The bear is worse than I expected.
Massive, brown, male, half upright with one foreleg caught in the iron jaws of a leg trap. The chain is staked deepinto the ground. The leg above the trap is swollen black, the skin split where the bear has tried to pull free, bone visible through the mess. Flies. The smell up close makes my eyes water. Even Melori flinches.
The trap is old design. Heavy iron. Built for wolves.
Not for bears.
For us.
Melori has gone very still beside me.
Her eyes on the bear. Her hands on the pack at her hip.
"Axan."
"Yeah."
"That's a bear."
"Yup."
"That's not a bear-person, right?"
"No." His mouth pulls sideways and he fights it flat. "Just a bear."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Because a month ago I was sure werewolves weren't real and now I'm standing in a forest with three of them about to help a bear, so I am not ruling anything out."
"It's a bear, Mel." Kestria, close to her shoulder. "Just a bear."
"Fine. Okay. Regular bear." She exhales. "Good."
It sees us and the sound shakes the ground, low and guttural and building. It tries to lunge and the chain snaps taut and it roars, jaws wide, teeth yellow, spit flying. The good paw swipes—a full arm's reach, claws catching air.
"Now."
Axan hits it from the left, shoulder against the bear's side, driving it down and away from the trapped leg. It swings—fast, faster than something this injured should move—and Axan rolls clear and comes back harder, both hands on the shoulder, throwing his weight across it.
I go for the head.
My hands find the jaw, both sides, and the bear thrashesand my arms strain and its teeth snap six inches from my face. I wrench its head to the ground and hold. My back screams. The bear screams. I hold.
Two of us, not enough weight. The bear bucks and Axan slides, digs in, and I dig in, and the trapped leg jerks and the chain rattles and the sound the bear makes is not a roar—it's something worse.
It swipes. The good paw catches my forearm and three lines of fire open from elbow to wrist. I don't let go.
"Down!" Axan throws everything across the shoulder. The bear bucks again. He holds. Barely.
"Now!"
She's already there, on her knees beside the trapped leg, Kestria crouched next to her pulling herbs from Melori's pockets, laying out the waterskin, clearing space. Working together without talking—Kestria handing things before Melori asks.
Melori's fingers find the trap and she studies it for one second, two.
"I need to open this before I can treat the leg. Keer—can you reach the release?"
