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Beran stretched out in his usual place by the fire. I leaned against him, scratching behind his ears. Had we been alone, I would have fetched the scrubbing brush and given him the good back-scratch he had enjoyed since a cub.

I examined his limbs for wounds. Sometimes he returned from Faerie with cruel marks, as though he’d been fettered.

I would rub Mother’s rose salve into them and weep at the thought of my friend being harmed, wishing fervently that I could follow him into Faerie and find out where he went and who it was that sometimes kept him bound.

But as in my tormenting dreams, I felt powerless to help him.

I was glad to see he had no new wounds this time.

“You say he’s been visiting for years?” said Jory.

“As long as I can remember,” I replied. “When did Beran first come, Mother? ”

“In the long winter,” said Mother, carding wool. “The year the streams froze.”

“There was a snowstorm,” added Rose. “There was a banging at the door. We thought it someone seeking shelter from the storm. What a surprise, when Mother opened it to see a bear cub on the porch.”

“Did not think bears minded the cold,” murmured Jack. “Thick fur coat and all.”

“He was a cub,” Rose said. “And all alone. We thought he must be orphaned. He was so tame, as though he were familiar with people. He came in and curled up on the rug, just as you see now. He and Lily were like a pair of cubs. Romping around. It’s a wonder they did not pull half the house down with their games. ”

I rubbed Beran’s broad expanse of belly and he lazily opened one eye and grunted with satisfaction. “You grew too big for romps,” I said a little sadly. “As did I. But I am happy to see you, my friend. It has been a long while. I wish I knew why you have not come for so long.”

Beran made what sounded like a sigh. I felt the old longing to speak with him. There was always an air of sadness about him. I felt sure it was loneliness. I was sure that he only found some pleasure and peace in the few hours he spent with us.

“How does he cross the border?” asked Jory. “I thought only the fae can cross the border when it’s closed. You said he’s not one of the fae.”

“He’s not fae,” I said, “but he’s not ordinary.”

“Then what is he?” said Jory. “It don’t make sense.”

“He is a bear,” I said. “But he has magic on him. That’s the only way a non-fae can pass over the border.

But what the magic is, and how it binds him, we do not know.

He can pass over in the evenings sometimes, but always leaves before dawn, as though he has some invisible chain tethering him to Faerie by day.

” I looked to Mother. “That is what we have concluded, is it not so?”

Mother nodded, regarding Beran thoughtfully, as she often did. “The roses give him some refuge in the dark hours,” she said. “But what binds him to Faerie is strong, and pulls him back.”

“Can’t you get the queen of Faerie to help him?” suggested Jack from his stool by the door.

“And how would a cottager find the queen of Faerie, numskull?” scoffed Jory.

Jack shrugged. “She gave magic roses to protect them all.”

But Jory still did not believe his brother’s tale about our roses.

“Why did she give you magic roses?” persisted Jack.

I looked at Mother, waiting to hear her reply. It was one of the many questions I had often asked her, and had received a vague reply that did not satisfy me before I felt the question slip away from me again.

“Have you never heard of the fae granting boons and favours to mortals?” said Mother.

“I suppose,” said Jack. “There’s a mortal lot of stories where they give wishes and such.”

Mother waved a hand and we all blinked as the feeling of mystery was brushed away, like a besom sweeping dust out of the door.

“You said you had news,” Rose reminded Jory.

“Indeed,” he said, pulling out his pipe with theatrical flair.

“There’s more riders coming,” said Jack, spilling the news. “We saw them from our tree!”

I bristled at ‘ our tree.’ Beran, always highly attuned to my mood, opened his eyes to regard me. I made myself relax again beside him.

“More adventurers,” said Rose, unimpressed.

“Another pack of ruffians, no doubt,” I said.

“But no,” said Jack. “Not a pack, a procession .”

“What kind of procession?” said Rose.

“A noble procession.” Jack rocked on his stool looking pleased with himself.

“Is it the king?” asked Rose, letting her knitting fall in her lap.

“I doubt the king would ride all this way,” said Jory.

“I’ll warrant it’s some duke and all his fellows,” said Jack.

Beran watched Jack with his glittering brown eyes. I was never sure if Beran could understand our language, or only appeared to be listening with great interest.

“His eyes don’t look like bear eyes,” said Jack thoughtfully, catching Beran’s gaze upon him. He shifted on his stool. “ ’Tis like a fellow’s eyes looking out of a bear’s face.”

“How do you know it’s a nobleman?” said Rose, keen to hear more of this ducal procession.

“Who else would come with standards and pennants?” said Jory.

I leaned aside to let Mother light her spill.

“When did you see them?” I asked. “We have not seen or heard anyone ride by today.”

“They stopped a while by the threemilestone,” said Jory. “And one went off as a scout. Probably looking for a good place to make camp for the night. They won’t camp there, so my guess is they’ll ride by any minute now.”

As if by the power of prescience there came the blast of a bugle and the unmistakeable clatter of a company of horses in harness.

Jack and I reached the window first. Jack made a long low whistle. “I’ll be jiggered,” he said, his eyes wide. “You ever seen such fine horses?”

I had not. Nor such fine bridles or well-laden packs.

Rose joined us. “Is that a prince?” She almost elbowed me aside to get a better look. “I am sure it must be. He has a princely look if ever I saw one.”

“You never have seen one,” I said.

