Bear Boy’s eyes did not see in this world. He saw inward, a ruddy vision, of Dancing Bear — dancing away, away, away, diminishing, her bells tinkling, her own mouth open in a moan, and as she was set to vanish, she turned to look at him with such tenderness that it smote his heart. Bereft, beaten in both head and heart, he felt himself lost. He fell.

“My bear!” he cried. Dancing Bear had not left him. Here she sat with the boy’s head pillowed on her reeky leg, her fur clotted with flea dirt. Above them hovered a one-eyed she-bird as wrecked and wretched as his bear, the bird’s pinions bent and dusty, her breast plucked bald. She glowed with a tarnished sheen.

Bird and bear returned his gaze. Their eyes told how, between them both, the beasts knew secrets a boy could never dream.