We are forever solitary. We do not move in herds, we do not feel the comfort rubbing off the fur of one of our own and we do not turn to others when danger is nigh.

We do not, cannot, will not.

We hear our names being called across the Deepwoods and we all back but alas we never find the comfort we yearn for.

Our language is ancient, poetic according to the fourthlings but we have a harsher, less extravagant language that no one has heard except our own.

It can be heard when we lie dying by the hand of some foul creature.

It can be heard when we have experienced great loss or feel uncontainable anger or frustration.

At those times we say what needs to be said and we do not speak in the riddles we are most famous for.

I am dying. A sword was pierced into my side and even though it has been pulled out, the pain does not stop.

The wound cannot be healed. I cannot stand up and cannot walk. I cannot call for others, nor would they answer.

I must lie in my own blood, waiting to die.

No one is around me. I must die in isolation. But I must speak. Some may mourn for my death but I mourn for the death of all banderbears.

We are strong and so are left alone but our isolation from each other is our downfall. A lone banderbear may be considered fierce but one alone will not stop a fourthling.

And so, when we try to make peace we are given a sword to the side and a piece of the ground to die.

But that does not matter. We died the very moment we were born.

We would wake up in a banderbear nest with no one else there. We would climb out and travel the treacherous Deepwoods.

We would not feel love or happiness. The fourthlings say how caring we are but do we really care for them, despite all we may have done for them?

We return their favors and when we are occasionally in debt to them we repay it. Is that caring for them?

Some are luck that way. They make friends with a fourthling who respects them and for the first time in their lives they experience the emotion called love.

Others do not. I, personally have never felt compassion towards anything before.

We go to The Great Convocation and sing together but I have never felt the connection that others say they feel.

There are many others like me and I mourn for them now as I take a shuddering breath. I weep, a single note echoing around me, bouncing off the trees and I lie still knowing that until the very end I felt no emotion.

I was surfing through the LJ community for the Edge Chronicles and found a a meme with a prompt from someone to write from the perspective of a banderbear. It intrigued me and I though I might do a short drabble based on it. Here is the end result! Please review and tell me what you think. All forms of constructive criticism are welcome!