Chapter 28
"Innocence"
I do not know where I am. The hunt led me from the grasslands into the forests where the ghosts thought the mountains were big enough to hide behind. They were gravely mistaken. They could not escape my domain once I caught sight of them. One by one, they smoked between my teeth until nothing but clean mountain air followed in my wake. Still, I hunted, and when the night was clear, I switched to the day. There were few creatures and fewer ghosts until my days and nights were spent in solitude and silence.
I wandered for so long that I ended up settling on the mountain, waiting for whatever it was the Spirit asked of me next. And yet, I was not lost, even in this unfamiliar terrain. I felt as if I was exactly where I needed to be. It did not make sense. I am Mother of the Grasslands. The mountains are not my home. Then again, the wild was begging for balance. It was only natural a Mighty Hena would be called to tip the scales right again.
And there was nothing that could draw a Mother in faster than the cries of a hatchling.
A Ring Bear cub swam through the snow underneath a rather sparse portion of snowy tree trunks and white capped boulders. He bawled and wailed, face slick with iced over tears and discharge. I did not need the Spirit to tell me something was wrong. Ring Bears hibernated in winter. Very rarely did they come out in the snow in the middle of the season, let alone with their cubs. If the mother of a Ring Bear left her cave, it was probably because she did not forge enough food to survive in hibernation, let alone sustain her cubs during that time.
Her hatchlings would be long dead before they ever set a paw in the snow. The back of the cub's neck and back and shoulders were discolored. Dried blood matted his fur at two equally distant points. Bite marks. The cub fell face first in the snow. I tensed like any predator would when they realized it was their moment to strike. But I remained hidden between the snow and the rocks and shrubbery. The cub raised his head and started dragging himself through the snow. He was running. Fleeing. Escaping. He was being hunted by someone other than myself. Part of me wanted to help the cub. No matter the landscape or weather or danger, the Spirit called to all Mothers this way. It also called to others. Those who balanced our protective instincts. Hunters. The hungry. The curious and the cruel.
Just who or what stalked this cub's shadow?
The Spirit rippled. I felt something in the woods coming closer. No doubt following the trail of the cub. I was resolved to remain hidden, but it took great effort. More than I ever had to exercise before. I found it harder and harder to remain balanced. To let the wild rule as it had since the beginning of time. To keep my place within it. But I was glad I did because there was not one, but two hunters honing in on the cub's scent. Mountain Cats. They did not see me. I had long since hidden myself in the snow in sight of a game trail, waiting for prey.
Properly placed between some tree roots, shrubbery and rocks with the snow on the ground to hide my black legs and the snowfall on my back to hide my mane, I left only a sliver of myself visible. Just enough to catch sight of any game that might come this way. I had gone farther into the mountains than I thought. These Mountain Cats were not colored like those that occasionally tried to establish themselves in the grasslands. They were heavier set with thicker coats better suited for the cold. Their tails were also much thicker and rounder. The most distinctive trait about them were the spots on their coats. Some fully opaque. Others, suggested.
I knew of these types of cats. Unlike those of the grasslands, they took great pride in their marks. The more distinct and silver their coats, the better. These two were males with cascading grey fur that grew whiter towards their paws. Their marks were black, but slightly faded, which made them nobility, but of low rank. Better suited for camouflage than sitting on a throne. The fact that there were two of them made them a hunting pair, and considering cats' solitary nature, they had purpose being together. Given the strangeness of the bear, the cats' origin, and my knowledge of the Spirit, these two cats were not hunters. They were killers. "Assassins" in their culture. None treasured the supremacy of nobility more than a cat. And what better use of their power than keeping their precious coats pristine?
But why assassinate some pathetic little cub?
I looked a little closer as the cats passed by. They did not lack in form. In fact, their eyes were sharp black rings with silver in between just like the spots on their coats. Their fur was clean and washed. Paws, well-kept and horrifyingly silent in the snow. Shoulders capped in muscle. Spirit menacingly calm. Hunger did not drive them. Was it boredom then? Or something worse? Something wicked. Something only traitors and Shaman could come up with.
Bone Takers could not withstand the cold temperatures of the mountains, but there were other Soul Stealers. Other wicked creatures that also used the bones of others and lavished in their tears. Skull Ghosts, specifically. The otherworldly creatures that latched onto the skulls of the dead to remain in the world of the living. When enough of them gathered and gained enough strength, they used their bones to make a body and become Beckoners. The one I encounter with the Fire Ponies suddenly made sense. Just like how Exile and his Shaman were building power in the south. They had joined hands with the wicked creatures of the north. The power of Exile's influence was far greater than I realized.
