thing she was to fear.

Elder Binton was on duty. She was also leaning her back against the wooden lodge pole walls, fast asleep. Even Millie knew the harsh penalties for falling asleep on duty and didn’t want to get the elder in trouble, but she wasn’t quite ready to wake up the corporal—not until she’d had her look. Too many questions. She’d make sure to wake up Bindy before she left, though. (She was nice, always had candy or ice cream to share with the Littles.)

Millie slipped of her shoes and padded past the sleeping guard, pulling her father’s looking glass from her satchel, and began where she’d left off: Mr Big Nose rock. She scanned the tree-line, looking for any sign of movement. Millie’s heart nearly stopped when Bindy shifted her weight, but a too-loud snore and ‘grumphalable’ let her know that the young woman was still happily dreaming, probably of warmth and pillows and blankets.

Then it happened. The movement was subtle, but definite. She spotted it naked-eyed, while scanning for other landmarks. Millie quickly brought up the glass to where she’d seen the Creature and—

“Shit!”

Her hand instinctively shot up, covering her mouth. She looked around for the briefest moment before laughing to herself. Who would chastise her for foul words up here, she thought? No instructors, no parents. Just a sleeping guard, who had other, more pressing things to concern herself with, should anyone of authority come their way.

Once she had re-centered, it hit her what had caused her reaction.

Gau-Do.

It had been looking directly at her.

She wanted to go back and look, to see if she was right; But she also really, really didn’t want to.

The former won out, and Millie turned her head, her eyes finding the familiar landmarks, slowly traveling along the opening between trees and river, until she was looking eye-to-eye with a massive, dark red bear.

“Hello, Millie.”

It’s a strange thing, talking to a bear. Millie, had this story been relayed to her by a friend, would have laughed it off as a silly prank, a lie, or maybe a sign that her friend needed to go to the medical tent. But no, it was real. And she was fine, as far she could tell. Nope, it wasn’t fake; She was talking to a big red bear.

Well, sort of.

Gau-Do didn’t talk, not like a human talks, but she could hear him nonetheless. His voice was deep, powerful, ancient. His giant mouth didn’t move but to eat, to chew, and he made no effort to move toward the fort so as to be heard more clearly. Yet, she could hear him as clearly as if he was standing next to her in the watch tower. And he could hear her, too, but only if she actually spoke. That took some time, an unnatural way to communicate. But she quickly adapted: Listening to the gruff words of the giant bear bounce around her mind; Speaking her responses as though they were sharing warm caff-drink in her mother’s public house.

And they’d been talking—familiarly, as though long-lost friends—for some time.

“No, Millie, you are the only one,” the beast said. “Everyone else looks down on me from atop the mighty watchtowers and assumes I am the worst of things, the grandest danger. But not you. You see me as I am.”

“What’s that?” Millie turned, her own voice seemingly overly-loud all of the sudden, but Binton was still conked out.

“I am merely a truth-bringer, a mirror, if you will, to society. So, I suppose, to those who are afraid of the truth, or afraid of seeing who they are, maybe I am dangerous. But to you, young one, I am merely a friend.”

Millie looked at the big bear. He did LOOK dangerous. But what if they were wrong? What if those sharp teeth were merely tools so that the bear might not starve, much like the knives they used in the Hall to cut meat into bite-sized portions? What if those long, scary claws on those massive, strong paws were but tools to help the bear dig through dirt and bark to find food when the bigger meals were not available? Should he starve so as not to be seen as scary? Should he reduce his massive frame—the very thing that keeps him atop the food chain—to become less frightening, even if it makes him vulnerable to predators?

“No…” she said, out loud to no one.

Millie and Gau-Do spent the next few months developing a friendship. She shared with him her plans for the future, her likes and dislikes about the hardscrabble, self-determined life the Fort offered. He shared with her how, with a little bit of agreed upon sharing of resources, there could be enough for all, plus enough to share. She talked to him of her everyday life; He talked to her of how to improve her lot, to not be stifled by such silly things as hierarchy or class structure or arbitrary societal rules.

“You have taught me so much,” Millie offered, one sunny afternoon.

“Perhaps, young one, but you have taught me as well. I only wish—“

“What?”

“Oh, nothing, child. Nothing.”

“No, you were going to say something. You wish for something. What is it?”

“Well, if I must, I only wish that, well, you and I, that we weren’t separated by the river, the fence. I only wish that we could walk together in the trees, the sunlight on our faces as we share honey, berries, stories, dreams.”

“That would be lovely.”

“But you are not permitted. And that’s okay. The Elders have spoken on this, even if the rule is, well…”

Millie considered this. Why couldn’t she? Why couldn’t she open the gate, go outside, visit her friend? Because it’s ‘forbidden?’ Why? Forbidden by whom? Ancient law? They are all afraid of Gau-Do because they don’t know him, not like I do, she thought.

“No, child?”

“No, what?”

He stood on his hind legs, looking at her eyes from his place on the bank of the river. “No, you must not disobey. The ignorance and fear of your elders is not your problem to solve.”

Millie pondered this as well, before, “But if I don’t change things, if my generation doesn’t at least try to make things better, why are we hear at all?”

Gau-Do was silent for a few moments. “Well, I suppose your logic is unimpeachable. But—“

“But nothing. I will open the gates. I will come see you, walk the woods with you.”

“You’re sure about this?”

Millie packed a bag and threw the straps over her shoulders. It was heavy, but she wasn’t sure how long she’d be gone, and the summer heat of day was deceptive—she knew how cold the nights could get amongst the trees. She grabbed some wax paper and wrapped up some meat scraps to bring her friend, before heading to the gate.

She had never opened the gate before. She’d seen it done many times, when hunting parties or trash-wagons or the like had to come or go. While the gates themselves were quite heavy, they were constructed using a series of counterweights and pullies and ropes that meant she should be able to get them open.

She took a deep breath: This was the right thing to do. The elders meant well, but their warnings were outdated, silly. Why would anyone be afraid of a wise old bear? He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. He was her friend. If they would only get to know him—as he really is, not as they misremember him from the past—they would see that he has so much to offer their otherwise closed, exclusive, Fort-centric society.

Millie got up on her tiptoes, used her stretchiest stretch to just get a finger around the latch rope, before pulling it down and wrapping her hand around it. She started to put her weight into pulling the massive metal latch out of it’s housing unit when—

“Millennia, no!”

Andre was running toward her, full speed, while pulling an arrow from its quiver and knocking it on the string of his longbow.

“Don’t open that!”

She froze, not unsure of her decision, merely in shock at the scene unfolding in front of her.

“Get back!”

It was too late to stop the process, the massive gate already starting to swing open.

She could see Binton, along with Roswell, MacDonough, and many others, running toward the gate, weapons at the ready. She became aware that the alarm bell was clanging throughout the fort, waking all.

What were they so afraid of, she wondered. This seemed like such an overreaction to an old, kind-hearted bear. They had so much to learn, she mused, as the gate gained speed before slamming into the fort wall.

“Get down!” she heard again.

She turned to look where everyone else was looking, at her good buddy Gau-Do.

He was there. At the gate.

One of many.

The whole of the bank between the fort and the river was covered with fur and teeth and claws as an army of red bears amassed near the wide open entryway to the fort.