Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast by Jane Yolen Page B

at him.
    Now little Daphne was astride the bear’s humped neck and he turned his head slowly to look at her, though he was still bound by the net.
    Evenor started forward again as the bear’s tongue lolled out and gave Daphne’s leg a big swipe.
    “He tickles!” the child called out. “Do it again, bear.” She kicked his shoulders with her bare heels, and the bear licked her a second time.
    “His name,” Atalanta said, “is Urso.”
    “Urso! Urso!” cried the little girl, putting her arms around the bear’s neck.
    Her father came over and lifted her off. “Poor bear. He’s tired. He’s had a long night and his shoulder is hurt. Come, Daphne, climb down so we can get that net off of him.” He sent her off to her mother with a little push.
    Reluctantly, she went back to the safety of her mother’s embrace while Evenor gingerly helped Atalanta free Urso from the net.
    Evenor’s wife nodded her head at Atalanta. “You can stay with us,” she offered. “It’s much nicer inside the house than…” She looked with dislike at the stake in the middle of the village where the shredded rope now hung down like a dead serpent.
    Shaking her matted locks, Atalanta demanded, “What about my bear?”
    “We’ve…we’ve no room for him inside,” the woman said a bit hesitantly, adding, “but he can sleep by the door. First, though, let’s see about his wound.” She put her hand out. “I am Herma, Evenor’s wife. You saved our children and we’ll repay the debt.”
    Atalanta took the offered hand. “And I am Atalanta. There is no debt to repay.”
    By the time the rest of the villagers had returned to their own houses, Evenor had produced some oats splashed with honey for Urso. At the same time, Herma brought out a vial of ointment to spread over the gash in the bear’s shoulder.
    Atalanta made Urso lie down and keep still while Herma applied the salve. Herma was not a great talker, which Atalanta appreciated, and they worked side by side in companionable silence.
    Once the bear was taken care of, Herma turned to Atalanta.
    “I’ve stew in the pot. I’ll bring some for you,” she said almost shyly.
    “That would suit me,” Atalanta said. “Can I eat it out here? Urso could use the company. And…”
    “I promise no one will hurt the bear,” Evenor told her. “If it will make you easier, I’ll stay outside with him.”
    “No, he’s my friend,” Atalanta said. “He was injured because of me .”
    Just then Herma returned with a pottery bowl brimming with stew. Atalanta took the bowl and sat down by the bear while Evenor and Herma went back into the house.
    Urso coughed once, and sniffed audibly at the food until Atalanta poured half of what she’d been given in front of him. He ate it quickly, then almost immediately went to sleep.
    Once she’d eaten what was left in the bowl, Atalanta lay down with her head on Urso’s flank. She slept only fitfully for the rest of the night but—for the first time in weeks—with a full belly.
    In the morning, Urso was gone, having sneaked away while Atalanta slept. In a way she was relieved. That way none of the villagers could change their minds about him.
    The door opened and Herma came out with another bowl, this one filled with dried fruit, and bread smeared with honey. Daphne clung to her skirts.
    “Where’s Urso?” the little girl asked.
    “Gone off by himself for a couple of days,” Atalanta replied.
    “But I wanted to pet him,” Daphne said.
    “He didn’t want any more petting,” her mother told her. “Now—go bring Atalanta a cup of fresh water.”
    Daphne hurried back into the house.
    The fruit was good, but the bread was even more delicious. Almost as good—Atalanta thought—as her own mother’s baking. Atalanta hadn’t cared much for learning to cook and her father had been hopeless as well, so they’d gone a long time without good bread.
    “With the…Urso…away, you’ll be wanting some company then,” said