The Floodlands Old dreams

When he realized just how close he still was, Vassago scrambled to his paws and, initally, away from the isle. He didn't realize he was on the wrong side of the river and didn't really care, so long as he was away from the bear. 
He got maybe a foot before stumbling down to bow on his elbows, vomiting up the belly full of water he'd swallowed during his dip, and falling onto his side. His scars were clear, three shining, horizontal, just-healed gashes across his tiny flank. It was the voice of the bear that brought his fearful, green-tinted blue eyes back to its snowy face. Boy? Who was he calling boy. 
                "Vassago."
He drew out his name and pronounced it carefully, his voice full of hate and anxiety even as he taught the beast his name. But then it came closer and reached down. This time, it would eat him. His time with Mom and Daddy and Pyro, they were over. He wouldn't escape this time. 
The strangest thing happened, though. He didn't get eaten. The lumbering creature hovered over, leaned, and began to wash him as mother might. Rougher, with less love, but at the same time it was the gesture that made Vass freeze. Why would it be washing him? He'd just dipped in the water: he was clean enough! The last bear he'd seen hadn't laid eyes on him more than a few seconds before lashing out and causing the boy to learn pain. 
                                    "H-Huh? F-f-from?"
His eyes shifted from the bear to the area behind it: Two Rivers Isle. That was where Mom was, Dad was, Pyro was. That's where he'd just been, where he should be. With a shaking, dripping paw, the chestnut Lordling pointed across the river.