The Bear cub sat up. “If you insist. You promise you won’t hurt me?”

“I’m very promising. Why did you collapse like that? Do I look like a hunter to you?” Brrr was more curious than offended.

“It’s what you do if you’re facing long odds,” said the Bear. “You play meek and helpless in front of a sterner foe, and that kick-starts a sense of noble mercy in them. That’s the theory anyway. I never had need to practice it before, but it seems to have worked. My name is Cubbins.”

His placid delivery sounded mature, though his voice strayed trebleward. Brrr replied hopefully, “Lost and alone and very abandoned by your clan?”

“Just taking a break from the endless hilarity of it all. They’re downslope a ways at the stream’s edge. You’re not here to scatter us to kingdom come?”

“Hardly. I need some directions.”

“The King of Beasts needs directions?”

“Will you stop with that?” said Brrr. “I’m not even a very local celebrity. Just passing through and minding my own very business.”

“Well, with that medal and all,” said Cubbins. “You look official. Is that why you say very so very often?”

Young as he was, he was ribbing the Lion. “Take me to your leader,” said Brrr, exerting very control. “Please.”

“Such as she is,” said Cubbins obligingly. “Actually, I’m the boy-sheriff of our group, but since you stumbled upon me and showed me mercy, I’ll oblige. Follow me.” The Bear cub led Brrr along a ridge and down a trail to the edge of a broad, shallow stream. “Look who found me when I was lost in the woods,” called out Cubbins.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” said the others. There were five or six of them, full grown: some burly companions at play and an aging old thing resting in kind of a shabby bath chair, half-in, half-out of a pool.

“Don’t mind them. They’ve spent the afternoon with a comb of fermented honey,” said Cubbins.

Brrr picked his passage on stones across the stream, taking care not to let the pads of his paws get damp.

“Oooh, a toady right from the git-go,” said one of the older Bears. “I oughta known it, a sissy missy, the way she goes mincing across those stones like she’s afraid of ruining her mother’s silk stockings.”

“Enough, Bruner O’Bruin,” said Cubbins. “This creature was kind to me.”

“What’s your name, Lord Lion?” asked Bruner O’Bruin.

“Brrr,” replied the Lion, shaking his mane, trying to make a theatrical shimmer out of word and name alike. “Who are you lot?”

“The last, best hope for Oz. Movers and shakers,” said Bruner O’Bruin mockingly. He got up and shimmied, his rump poking out. The others guffawed. Cubbins rolled his eyes and offered the Lion a sip of water from a battered iron ladle.

“We’re what remains of the court of Ursaless, the Queen of the North,” said Cubbins. “Fallen on hard times, but good at heart, I hope. That’s Ursaless over there.” He indicated the oldest one, who was getting up from her chair to stretch. She was immensely tall. Even at her apparent age, white whiskers and all, she towered over her companions. “Ursaless, say hello to our guest.”