Thing was, I did. It was tradition. One of the last ones we had left now that we were empty nesters and widowers on top. I’d be damned if I let another ritual die on my watch.
I’d been awake since before dawn, preparing a meal for Zion’s first day back at school. Eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, fresh bannock. More food than two males could eat—even if they were bears. But we had a fridge, and my hands had needed something to do.
Instead of answering, I poured hot water over one of the coffee pouches he preferred to the real stuff.
“Thank you, Ravik.” Zion placed a hand over his chest, as if he were a knight who’d been given some sort of blessing. “As always, your efforts are sincerely appreciated.”
With that typical-for-him over-the-top gratitude, he picked up his fork and made quick work of two plates of food.
Long and trim, he looked nothing like a born bear, as we Ayaska called the bears who were born into shifter-hood instead of bitten, like Zion. He’d only put on a few pounds over the thirty-five years since our maul had unexpectedly come together. Most folks around here wouldn’t be able to guess how much food he managed to put away underneath those impeccable table manners.
But, as happy as he was about the meal, the complaining started up as soon as he set down the cloth napkin he still insisted we use instead of paper towels.
“I cannot believe I’m being compelled back to work. I was certain I’d wake up from hibernation to news that Rysak finally found my replacement. Instead, we have yet another daughter-in-law with no interest in acquiring a teaching credential.”
Most people in Bear Mountain—especially Ash, the second in our youngest son’s maul and the town doctor—had been ecstatic to come out of hibernation to the news about Holly, Noelle’s older sister. While we slept, she had not only become the mate of our oldest son, Takoda, and Ash’s brother, Hawk, but she would also be staying on as a much-needed midwife.
But after congratulating Takoda, Zion had immediately started grumbling about getting a midwife instead of a new teacher for the town, even though he’d been promised it was at the top of our mayor’s—who was also our MLA—priority list.
“What did the mayor even do all hibernation?” Zion shook his head as he rose from the chair on the other side of the counter. “I’ll aver it again, the electorate of Bear Mountain should have voted foryou.”
I ducked my head and took another bite of fried potatoes. Wasn’t so sure about that.
Running against Rysak for Mayor had been more about figuring out what to do with myself after Takoda took over my old position as Bear Mountain’s RCMP sergeant.
The mayor position would have filled my days and kept me plenty busy. But there was a reason Rysak—the younger but much more sociable Ayaska—had won by a landslide, despite having obviously hastily constructed a maul of his own to show folks he was just like them: a traditionally minded Ayaska.
Campaigning had not been my cup of tea—or even my coffee pouch. And holding office would have been more of the same, while having to deal with the human government to boot. Wasn’t sure I had that many words in me, but I appreciated Zion’s support.
Though, I suspected him wanting me to find an official job had more to do with him being worried about what I’d do after he retired. We hadn’t discussed it, mentally or out loud.
But Zion hadn’t come here of his own accord, and Niska had pretty much railroaded him into taking over the position of our small town’s sole schoolhouse teacher from her mother. Add in the long estrangement with our maul daughter and his birth daughter, Mara, who refused to return home, even after her mother’s death.
I was fairly sure when his job was done, he’d be done with Bear Mountain.
“I must away. The children will be beating at the schoolhouse door after three months off.” Zion drained the rest of his coffee before placing it in the sink and grabbing his bag from the hook by the door. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
Then he was gone.
I cleared his plate and mine. Washed them. Dried them. Put them away.
The much smaller cave where my four parents had lived and died somehow felt even quieter than the large one we’d left behind, after our son Makari took over as the Tuk’Mara.
It probably had something to do with the lack of voices in my head.
Before Niska died, Zion would have spoken telepathically with me all through breakfast, so we didn’t wake up our mate who preferred to sleep in.
He’d barely be out the door before our wife’s voice appeared in my head:“Has he gone yet? How did he seem?”
Niska was a late riser and never made it out to the kitchen to see him off, but due to what her bear did without her knowledge to bring him into our maul, she fretted over him constantly. All the way to the end.
Zion didn’t bother with the maul bite link these days, probably putting some distance between us before he broke the inevitable news about leaving.
Our cave was quiet. Too quiet.
But then footsteps sounded at the cave entrance, and the scent of hazelnuts hit my nose, letting me know that my birth son was coming down the den stairs even before I looked up from getting the cellophane to wrap all the leftovers.
As usual, he wore the formal RCMP uniform, red serge jacket and brown felt hat, like on the posters. I had done the same thing, as had my birth father, and his birth father before him. It had been a long-standing tradition in our family to do so, even after the humans decided to switch to common uniforms. And like me, Takoda was a male who respected tradition.
