Mr. Bear prided himself on his looks. He was an old bear now, almost 50, and he croaked and groaned at every move, but his fur still looked fantastic.
He glanced at the companion to his right, a bright purple unicorn that slouched on his leg with a smile on her face.
Of course she smiled. She was new in the room. She didn’t know that once you were there longer, you would be considered too fragile to touch.
Mr. Bear shuddered and focused his gaze on the grey elephant to his left.
That thing had a name. Mr. Bear never got one. To her, to his owner, he had always been Bear.
She loved him. He’d get clothes from her and clumsily knitted scarves. He’d sit and listen to all her adventures.
And he had lived for that.
When she was a young child, she hated the rain. She’d always rest her head in his lap and complained that rain meant she couldn’t go outside and have adventures.
Mr. Bear would have loved adventures in his 50 years of life. Yet he always sat there, waiting, just in case she needed him, needed his help.
Rapid footsteps rushed down the hall. Her voice sang just like it did when she was a child, full of mischief and joy.
Mr. Bear sat up straight and smiled the half smile she so loved. She bounded into the room, lay down on the bed next to him and said, “Oh, mr. Bear, I am so happy you are still with me!”
Mr. Bear smiled wider, and let his thoughts drift away as her voice babbled along about stories and adventures and play.