Miros told me not to come for a while.
Saying I was interfering with their survival. So I’m not going. I don’t want Miros to die. I’m just looking because they’re pretty, that’s all.
So I’m waiting like this. Rolling around endlessly. How strange. It’s something I’ve been doing habitually from before, so why am I this bored?
How long exactly is “for a while”? I’ve only seen the sun twice and I already miss them so much.
“I miss Miros.”
Havi, who had been looking at me pathetically, said irritably.
“Please don’t whine to me and go to that damn human! This is my den!”
Havi is a gray bear. They know humans better than I do. They said there was a time when they were raised by humans when young. So lately, I’ve been frequently visiting Havi. Then they got angry like that.
As I said, Havi is a gray bear.
“I can’t sleep properly through winter because of you! There’s already no food, and if you keep waking me up, what am I supposed to do? If I don’t last until spring, it’s all your fault!”
“I brought some from a beehive. It should be enough to eat for a while.”
“No! I misspoke! Don’t come even if there’s food! Go torment the spirits that serve you!”
“The dryads are all sleeping. It’s winter.”
I waved my front paw and hugged and clung to the furiously angry Havi.
“Do you want to spend this winter in my nest? I couldn’t check how much of other things there are, but there’s lots of honey.”
“Annoying! Don’t come! Or just capture that human and bring them!”
“…Should I, do that?”
Honestly, I was tempted. It seemed like a good idea. But I soon shook my head.
“They’re still a young one, and first of all, they have kin. Very many of them. Stealing a star-blessed individual, of all things, from such a pack—wouldn’t that be too much in many ways?”
No matter how much I want them, actually doing it is a separate matter. Even though it seems like their kin don’t care for them.
Even if Miros seems insignificant right now, they’ll become an incredibly amazing existence. They’ll become a precious existence to everything. Because receiving a star means that. Because they’re very precious, that’s why such a blessing descended.
But Havi scoffed at my worry to the point of seeming cruel.
“Ridiculous. The humans wouldn’t even care what you do to that thing. If you said you’d give them one of your small leaves, they’d offer up even their mates.”
“Humans are really… strange.”
Is that even possible? It doesn’t match the usual order I knew at all. I just know them as good neighbors. When I tilted my head, Havi stopped scratching and said seriously.
“Don’t let your guard down because their bodies are weak. They’re just as venomous and vile. Selfish and doing incomprehensible things as naturally as breathing. You don’t try to understand such things. Just knowing they’re strange is exactly enough.”
I don’t know what expression I was making, but Havi snorted while looking at my face.
“You’re strong and have much, so humans just couldn’t climb up to you. If they thought it was even slightly doable, those things would have burned you to death and stolen everything.”
It’s difficult. In the first place, I can’t die—would humans not know what everyone knows?
And what do I have that they’d steal? All I have is power. My power is the power of origin—how could mere humans steal it, and even if they stole it, they couldn’t use it. Why would they do such a foolish thing?
“Humans are too weak for that.”
“That’s why they’re obedient to you.”
It still seems difficult. I just want to see pretty Miros.
“How long exactly must pass for ‘a few days,’ ‘a little while,’ ‘for a while’?”
“It’s none of my business, so go back to your nest!”
Havi scratched my back furiously in irritation, but I just hugged Havi tightly. Havi is this weak, so what could humans, who are weaker than Havi, possibly do?
It’s not that Havi is lying, but I think they’re evaluating humans too generously.
***
Just one more day passed like that. It’s the third day. That means I’ve only seen the sun three times.
Before, I wouldn’t have paid much attention even if the sun rose and set, but I miss Miros so much that I’m just endlessly looking at the sky.
The dryads in my nest are sleeping, and things of lower standing can’t even come near. If I approach them wrongly, they die right where they stand, so I can’t carelessly hold onto them either.
Havi is an individual who has lived long for a bear. Even among star-blessed individuals, it’s rare for one to transcend the limits of their fundamental nature as much as Havi.
I think humans say they’ve transcended when they escape the limits of their original form.
Havi has reached eternity. They can’t compare to me, but they have divinity. But they won’t become a god anyway. Because there’s no faith. I guess that thing called transcendence has roughly the same meaning?
On top of that, maybe because of living with humans, they don’t die on their own even if I’m present. The vast majority of other individuals go mad with fear just from my existence alone.
“Havi. How old were you?”