Was that why the Spirit called to me?
It was far too grand a calling for one Mighty Hena to comprehend. All I knew was that I was Mother, and Mothers were needed to protect their young. Whether this cub's mother was lost, dead, or abandoning him, he needed one now regardless.
The two Mountain Cats picked up the pace. They caught sight of their prey. The end of the hunt was drawing near. The cub continued to cry. His silence would have made no difference. If not for the sounds, his scent would have betrayed him, and if not the smell, then the path he made in the snow. I do not know where he came from, how he escaped, or how long he had been running. It was possible the cats let him run away on purpose for their own amusement. It reminded me of the cat toying with the Mud Kin at the river. I did not know the cats' objective, only the inevitable end if left to their own devices. The cats playfully hopped around in the snow, one on either side of the cub now. He came to stand again and held out his claws, bawling all the same. I never heard such a racket from a cub before. They normally shoved their paws in their mouths when they were afraid or nervous.
Not that he had any idea how to properly brandish those claws. One of the cats batted him down into the snow with the pad of their paw to mock him. For a brief moment, the woods returned to silence. It was even worse than the crying. I hated it. More than anything in the world. I needed something to break it. So I started with the closest cat's ribs. Aiming low where the cat's chest rose in and out, I launched out of my hiding spot and head butted the cat in the side. The blow knocked the wind out of the feline almost as far as the recoil. He crashed out of sight into the foliage.
The second cat flinched, surprised to find a lone Mighty Hena standing tall in the daylight where his partner once stood. I dropped a domain over the battlefield, blacking out the view beyond the nearest trees. Under the cover of darkness, I pulled my shadow out beside me and one became two. The cat could not tell which was real, especially when its eyes had no time to adjust to the sudden darkness. My shadow dashed forward in a fit of barks and snarls. The cat backed into a tree and swatted at it. My shadow dodged, keeping its identity a secret while I charged my original target, make spiked and tail high.
My target knew better than to run. He charged me back, knowing he could over power me in terms of size and strength. I darted off to the side, prepared to meet his pivot, but the cat bulldozed past me, mind no longer set on toying around. He ignored me and went straight for the cub. Seeing my movements, the other cat caught onto the bluff and charged through my shadow, hoping to get the glory of catching the cub first. They meant to complete their mission. To kill the cub. It was another nasty plot. A trick that almost claimed my life in the riverlands. And when their mission was complete, they had no reason to stick around and fight a random, seemingly mad, Mighty Hena.
They would run away to inform their master. Without surprise and ambush on their side, cats were nothing but cowards. They would regret turning their backs to me. I dug in my paws and turned, hastening my step into a shadow fueled feint that rocketed me faster than the speed of light into my target. I rammed into the cat's backside and pushed him forward over the cub and into his comrade's face. Their skulls clacked, shattering the quiet of the woods like a lightning strike. They both staggered off to the sides in the snow. In the short pause it gave me, I grabbed the cub in my mouth and threw him out of the way. I then tackled the cat with the cracked ribs. He flipped onto his back and swiped at my chest, pushing me off.
The second tried to pounce on me and missed, still too disoriented to see straight. His tail swung my way. So I bit it, crunching down as hard as I could. He yowled into a quick retreat. I let him go. Holding him any longer would only draw in his claws again. But I did chase him a little to ensure his retreat before turning around to finish off the first. My paws went from turn to trot to sprint in a manner of seconds. The remaining cat struggled to stand, wheezing dryly. More bones must have broken inside of him. There was a bloody mark on his forehead where his gemstone had shattered. There was no chance of a charge this time, so I stayed my path, disappeared within the passing shadow of a tree, and reappeared on the cat's other side.
The snap was clear this time and the cat dropped to the ground. He had a spasm, gurgling blood. Paws stretching. Claws extended. I jumped on his chest with my full weight, paws tight and together. They broke through his ribcage to the softer organs below. Another spasm and he was dead. I hopped off and stepped away, eyes and ears and Spirit reaching through the woods. I located the second cat in Spirit like I did with the ghosts when they tried to hide from visible sight. The cat slowed and stopped, likely looking back. Plotting how to make his comeback. Failure was just as dangerous as death in their world. He thought himself safe. Out of my reach. So I focused my intent, gathered every ounce of my Spirit, and connected the space between us by firing the most concentrated pulse I had ever created. It pierced through the woods with a crack, splitting any trees that got in the way.
