Short story 3

“With one final cry, the mighty battle was lost. Two brave warriors from the distant forest had been defeated by the muscular bear king, who was both handsome and strong and loved by all,” the flabby old bear with a cough and a splutter. His young, polite son smiled at him and took the parchment from his hand.

“Sire?” said the young cub with a deep, bow and a kind smile. The bear king did not get out of his seat but nodded at him. The crowd of bear people in front of him all looked at each other with an awkward grimace. The young princely bear climbed up to the bear king’s throne and whispered in his royal grey, hairy ear, “What really happened?”

The great, royal throat gulped. The regal mind under his heavy crown was too foggy to lie any further.

“I gave them all the gold we had and asked them to kindly leave us alone.” whispered a quiet, timid voice from deep within his body. With brows, the great king looked the young cub in the eyes and begged him not to tell anyone. The ginger furred prince agreed, who could turn down those big black eyes?

“The king is an impressive warrior!” the cub, as he held up the king’s poor old arm.

“Huzzah!” cheered the crowd, swords in arms. Out in the forest, two mighty warriors with wheelbarrows full of bear-gold were off their winnings. If the crowd knew of their wide, they would probably not be cheering quite so loudly. “A feast!” yelled the crowd.

“Oh, I don’t think we can quite afford that,” chuckled the king, who had quite, bare pockets by now.