8 | Black Bear

Thud. Thud. Thud.

A rhythmic whacking rings through the wooded distance. The air hung tight toward every living creature abound as it stole for heat like an abundant thief. The Alaskan expanse crawled across in a frozen forever. The world around was silent save for the blowing gales and the trodding of animals through the crunchy snow. A pack of caribou trodded up the bumpy ground and formed a huddled group to contain what little warmth remained in the early morning. Birds not native to the area flew above, trying to remove themselves from the equation entirely—this was a land where none but the most dedicated remained to scavenge.

All but for the hunter and his young apprentice, like a pair set out on a cruel banishment from the world. The hunter was a middle aged man who was bundled up from head to toe in various layers of different colored garments. Thick muscle bounded tight against the two layered coat he was wearing. He was overseeing the apprentice, who stood against a tree with a hatchet in hand. The apprentice's face was red with sweat even though he was wearing significantly less layers than his mentor.

"C'mon Roshe," the mentor called, arms crossed. "Put your back into it. You'll never earn your keep with small strikes like that."

Roshe, who must have been no older than fifteen, was breathing heavy. He held the hatchet over his head and closed his eyes. He screamed as he brought it down against the tree. It sunk in deep, he was having difficulty removing it from the bark.

His mentor shook his head and sighed. "Screaming like that is going to alert everything in the area you're some lunatic."

"Who cares," He finally rips the hatchet out of the tree. "I'll have my prey where I want it. Then I just..." he brings the hatchet down like he did before.

"Your arrogance will bring you a single meal, maybe. If you're lucky enough to not disturb the whole damn wood before you get the chance. But only a single time like that—you'd starve within a month. What creature would you survive on when your celebratory screams give your position off?"

Roshe bared his teeth in anger, "I don't need you to tell me what to do. Those creatures out there should be scared! The second I find them their fates are sealed."

"You speak nothing but the sounds of an impudent child," the mentor calls. "If you so refuse to listen, why are you here? Why have you enlisted my help when you so summarily are set on doing things your own way?"

Roshe flinched at this. He stared at his hatchet and then his hand that held it.

"You will only survive in the wild if you learn to respect the wild. Do you know how many people tried to imprint their will on the wood? How many people fall to their hubris—how many—"

"I get it!" Roshe cried out, his frustrating welling within him. "I get it. Just...let's start this over."

The mentor stared at him, silently observing the brash boy who looked to be skinnier than the handle of the hatchet he carried. He knew this boy's hesitation to listen would be the cause of his unfortunate but inevitable death. His growing impatience all but signed the warrant with the devil. He stood there all at once wondering how better he could be spending his time, but knew that nothing would change his course. He owed this brat's father a life-debt, and it is from that cause in his friend's absence that he try to teach the boy to at least become self sufficient.

He stood watching the boy study him up and down, as if sensing the rebelliousness nature in that look alone. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "Okay. Begin your breathing exercises from the top. Envision your kill out in front of you, and practice again. You're never prepared for the moment when you're finishing a living creature off, but the least you can do is make the motion one of habit. Then at least when the moment arrives you can shelve your own emotions and let the muscle memory take over, but first you need to slow your temper now."

Roshe closed his own eyes. He slowed his breathing and tried to cool his anger and imagined a large bear splayed out in front of him. The vision took over as he imagined the thickness of the pelt and in the shadows the image transformed. It grew thinner, darker, and suddenly the anger threatened to return. It was more than a bear. He wanted to...no...he couldn't let it be more than a bear. He couldn't think of that now...not here. Not yet. Bring...back...the...bear.

Inside his mind the bear's visage returned, he slowed his breathing. The dark figure vanished and he imagined the black pelt of the creature and how it would almost shine after a heavy rain. How the triumph would wash over him after taking him down. How victorious a meal that would become. He raised his arm and brought the hatchet down against the bark. He swung with a cool breeze running through his mind. The arc his arm sent the hatchet was a really good swing. Inside he felt proud of the power behind it. One single swipe.

The thud against the tree didn't come. He was surprised when his arm continued all the way through. In place of the thick thud, a loud scream echoed throughout his soul. He opened his eyes, the tree in front of him was no longer so. In front of him was white all the way to the horizon. The rugged uneven ground was pure and flat. It was a sight so astonishing that Roshe dropped the hatchet. It fell into the soft sand that was where snow should have been.

He turned to see the spot where his mentor stood was a single tree rooted upward. At the apex of the tallest branch he saw his mentor...or what used to be him. His flesh was stretched over the branch like a sock. Branches spiked out of his body in fractal formations. What used to be his arms were bent at odd angles as the flesh melded to the bark. It were as if his bones were completely replaced from the inside out. He couldn't see what happened to the rest of him—the horrible sight that remained on his face was burned into his memory.

Like many who entered the new world, Roshe entered alone. He wandered through the sands until the world below him opened up. What used to be a great river was now a large sand pit—looser and finer than the beaches of old.

Roshe did not ask questions. He did not cry for his mentor, and nor did he perish to the sands. Life was one way, and then it was another. Like the bear he so thought of taking down, he moved forward and hunted what presented itself. He survived.

~...~

The axe fell through the flesh simply. Like a final note in a grand orchestra hanging to a silent crowd—the hesitant audience laying in suspense before the applause broke out. Its force was heaved by the man now older and taller—the scrufflings of his beard had now filled out. His muscles were more refined, his body had filled out through hard work and determination. His hair was tied back in a bun, and he now held the axe through the neck of the large bear that he had set his eyes on from quite a distance. The beast's black pelt stood out from the white sands in the area. He had floated from grand company to company. Always filling the role they needed for a gatherer.

This moment was what he lived for. The exact moment that the steel met flesh. The control he had in exactly how long his prey had left to live. The people he joined with always desired to come together—to forge bonds. To start new families.

Roshe did not understand this. Even as a small child he knew few things solidly: people required food, shelter, and water. Anything else was optional. He thought of how short a time he had with his own family before the truth of their deaths came to his forefront. He would have died that same night—the storm was heavy and ripped through the hut they had called home. The figure was cloaked in shadow from the streaks of lightning across the sky, and with a glimmering blade they brought it down seamlessly and ended his father's life.

He was back staring at the bear. In truth it never was just a bear. None of his prey were. In essence they each served as an invisible tie to the figure he hunted. The figure borne of blood who brought him into this world as he is now. The outsider to the world. He knew not even a face, but each kill he made—each life he took was one closer to gaining that which he sought.

He gripped the bear's corpse tight and worked his way up to a standing position. The bear's head held in one hand. When the deed was done he returned back to base. He returned to whatever pattern he had fallen into until he next went out on a hunt. Through the new world, larger creatures revealed their terrifying threats to the surviving human population. The people he worked with were glad of his energy as he had been tasked with eliminating humanity's greatest threats that only continued to pop up with the new mutations in the land. Roshe went on a mad hunt for every single one, until the day came where he could find that darkened figure and they're glowing blade.