It was thin, like a line, but a much wider invisible ripple followed. The concussion billowed out to make the woods groan and creak. Snow dropped to the ground in white puffs. My Spirit settled, swirling away when it left. I stood there panting heavily afterwards. I never tried an attack like that before, combining two techniques so forcefully together, a feint and a pulse. I learned to target my pulses over the years and manipulate them by creating domains, but my standoff with the human's drone taught me how to tune it to specific frequencies. My most well-known radar being in Spirit.
During my fight with the Hooded Back, I realized the mechanisms behind my feints and their potential. Now, the two forces were intertwining. It was a useful trick, but useless if I could not control it. The cat's presence still hummed in my awareness, growing weaker in distance not force. I must have missed. I would not be able to chase after him. An attack of such caliber drained me of all my energy. The fight was over. It came out better than I expected. Only because I was neither the target nor the enemy they expected. These cats thought themselves at the end of their hunt. It was the most dangerous place for thoughts to be. The cats had obtained too many victories to air on the side of caution. I did not like what that implied of the situation in the mountains.
And now, I had my own situation to consider.
I looked back at the dead cat in the snow and remembered its markings, size, proportions, and face. Such things might help me greatly in the future. The hair the other left in my mouth had an awful taste. I tried to spit it out with a shake of my head, but my spit was thick and slimy and sticky. A few mouthfuls of snow helped clear it away, but the taste still lingered. Were curses the cause? I had purified so many hunting the ghosts that the taste of real flesh might have become foul. If only I could be like a cub and stick honey soaked paws in my mouth.
As if triggered by my thoughts, the cub started making noise again. The bushes rustled somewhere behind me. Stepping away from the cat, but not too close to the bushes in case the sight of me frightened the cub, I waited for him to emerge from the foliage. He stepped out without much reservation and looked around the woods, glancing briefly at the dead assassin before finally settling on me. If it took him this long to find me, I blended into the background better than I thought. In the mountains, under the shade of the canopy, between the trees and rocks and mountains, when the daylight cast stark shadows, Mighty Hena made a living.
Such deep sharp shadows were much more menacing in the grasslands. It was likely the cub had seen my kind before. This land was probably patrolled by Alpha of the Forests or one of the lesser packs. I expected the cub to be frightened or surprised, but he was neither. Instead, he started bawling again. I could not tell if the near death experience maimed his memory or if he did not have an ounce of reason within him, but he ran toward me with his paws outstretched and head thrown back as if I were a long lost friend. At this point, anything other than a cat might have appeased him. He pushed his way through the snow. I waited, looking him over. Given the way he moved, he was not wounded in any serious way despite the punctures.
His hatchling fat and loose hide made it so that no real damage was done. The reach of his paws was dramatic, but otherwise unthreatening. The mark on his head did not take the characteristic crescent shape down the side of his face. Instead, it ringed the front of his head as if the mark caught his ear and swung upwards as he grew, eventually crowning him from the front. It was a curious mark, much like my black face. There must be an established bloodline in these mountains. One known for screaming their heads off. I folded my ears, suddenly missing the silence. The cub waddled up to my chest and grabbed it. I back peddled, hoping he would stop, but he kept coming, moving faster than he did when crawling away from the Mountain Cats.
He grabbed at my fur. Climbed up my legs. The nuisance. Was I a tree to him? Not even a growl or snap deterred him. He knew them to be bluffs after seeing me in combat. The cub broke my guard and came between my front legs. There was a noticeable difference in his grabbing this time and he jumped up in an attempt to cling to my chest. The weight and pull and pinch of his claws were highly unnatural. I would never be able to walk or hunt or fight with him in such a position. So I used more force than usual, took his scruff in my teeth, and flung him off. He squealed. Short and sharp.
Immediately, I remembered the marks on his back. The wounds one of the cats had given him while either picking him up or carrying him or maybe even throwing him just the same. I tucked in my ears, a little guilty, but a Mother's touch was almost always with her teeth. This was a lesson for the cub. He landed flat in the snow. His little brown body laid there a moment. His cries condensed into whimpers. The wood finally quieted to tolerable levels. I glanced around, feeling and listening and looking with the Spirit to make sure the cries of battle and desperation had not attracted others. Bits of snow trickled down from the trees. Daylight twinkled across various patches of snow beneath the boughs.
