"Lucas...can I ask you something?" I said, setting out mugs and tea bags. "We don't have to talk about it anymore, but I'd like to know."

He spread his hands, indicating I should continue.

"How'd you manage it? Did you get the idea from the Straw Bear?"

He shook his head. "I knew before I came here. The book I wanted from Chicago, I used to make masks from the pictures. I just liked the designs. Strange things used to happen to those," he added, with an odd nostalgic look. "I think because I believed in it. Or didn't disbelieve, anyway. Most people, when they read a book, they decide to believe it or...um, not. I never have. Whether it was true didn't matter to me, as long as it got me away for a little while."

"Away? From what?"

"Everything. You're a reader, you can't possibly misunderstand that."

"No," I said. "I guess I can't."

"When you're in the city it's hard to think clearly about things. I knew I wanted somewhere small, somewhere I could be alone to think," he said. "So I came here, because I could be alone, because traditions aren't quite dead here....men still turn into animals."

"The Straw Bear."

He nodded. We were quiet until the kettle whistled and I poured the water into the mugs. I offered him a spoon with his and he stirred, watching as the tea tinted it slowly.

"I thought...." he closed his eyes. "I began to look at animals, how effortless it is for them to accept affection, how much they offer in return. Nobody suspects a dog of ulterior motives."

"Everyone loves Nameless," I said.

"Wouldn't you strive for that, if you didn't have it?" he asked, voice strained.

"Do you suppose that I do have it?"

"It's easy for you; you talk to people, shake hands, flirt with them, hug them, you know everything about them – it's so simple for you. It's so simple for them," he said, stretching out his hand to point out the window towards the street below. "The boy – you should see him and the others. I don't understand how they can be so close, how they always think of – of things to talk about, games to play – how they never bore each other. I don't know how people do that, and sometimes it's just...difficult to watch."

"But he idolizes you. He wants to be like you."

"I want to be like him," Lucas replied. "Or like you."

"It's not easy for me either," I said. "Not always, anyway. I don't think it is for anyone, at times. You'll figure it out, Lucas, you're a smart man."

"Thanks," he said. He pushed back from the table, standing up. "I think...I'm going to go home for a while. Would you uh...turn around?"

"Okay," I answered, and turned away. There was a soft noise, and then the scratch of claws on wood. I led Nameless down the stairs, gave him an affectionate nudge with my knee, and opened the door so he could get out.

From the doorway I watched him lope through the last of the winter's snow, dodging around late-afternoon shoppers and the occasional schoolchild.

***

Two days later, I heard a car pull up outside my shop and looked out the window to see a familiar battered pickup with a camper hitched to it. I hadn't expected the Friendly, but it made sense; a final thaw was sweeping south and they were following it for as long as it lasted. Gwen practically leaped out of the truck and was up on the porch by the time I had the door open. She threw herself into my arms, laughing.

"Hello!" I called to Tommy, who saluted from the street and came up the path with a little more dignity. "Hello," I added to Gwen, who kissed my cheek and let me go. "You're awfully close to civilization, miss Friendly."

"Came in for a hot meal," Tommy explained, leaning on the porch rail. "Gwen insisted."

"It's good food," she retorted. "And we're not here long."

"Oh?" I asked.

"Just for tonight. I wanted to make sure I saw you."

"Why the rush?"

"Construction work down south," Tommy answered. "Good money while it's on."

"Can't argue with that," I said, as Gwen wrapped an arm around my waist and leaned against me. "How's the family?"

"Christopher sends his greetings. Stuck in bed right now, sciatica's actin' up. Couple of the boys got married, lost one of 'em to a landowner. Otherwise can't complain."

"How's Low Ferry?" Gwen asked.

"Better for having you in it," I replied.

"And Lucas? We're going up to see him tonight, after dinner."

I smiled. "That'll do him some good. He hasn't been himself lately."

Gwen gave me a searching look. "Yeah. Didn't think he would be."

"Why's that?"

"We know things. I'd like to tell him thank you, though."

"Thank you? What for?"