“Roughly 140 years by human standards? I think it’s more than that, but I haven’t counted from some point so I don’t remember.”
Though grumbling, Havi stopped trying to drive me out. After checking the honey jar I brought, they accepted it, saying, “It’s annoying but if it’s this much, it can’t be helped.”
I thought I brought a little, but Havi seems to eat less than I thought. Seeing them so happy even though I only brought off about the size of one cow.
Havi’s den is too narrow for me. I couldn’t stay in my true form, so I was in human form now. Havi has lots of fur and is warm. Because it’s winter, they’ve even gained lots of weight and are plump. It means it feels good to hold them.
I said while hugging plump Havi.
“At this point, wouldn’t Miros miss me too?”
“You’re the one going to look on your own, so why would that human miss you?”
“That’s true. I’m whining because I miss them.”
“Damn it. Spring needs to come quickly so you’ll stop tormenting me and go shake those precious grass roots.”
While talking unpleasantly, they’re diligently holding and biting into the honey jar I brought. Sweet honey smell vibrates all around.
“I miss pretty Miros. They’re an individual with not much lifespan anyway, so it’s too wasteful not to see them.”
Since I kept whining, Havi said while crunching on the beehive.
“Humans sleep at night.”
“They do? Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve really seen them at night….”
“Most do. Especially human hatchlings sleep a lot. They sleep as much as cats.”
“So?”
I don’t know what they’re trying to say. At my words, Havi waved their front paw covered in honey in the air as if frustrated.
“If you miss them that much, just go see them secretly at night. Since they’re not active at night and are sleeping, they won’t know you came and went anyway.”
“My goodness, such a method…!”
I didn’t know. Humans sleep at night. Thinking about it, I always went during the day. Well, it’s easier to see when the sun is shining. I didn’t think to look in at night.
“You’re the smartest bear in the world!”
“…You just had too little interest in humans. Even things without spirituality all know this much.”
“I wish the sun would set quickly!”
This isn’t the time! I need to prepare! I hurriedly left Havi’s den.
“I’ll come again! Sleep well!”
Havi shouted something behind me, but regrettably, I wasn’t in the state of mind to hear it.
I returned to my nest very quickly.
The sun is almost setting now, so as soon as that sunset glow goes out, I’ll go down right away. Is there something Miros would like? I think they liked strawberries, but I feel bad asking them to ripen again right now—what should I do?
They couldn’t eat meat last time either. Their teeth are blunt too, and their jaw is weak, so they can’t eat hard things. Do humans eat honey? I think I have the gold flute Phellos gave me before—can’t this be exchanged for that thing called money?
No, if I take too much, they can’t carry it all. Miros is human, and an especially small and weak individual. They can’t even lift a stone the size of their own head. I need to specially select and take a little but substantial amount.
I carefully packed things to give Miros and waited for the sun to set. While stamping my feet, telling the crimson sunset to hurry down.
But somehow, just before the sunset glow went out, I smelled blood.
Suddenly, why?
This is strange. Is there a reason this needs to be told to me?
All things eat and are eaten. They fight, and they flee. Everything lives and survives according to the natural order. That means there’s no occasion or need to inform about the presence of blood.
Yet smelling blood from somewhere means one thing.
Something somewhere is telling (nireuda – archaic Korean word meaning “to say/tell something to someone”) me. They’re telling me because they think this blood smell is important to me.
—Where, what?
Even when I resonate, there’s no answer. From a very far place, a very small thing is telling. Something so insignificant it can’t even resonate properly.
I don’t know why, but such a thought suddenly occurred.
Did something happen to Miros?
I know it’s an absurd imagination. Although Miros doesn’t receive care from their kin, they’re a star-blessed individual. On top of that, they said humans don’t eat their own kind.
But if they’re telling this desperately, wouldn’t it be something big? It wouldn’t be like this for just being slightly hurt.
It might not be Miros. But it’s hard to think it’s something else.
Within what I know, Miros is the only weak thing. Other things are those that can’t even have death according to the natural order. They don’t need to tell me about danger. If things are dangerous to that extent, it’s not about informing me—the world would step in.
Let me just go and check.
Miros might dislike it. They might get angry that I came too soon. But I couldn’t just pass this by. Such beautiful things are rare, and no matter how much time passes, they’re not something easily found.
I threw away even what I’d packed and went down to the human city, to where Miros was.