The Spirit was content with what I had done, but now what?
I looked at the Ring Bear cub. He pushed up on to his hands and knees, coming to terms with my position. Drool and blood stiffened his hair, but the tears slowly dried on his cheeks. Resolve built in his eyes. He sniffled and rubbed his face, standing to look at me. I glanced away. There was something there I knew I would recognize if I looked too hard. The cub was safe. My purpose fulfilled. I fought where he could not. The only thing left to do was ensure the remaining assassin did not make a second attempt. The hunter would become the hunted. I started away in a trot, quickly picking up the trail of the second cat.
The tracks in the snow were enough, but I sniffed around for his scent anyway. A single snowfall could bury the trail. Once I memorized it, I started up the mountain. Something sharp pricked the pad of my paws a few steps in. I ignored it and kept going. It came again, in greater numbers this time. The sensation grew to prickling, then jabbing, until every step felt as if I were stabbed with invisible quills. I glanced at my tracks. The snow remained white. I back stepped a bit to see if there was something in or on my paws. They were cool and clean.
Looking up, nothing obstructed my path. Looking back, the cub quietly navigated the snow, following my trail. He glanced up, caught my stare, and picked up the pace. I picked up my own paws to avoid him. This time, they grew heavier with every step. I lifted them higher. My legs began to quiver, tired from lifting increasingly heavier boulders. I stamped to a stop, eyes slanted with a huff. It puffed out of my nose in a steamy cloud. I could not move forward because my purpose did not lie ahead, but behind. The Spirit no longer needed a hunter strong enough to repel the enemy, but a Mother disciplined enough to endure the cries of Ring Bears.
If only I was deaf.
I turned around on the cub who had come close enough to try and sneak a hold of my tail. He glanced up. I pinched my eyes at him. He pulled his greedy paws back to his chest and dropped his chin. I stared a little longer. He kept his head bowed and started biting at his claws. If he could not come to respect the boundaries of others, he would not survive. But his trials were great. This lesson in life taught him a great deal of death. Such knowledge was exhausting without proper conditioning. The best way to carry such weight was by lightening the load and the easiest way to do that was in its most literal sense.
I turned my back to the cub and sat in the snow. He raised his head. After a moment, I swept my tail, offering passage. I was no bear. Mighty Hena did not coddle or caress, but my back was still strong and my shoulders straight. So far, I had carried the weight of pups and owls and packs and stars. Why not add the burdens of bears as well? Understanding my intent, the cub began to hiccup, welling with tears once more. My throat rumbled with a small growl. In the next moment, the cub was on my hips, crawling up my back, and digging through my mane until he found a suitable spot to sit. The only other creatures I knew that could cling so fast were the monkeys of the High North. With my mane and body and blessing to warm him, the cub fell asleep almost instantly. I was glad he could not see the smile that crept onto my old grey face. It would have betrayed my earlier lesson.
With the cub in place, I trotted off into the woods, navigating the terrain I had grown accustomed to. We would not worry of the remaining assassin just yet. The cat would find a place to hide and lick its wounds before trying again. And when it did. I would be ready. Until then, I would do as I have done all season and make those in my shadow just as capable as myself. And for now, that meant rest and recuperation. My snow hold was nearby so we made our way toward it. It was deep, like a tunnel, nestled between some rocks and underbrush and heaps of snow that had accumulated into a large mound. The entrance path remained undisturbed aside from my own tracks, so I crawled in, curling around at the end where it was a little wider for sleeping.
I rested here before so the walls and floor and ceiling were well established, but bare. Mighty Hena did not need brush and sticks and leaves for our beds. Our manes and fur and bushy tails were enough. I went to inspect and clean the cub of his injuries, only to find that I could not reach him from his place on my back, so I rested instead, focusing on enhancing the cub's sleep. He slept and kept sleeping even when I moved around to try and get him to wake up. It was a useless effort. A bear's hibernation was a force as strong as the wild itself. But I would die if I did not get up and hunt, so the cub came with me.
