#baronyofthesilverwolf

She creeps closer, instead of tromping.

And the troll 'creeps' after

At the top of the crest, in a soft patch of grass surrounded by wildflowers, is a full spread: tartan blanket, porcelain teacups, jam pots, and a steaming kettle... all being attended by a half-dozen teddy bears!

No real stealth seems needed, they are clearly involved in their revelry.

But on second glance, these aren’t plush toys. Their fluff is real fur—matted in places, sun-warmed, and twitching with the occasional fly. One wears a checkered bowtie, another sports a faded ribbon. The largest has a jaunty sunday hat perched between its ears, and the smallest, has shiny button eyes sewn into its face. One stirs a cup with massive claws, another licks jam from a pawful of biscuits.

SHe looks for signs of...Cabbage!

They lounge around a well-worn patchwork blanket, crowded with an improbable spread: a lopsided cake dripping with honey, cracked teacups brimming with wildflower cordial, biscuits stacked high with blackberry jam, wedges of sharp-smelling cheese, a bowl of sugared dandelions, and a pie that seems mostly filling and barely crust.

The picnic fare is plentiful, but there is no sign of cabbage!

"This is the weirdest damn day."

Gwen manages not to groan audibly "Okay. I think the cabbage quest maybe a flop, not to give up but darn it." she whispers.

As the party lingers at the edge of the hilltop clearing, a breeze stirs the tall grass—and one of the bears lifts its snout, sniffing the air. The large one in the jaunty hat blinks, then turns its head just slightly in their direction.
Without rising, it rumbles in a voice like gravel rolled in honey:

"Well now. Guests?"

It doesn’t sound hostile—more curious, maybe hopeful. It gestures lazily with a paw toward the picnic blanket.

"Plenty to go ‘round... if you don’t mind crumbs and claw marks."

A silence follows, thick with jam-scented tension. The smallest bear sucks at a paw shyly. One of the others lets out a soft burp and pats the ground beside them, scooting a wide rump over, making room.

"Our pardon, good ursines," Gwen steps up "I'm Gladiola, this is Thistle, and we ... we were looking for a stolen head of cabbage. A gent we're very fond of had been growing it lovingly and now..well, we can't find the darn thing and fear it lost."

"Failing that, if you saw a clockwork Never..."

The large bear with the faded cap rises slightly from the blanket, regarding the newcomers with a polite but amused expression.

“I am Madame Bricklebottom,” she says with a refined nod. “Welcome to this humble picnic.”

She gives a gentle sniff and tuts softly. “The only cabbage seen around here was with that darling little flitter-bug who led the way to the hives for honey. Because, truly, no picnic is proper without a little honey. Is that who you seek?"

The bow-tie bear adds, rubbing his cream colored tummy, "She was complimentary of my raspbearry jam, too." Somehow, they can HEAR the pun.

"Oh, she would be. She's a sucker for sweets."

Judging by the picnic spread, so are these fine furry folk.

"Her name and hue is Citrine"

The little bear who sucks his paw is trailing closer, button eyes on Thistle.

"Now, I'd have called her honey!" An older bear with a fez says, chortling at his joke.

"You call every pretty femme honey, Grand-paw." Says a mid-size bear with tan fur and a ribbon around her neck, rolling her eyes. "Do you want some biscuits? They are pawsitively delightful."

"That's real nice of you." An attempt at manners!

"You are so kind, if it's no trouble, we will take one. Thank you."

A clap of paws, and the tan bear sets herself to making a pair of plates heaped with honey-drizzled biscuits and sweet berry tarts. She speaks warmly, “I am Hazel. Though younger than most here, I take great care in welcoming guests and making sure everyone is well fed.”

She gestures to the others nearby. “That’s Beartholomew, who enjoys his rest but keeps a watchful eye.” She nods to the rather huge golden bear curled peacefully on the blanket - he looked like a hill himself for a moment.

She then indicates an older bear wearing a faded cap. “Madame Bricklebottom, our gracious leader and keeper of manners.”

Next, she gestures to a dignified elder with a fez. “Grand-Paw, our storyteller and wise counselor.” She rolls her eyes a bit and covers a smile with a paw.

