It had been a cold day, one of the coldest of the season. The man moved silently through the woods. The rifle held in his hands, in a relaxed grip, his steel grey eye scanning the white brush for any movement.

It was winter, the time most settlers feared. Game was scarce and it was dangerous to get supplies through to any town that wasn't a port town. The cold could kill you in a few hours if you were trapped without proper clothing. And the animals could kill you quicker too. The wolves and a rogue bear or two were hunting for food and they had the advantage of numbers over a gun.

It was for that exact reason that he was out here. This man with hair just as white as the fresh snow and a single eye patch over his right eye, dressed warmly in a fur-lined coat and breeches with high boots to move through the deep snow. An old, well-used musket held in his grip as he searched through the forest, trying to find dinner for tonight and hopefully a few nights after.

His breath came out in little puffs of air as he stepped through the packed snow, crunching noises filling the quiet air. He tried to be as quiet as possible, listening for any foreign noises.

There!

There was movement and he turned his head towards it. Just in time to fire at a rabbit that was darting through the underbrush. The sound of the gunshot scent birds into the air around him and suddenly the forest was much quieter.

He could feel something behind him and spun around. There was nothing around him that he could see.

He couldn't see anything in the whiteness but he knew there was something out there. Something was there, something was watching him.

He turned around again. Whatever it was, it was circling him. He reloaded quickly, the black powder making a soft hissing sound as it filled his gun. It wasn't until much later that he realized it was a mistake to take the time.

There was a roar and he didn't see the strike coming. It hit his shoulder and set him to the ground. His coat protected him from the cold snow but not the sharp claws of the bear.

He could see it was so much skinner than it should have been around this year. A rogue, It's teeth were bared as he reared up on his hind legs. The man rolled to the side as the animal tried to crush him under it's paws. It growled and swiped at him as he was trying to stand. He felt the claws scrape his leg and pain blossomed in his thigh and he fell to one knee. The bear struck again, this time, rearing up and lunging at him with his teeth. They caught his shoulder, ripping the flesh with the animals' fangs and the fur in the coat becoming stained with blood.

He rolled out of the way, the fur of his coat becoming stained with blood as he took off. His gun was still not completely loaded. The lead ball still not added. He couldn't take the shot now and he was slow due to his injured leg. He could hear the bear following him, lumbering after him in the deep snow.

If he could climb a tree, if he could get high enough, he could finish loading and shoot the blasted animal. The trees around him were too high for him to pull himself up. His shoulder and leg both bleeding as well as the injury on his upper arm, he was going to be out of the game for a while if he even survived this at all.

He took deep breaths and pushed the pain from his mind for now. Survival was all he could think of. The bear roared again but he didn't look behind him. His eye was scanning for shelter; a place to defend, somewhere to reload and take cover from the bear. He would beat this animal.

He finally saw what he wanted. A small dugout, looking abandoned from what he could tell, no footprints around the opening. He would be a bit big but he didn't care. It was what he needed. He slide into it and let out a shout as teeth grabbed his foot. He kicked forward, the bear letting out a yelp but not leaving.

He wedged himself up against the back of the hovel, it was a tree trunk. He could see up through what looked like roots. It must have been a bush that grew in the warm months. But now it was snowed over and frozen, creating a small cave. He quickly shoved the lead ball into the barrel. Pushing it down and aiming it at the bear that growled and was digging to get to him. He shot. Hitting the bear!

It kept going though; it swiped into the hole, catching the cloth this time and not the flesh of his stomach. He reloaded as fast as he could but it wasn't fast enough. Another swipe came and those razor sharp claws caught against his calf. He shot again. Hearing another yelp, suddenly it was quiet again. The digging had stopped and he quickly reloaded once again. Not making the mistake of waiting this time.

He waited, gun aimed at the entranced of the hovel for a few minutes, counting them out. He couldn't stay here for very much longer. He was losing blood from his wounds and he needed to get home to treat them.

He waited a few more minutes, still nothing. He slowly leaned forward to crawl out. Nothing yet, he cautiously heaved his body out of the hovel. Trying to hold in the gasps of pain as he placed weight on his injured foot, he stood up. The snow was becoming blood-soaked. He adjusted his coat, the tears letting in the cold and clinging to the rips in his skin. He needed to get home.

He started to trudge away, keeping his eye out for the bear again. He didn't see it anywhere; its tracks looking like it had walked in the opposite direction. Oddly no blood on the ground for him to follow and judge, even with the two gunshot wounds it must have had.

He let out a sigh of pain and relief as he saw where he had dropped his pack. He would get home and wrap himself up, then try again another day.

He was just reaching down and grabbed the pack. He heard the growling before he saw the bear. He whirled around and saw the bear, standing before him. He raised the gun and shot, the bear roaring as it took the lead ball in the chest. Its paw came down in a slashing motion and cut into the man's chest. The cloth ripped and blood burst from the wound. He fell back in shock as the bear fell to the ground dead. He stumbled back a few feet, his breath gasping and his hands trying to staunch the blood. He fell to his knees, grunting in pain. It was dizzying. He had been in this much pain before, but this was such a shock he could only gasp, trying to draw in breath. His ribs must have been cracked from the blow as well. He couldn't get his breath. His vision was growing dizzy as he lost more of his life's liquid.

He tried to stand again but tripped, he couldn't find the strength and with a strange whistling in his ears, he fell forward into the snow, oddly comforting with the cold against his wounds, as he faded from consciousness.

(*)

A Story From Slade's View!

Update (11-16-12): This story is being edited, all chapters from here on will be edited! Not much will change but some minor stuff!