“I have now. Is that gold thread on his cloak? Oh, he is stopping. He is looking in. Mother, what should we do? Should we make our curtsey?”

“Best not to let him see you,” advised Jory, putting Rose aside and earning a flash of resentment from her clear, brown eyes.

“Why not?’

“Men of privilege think they can take what they please as much as ruffians do, my lady.”

“Our roses will not let any man harm us,” argued Rose, though she did not attempt to move back to the window. But Jory had not seen our roses defending us, and raised a skeptic’s eyebrow.

“Nor would Beran,” I added, a little piqued that Jory did not see the need to put me out of harm’s way.

“Should you like the fellow to set all his armed men upon your bear?” asked Jory.

“He's coming up the path!” cried Jack.

“Does he come alone?” said Jory sharply, peering out of the window in such a way as to not be seen himself.

He did. He had dismounted and given his reins to one of his knightly companions. Now he was striding up our garden path as though he owned all the land and could go where he wished.

I held my breath, waiting to see if our roses would close rank against him. They did not.

“Do not open to him!” ordered Jory.

“This is my house, son of Jago,” said Mother, rising from her chair to open the door before the stranger had time to knock.

“Do not let him in!” hissed Jory, moving next to our tall cupboard where he would not be seen from the doorway.

“Good evening, sire,” said Mother. “May I serve you in any way? A cup of spring water or a basket of herbs is the best I have to offer, but you are welcome to them.”

“I thank you, good mother. I should not take from a cottager the best of what she has. I halted only because I thought I saw at your window the loveliest face I ever beheld. Have you a daughter?”

“I have two roses, sir. One fair as the moon, one bright as the sun. But why do you ask, for you would not take from a cottager the best of what she has?”

“Take? By no means, I merely—”

He said no more, for Beran lifted his black head as though listening, then arose, crossed the room in three bounds and let out a sound between a roar and a groan. The man started back in surprise, and made some exclamation that I could not hear over the bellowing of Beran.

“He shall not harm you,” Mother hastened to assure him. “Do not approach with sword!” she commanded as the man reached for the hilt at his side.

Beran’s roar brought what seemed a score of men rushing at our gate to come to their liege’s defence.

“He shall not harm you!” I cried, rushing past Mother, out onto the front step. “He is our friend and guardian, but he is of Faerie, and you must not approach him!”

I spoke quickly, anxious to deter a swarm of sword-wielding men from our garden. They would not reach inside our cottage, for our roses would defend us, but what a dreadful scenario it would be, and what would be the consequences of our bringing the disfavour of powerful nobility down upon us?

“A fae bear?” said the man, raising a hand to halt his men once he saw that Beran had made no attempt to rush at him.

“Why is he here, this side of the border?” he asked, not taking his eyes from the great, black bear. “Is the border now open?”

“Not yet,” said Mother. “A few days more. You would be wise to camp in the meadows to the west. The woods are unsafe, and there is an encampment of rough men by the old quarry to the east.”

His gaze sharpened. “Among these rough men is there one in a green cloak bearing a quiver and bow?”

“Is he of especial danger?” said Mother.

“He is a wanted man. If you meet him, do not trust him. It is good for you that you have a fearsome guardian.” He glanced at me. “I see you are the fair one, cottager’s daughter. Perhaps I may glimpse the bright one ere I go into Faerie? A charm of beauty to defend me.”

I wanted to laugh at such nonsense, but was wise enough not to. The man peered past me, as if hoping for a glimpse of my sister. His eyes fell on Beran, and he withdrew his gaze quickly.

“You must be on your way, sire,” said Mother, her voice firm. I watched curiously as the man’s eyes glazed slightly. He shook his head, as though he could not remember something.

“I must be on my way,” he agreed, a little abstractedly.

He bid Mother farewell, and even bowed his head to Beran, and returned to his waiting horse and men. They clattered away and to my gratification we heard them take the west turning towards the meadows. He was not altogether nonsensical a fellow if he had taken Mother’s advice.

“I don’t see why I could not have made my curtsey.” Rose pouted, but managed to look childish rather than bad tempered.

“Time we were going,” said Jory, when he had seen from the window the last of the horses disappear from sight. He whisked his green cloak round his shoulders.

“You have much to explain, Jory, son of Jago.” I said as he made his bow of farewell.

“Next time!” he sang over his shoulder as he left.

“Don’t forget your hat,” Rose reminded Jack. “Though I advise you not to wrap fish in it again. Use a basket, or broad leaves next time.”

Jack frowned. “I thought I’d lost it... how came you to have it?”

“Jack, what did that man mean about your brother?” I asked.

Jack shook his head. “Don’t know. Truly.” He sniffed his hat and grimaced.

Jory’s voice rang out, calling for Jack.

Jack hesitated. “He never hurts anyone,” he said. “Whatever he did, it can’t have been very bad. Good night, Mother! Good night, my lady Rose. Night, Miss Lily. Night, sir.”

This last greeting was for Beran, who took no heed .

I watched them go, the dusk absorbing their forms as the evening advanced.

The evening sky shimmered in waves of violet and fiery orange.

The border was thinning much faster than usual this year.

The night air was full of expectancy, charged with the approaching magic of Faerie.

The sweep of colours in the sky glimmered and flashed above the silhouetted trees, as though someone were shaking out a rippling curtain of royal satin above our heads.

As though our reality was only made of fabric, and it was about to be torn.