She points to a stout bear with a bowtie. “Gus, our.... A pause, and politely finishes, "Gourmand.”

Thistle finds that she is in danger of being knocked down by the small bear trying to crawl onto her lap while she stands! “And that’s Button, our youngest—too silly to talk yet."

"Uh...hi?"

"Awww, Adorbearable," Gwen feels the pull of her house and decides to act like a good guest, taking a spot and a biscuit, "Are you new to the area?"

"We've always been here." Says Madame Bricklebottom, even as Gus says "First time." and Hazel says, "Every sunday when the sun is full!"

She tries a tart.

It's beary good!

"Oh I am surprised I missed some of you, not too far from where i call home. Silverwolf holding?"

"Oh, no, you are mistaken. This is teddybear territory, as far as the button eye can see." They nod!

Hazel pours cups of tea, and Gus insists on them trying the honey cakes.

She squints at Beartholomew.

".....Mr. Bear?"

Snooooooooooze.... and an eye cracked. "mmmmmmMMmmmmmm?"

"You look like Mr. Bear."

"He was the best bear, too."

"MMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.....mr. Beartholomew Bear." He YAWNS hugely, showing teeth that gleam, but then once his jaws shut, he looks fluffy and harmless again.

He squints. "YOU look like someone I knew too. But she was... much smaller."

His nose wriggles. "And... less sparkly."

She bites on her lip and nods.

He lumbers to his feet and comes over to snuffle at her. His nose tickles.

"....you were too big for the apartment. I couldn't keep you." Very softly, looking away.

"Toooooo big." He says sadly. "I had to leave to join the Teddybear Picnic. But... it is not as sweet, as the smell of little hands at night as they cling tight."

Gladiola looks over at Thistle and he puts a hand on Thistle to reassure her.

Her mouth twitches and she scowls and she scrubs at an eye and scowls more.

But her spirals are blue.

A thought "do you know of any Teddy bears in need of a home?"

Beartholomew’s massive form settles beside Thistle, his eyes soft but bright beneath heavy lids. “Little one,” he rumbles, “teddy bears may be forgotten on shelves or lost to the world… but the hands that held them never truly let go. I still remember you — not as you are now, but as the sparkle you brought in those small, quiet nights. Memories last longer than any fur, and I carry them close.”

Madame Bricklebottom tuts, but adds, "Things change, but warmth endures."

"Hear hear!" Says Grand Paw. "Bear, bear." Corrects Gus.

".....You..." SHe hesitates. "You aren't mad?"

Gwen smiles.

Madame Bricklebottom sips delicately from her chipped teacup before answering Gwen’s question. “Oh, my dear... there are always bears in need of homes.”

Grand-Paw rumbles thoughtfully, stroking his whiskered chin. “Some drift too far into the woods and forget the way back.
Others sit on lonely thrift store shelves, hoping. And some… some hide their stitches, afraid no child will love a mended heart.”

Hazel adds gently, “We keep a list, you know. Not written down, but remembered—each name, each soft face, each tiny sweater or missing ear. If you are seeking... we could send word when one is ready.”

Button somersaults into Gwen’s lap, clutching a jam-smeared biscuit, and cuddling close. He seems to approve! She is now very sticky though.

Beartholomew blinks slowly, then shifts his massive weight to sit a little taller, fluff ruffling in the breeze.

“Mad?” He tilts his head, one ear flopping. “Oh, small spark... you gave me life. You held me when storms scared, and whispered secrets no one else knew. You fed me crumbs and dreams.”

He reaches out a great paw—slowly, gently—and taps his chest once.

“How could I be mad at my own heart?”

Abruptly, the nocker turns and latches onto Beartholomew with a tight hug, squashing her face against his fur like a 6-year-old once did when her parents would scream in the hallway.

Gwen endures the stickiness, "I was thinking that, well, Thistle has a younger brother, and Flo, she's a lovely lady works as a maid, she had a cute little boy too. And maybe we should see if we can set up something for either of them." She looks to Thistle to make sure it is okay but sees got her hands and heart full so waits for when the nocker likes.

The bears exchange glances and murmur amongst themselves. That is, except Beartholomew who endures, being a fluffy bastion against all things harsh in the world.