In and out of the hold, on and off the game trail, everywhere I went, he rode along to look for food and game and ghosts. The latter of which, I found none. My purification was complete and the night, cold but calm. The day, bright and white. After a while, with so much activity, the cub could not help but awaken. He became more active whenever I was, adjusting to a life in winter full of travel and exploration and peace. Because of this, I spent most of my time foraging scraps for him. Now that he was awake more often, he needed to eat regularly to maintain enough weight to get through the winter, especially since he had spent almost all of his reserves fleeing from his would-be assassins.
We traveled together in the snow. He learned to come off of my back when prompted and became accustomed to the touch of my teeth as I groomed and inspected and taught him. He took to snuggling beside me in the nook I created when I curled up and wrapped my tail around to sleep. A storm rolled in, preventing us from going too far. After it ended, the cub was well enough for extended travel, so we left the hold. The hunt would not stop for a single unlikely pair like ourselves, so I took to the trail left behind by the Mountain Cats to find where the cub had come from. It was difficult work after a snowfall, but Mothers had a special patience for such things.
Together, we climbed higher up the mountain. The cub stayed within the warm confines of my mane, sticking his head out on occasion to watch the woods pass by. Winter had a way of sneaking up on almost every type of creature. Powdered ground made for quiet paws. Snowfall dampened the echoes. The wind did not make it far through a forest of bending boughs and the land itself was built to keep the eye wandering, if not curious. Therefore, it was easy to find one's self upon another without notice.
I caught a glimpse of the second spotted Mountain Cat as we came around a group of boulders. I quickly darted back out of sight and waited for another sense to trigger. The Spirit flared with my sudden change in behavior, but nothing else responded except the cub who ducked within the safety of my mane. The cat was upwind, but he might have missed me. Stealth favored creatures of the night, even in the day, such were our ways. But if the cat spotted me, this stillness was nothing but the pressure before the pounce. The cat could be waiting for me to reveal myself. With the cub on my back, I could not risk exposing him.
Better to come out teeth first.
I summoned a protective shield of energy around me. The cub grabbed my mane, knowing he would have to hang on tight if it came to battle. There was no safer place than my back. Ready for an attack, I darted out from the cover of the rocks and into the open. The Mountain Cat, rigid in death and captured by the cold of winter, dully snarled up at me. He lay in the snow the same way he had died. Which was a puzzling thing because there was very little blood or battle around him. It looked as if he had simply fallen over in the snow and did not get up again. I relaxed my hackles and cautiously sniffed my way over.
The cat was indeed dead. His eyes were dull and cloudy. Dried vomit crusted his lips next to the ice crystals. The cub poked his head out of my mane and looked the assassin over in a similar way. Finding out what killed the cat might just save ourselves in the future. The cold temperatures preserved the body from rot which explained the corpse's freshness. Even scavengers struggled to find food when snow covered the bodies, limiting the stench. There were no other tracks in the snow. No obvious scars or wounds other than those inflicted during our earlier fight. I dug around the body to clear away the snow.
Part of the cat's tail accidentally snapped off in the process. It was grotesquely discolored. Black and purple and rotting before the cold had claimed it. The flesh had melted away, and upon breaking, a powerful stench wafted into the air. The fur around the darkest parts of the tail were shriveled and mange like, thinning progressively up and down the tail from each side of the discoloration. Black splatter marked the snow where the tail had snapped, unable to freeze right away because of its makeup. There was only one type of substance I could think of that could do such a thing.
Poison.
A rarity among such seasons and conditions which made this death highly unusual. The infection started at the tail and made its way to the brain. Neurotoxins took decades to achieve such potency. But where did it come from? I looked at the cat's tail, the injection site, the bite. A strange taste filled my mouth, yet my stomach did not curdle. My nose did not turn from the smell despite the caution I normally exercised under such circumstances. I pulled back with the realization that I was not afraid because I was in no danger.
The poison belonged to me.
I opened my jaws and a familiar unpleasant taste filled my mouth. The same one I experienced after the fight with the two assassins. Triggered by the smell, I began to salivate a poison infused drool that coated my teeth. I quickly chomped down several mouthfuls of snow to clean them in case I should accidentally poison myself. The cub watched me curiously from above, looked at his paws and started chewing them in a similar manner. I knew of Mighty Hena harnessing the power of a poisonous fang after surviving toxic encounters. Such Hena became highly resistant to such things and could create a poison of their own based off of that which they were exposed, especially after being stimulated by said toxin.
