Cubbins looked at Brrr. “I don’t believe in Ozmists,” he said. “Bears don’t, you know.”

The Lion snarled, as if to say: No time for your funning, Cubbins! The Bear’s eyes looked back at him, flat, less glossy than before. Perhaps it was the overcast sky.

“They said Ozma is still alive somewhere,” ventured the Lion.

“People can say all sorts of things,” said Cubbins. “Where did you get those books?”

“From…” But he couldn’t finish. Didn’t Cubbins remember?

Cubbins was pawing them and looking at the spines. “Ozma Incognita. That sounds interesting. What are you doing with these books?”

“I don’t know,” said the Lion after a while. “I don’t have much use for them.”

“I’ll take them off you. I like the idea of books,” said Cubbins. “Here’s another one with color plates-look! Lurline and Preenella: A Fairy Tale of the Poor. How stupendous! We don’t see books around the Great Gillikin Forest often, you know.”

“You don’t say.” He tried to keep a wobble out of his voice.

“If books show up anywhere in the woods, they’re usually not far from a trap of some sort. Bait, you know. Humans plant books in the woods, hoping to attract the urban talking Animals who have gone to ground here, escaping the Wizard’s laws against them. I suppose you’re aware of this?”

“I suppose.” He sighed.

“And hunters, perhaps with guns, waiting nearby.” Cubbins was turning the pages. “If you picked these up from the woods, you’re lucky you didn’t get snared in some beastly iron-jaw thing with rusty teeth.”

“Guess luck is my middle name.” But it was too dreadful. “Will you know how to get back to your clan?”

“My clan?” said Cubbins.

“Don’t forget that part! Ursaless and the others. Bruner O’Bruin, Caraway Coyle. You know.”

At the sound of the Queen’s name, Cubbins grinned. “Oh yes! Of course! My mind had wandered for a moment. Well, I’ll take these books off you if you like, and be getting back to my kind. We admire books, you know, we Bears. We read them over and over.”

“Good.”

“We never get tired of them,” said Cubbins in a voice gone soft, as if the fact of his dimness was trying to dawn on him. “Because we forget them as soon as we finish them. We can start reading them over right away.”

“If you don’t mind,” said Brrr gently, “I will take the medal, though. I need to bring it to someone.”

“Suit yourself,” said Cubbins. “In fact, I’ll loop it around your neck on this leather belt. I can carry the books in my arm. There, how’s that?” His small brown arms reached up. In the effort to put the strap over Brrr’s head, he gave the Lion a bear hug around the cranium. The coarse Bear fur was slicked into tapering points and it rubbed agreeably against the Lion’s mane. “What is the medal for, anyway?”

The Lion couldn’t answer, Courage. He couldn’t speak for a while; he just turned and walked away. He glanced back only once. Cubbins was staring at a page of the book, and shaking his head, and wiping his eye with the back of his paw. Growing up, growing dead.