The wild had rewarded my will to live by gifting me a fang as deadly as some of the oldest Hooded Backs in existence. It was likely never to be this strong again. Recharging two fang-fulls of poison was more likely to kill me than supply me. It was a highly risky and dangerous technique. I would have to use this fang with great care. After all, Mighty Hena communicated many different things with their mouths. But now a Hooded Back's bite would harm me in bite only. If any of my pack ate prey infected by my bite, my poison would become an antidote gained slowly over time. Even my grooming and playing would expose them. If successfully acclimated, the Hooded Backs and Golden Necks would no longer have an advantage against us.
The Mighty Hena's bite would be forever cemented as the superior force for generations to come.
I held myself a little higher, looking at the cat in new light. They always thought the Mighty Hena lesser creatures, like all others, but with an even greater disdain. Mutts they called us. Dogs. Incapable of sophistication and advancement and culture. Well, this old dog just learned a new trick and if the cats were not careful, I would tear their haughty airs right off of their thrones and drop them six feet under. But a bite was only as good as the teeth and jaws behind it and some creatures were built to handle such attacks.
A Ring Bear stood up in the distance, nose to the air and standing tall enough that I saw it crest the short rise ahead of us. It was following the cat's trail from the opposite direction. With a square head, dark brown fur, long white claws, and a bright fully developed ring on its stomach, it was a mature female. I remained still, relying on my stealth and stature to remain unnoticed. With the hill hiding my black paws and snowflakes dotting my mane, I did not stand out against the woods when not looked upon directly. If I turned around now and ran, the bear would never catch up to me. A battle avoided was a battle won. But the cub had no such reservation. He spotted the bear and started calling out to it.
I could not tell if he recognized the bear, assumed it was his mother, or was just so excited to see his own kind that he could not contain himself. But not all females were mothers and not all mothers cared for cubs outside of their kin. The bear heard his cries and looked at us with a hefty grunt, blowing a white cloud from her mouth. A spot of drool dangled from her protruding lips. There was no hiding now. Especially not when the cub clambered down from my back and started running through the snow toward the bear, bawling like he did when running from the mountain cats.
It did not do well to explain my presence.
The bear saw and heard the cub, quickly tracking where it came from. We met eyes and I braced myself, neither attacking nor fleeing. Holding steady. Triggering no reaction. But the bear already had its opinions of me. With unrequited rage, it roared, dropped down, and charged. The trees shuddered. My paws vibrated. The bear shook with every bounding step, plowing through the snow in a flurry. Its eyes remained locked on mine, boring through my gaze to intimidate me. Hating me. Wanting me dead. Such were the eyes of protectors when seeing their cub in the clutches of a villain. The cub was no longer in danger. My purpose here was fulfilled. Fighting a Ring Bear alone was no easy task, so I quickly turned and ran.
There was still enough distance to get away. I rounded the pile of rocks we came from only to come face to face with a second bear that was in the process of lifting a rock over its head. I reigned in my paws so fast, I flipped over. The rock soared past me and scooped out a ditch in the snow. I scrambled up right again and darted away from the path of both bears. My pivot turned me into the path of a third bear that came upon me before I could escape. Its roar was deafening and its thrusting paw quick as lightning. I ducked, mane whipping around the stake sized claws. My tail slapped the bear in the face as I passed, momentarily lowering its defenses. I only made it two paces before the very first bear caught up and tried to flatten me.
My quick paws pushed me out of the way and I landed in the path of a great heavy paw. It slapped me across the face. I spun into something, a tree. Snow dropped heavily around me. Dizzy, I stumbled out of the snow. The amount of slashing claws, flailing arms, and stomping legs coming at me were overwhelming. Using a thick series of rapid pulses that strobed outward, I pushed the three bears back before their attacks could land. But they were big and heavy and angry, so they only tottered back a few steps. Darkness was weak in the day and I could not risk anything stronger without knowing if the cub was clear or not. I could not risk taking the time to summon the energy needed for such attacks either.
Vison slowly aligning itself, I looked between my opponents strategically placed in an arch in front of me. One bear, I could hold my own. Two, I could escape. Three, I stood no chance. Especially when they thought me the cub's kidnapper although the real ones were already dead. They did not care because they did not know and the wild would never tell them the difference. I could not either. My voice would never reach theirs. Not when they roared and bellowed with a misdirected fury worth three times the amount that was due. They came at me again, akin to Berserkers. There was no time to think or to run. Only act upon instinct. So I opened my jaws and gave these bears something to remember me by.
