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I sigh as the tension flows away. Tomorrow, the hunt begins and like I always do, I feel like life begins tomorrow as well.
Russel
As the golden rays of the rising sun cascade through the dense, towering evergreens, I bask a moment in the warmth. If I were purely bear, I might emerge from a cozy den nestled within the heart of the North American wilderness instead of a cozy cabin. Of course, I have a number of cozy dens although strictly speaking, they’re more holes and caves than dens because my home is the cabin. I haven’t eaten in a day because I feel the urge to become my bear, so a rumble echoes in the pit of my stomach.
I step down the wooden steps of the porch and take in a deep breath of air before I shift into my bear. I’m a black bear but large, larger than a grizzly or even a polar bear. In the wild, a large black bear weighs about six hundred pounds, the weight of a typical grizzly. The biggest on record isn’t quite 900 pounds although there is an argument that one killed in 1972 that wasn’t weighed until after it was dressed by the hunter might have been more than a thousand pounds. Seeing a nine-hundred-pound polar bear isn’t uncommon at all except for the fact that seeing a polar bear is in and of itself an uncommon thing.
I weigh just short of thirteen-hundred pounds in bear form. I suppose if I’m being pedantic, polar bears can and often do weigh more than thirteen-hundred pounds, but on average they weigh just shy of a thousand, so I guess I should say I weigh more than an average polar bear.
Whatever, you get the point. Pedantry is for humans anyway.
With each lumbering step and every breath taken, the earth seems to come alive beneath my massive paws. The crisp morning air carries the distinct scent of life, connecting me with the myriad of creatures that inhabit this vast ecosystem. As I venture forth into the verdant landscape, my senses sharpen, keenly attuned to the rhythm of the wild.
Damn I love it.
There are many shifters who have managed to integrate into the civilization of their human side. Lions, surprisingly, are particularly attuned to human civilization, possibly because lion society is communal and organized in family units the way human society is. Tigers are less involved in human society, but very attuned to human comforts, often living in very lavish homes although they tend to enjoy placing those homes close to the wilderness. Wolves tend more toward the wild than the civilized but still spend a considerable amount of time integrating with humans. Dragons… well, dragons are another thing altogether.
As for bears, even when we’re human, we’re out of place when we’re out of the wild. There are about three hundred bears in a forty-mile radius around this spot. Two dozen of them are bear shifters. We’re here because in this area, bears cannot be hunted. Ultimately, no bear shifter has ever been killed by a bullet. We’re too big and we heal too quickly. Nonetheless, it hurts like hell, and, more to the point, we tend to kill whoever shot us, and that hurts everyone.
The bear shifters here and another two-hundred or so in a larger radius all belong to me. They’re my responsibility. I’m their leader. What that means in practice is that I am their judge and they come to me if there is a dispute that they cannot settle themselves. It also means I am often brought tribute, of sorts, which usually comes in the form of food, preserves or honey or hams from wild boars. I’m not a leader in the sense that I could just command a bear to do something, and he would. Well, he would if he wanted to, but not because he’s obligated to.
My search for food commences near the crystal-clear river that meanders through my land. I know that the salmon journey upstream during this season, and their arrival is imminent. The river is an abundant source of the vital proteins and fats my massive body requires to thrive. Of course, shifter physiology is a little different. I could eat as a human and the nutrition and caloric intake translates to the equivalent for the bear in me.
I’m not sure why that’s the case, but anyway, where’s the fun in eating like a human when I can hunt?
Guided by the subtle disturbances in the water's surface, I lean forward dexterously, extending a paw armed with razor-sharp claws. Bracing against the powerful current, I detect the subtle thrum of ephemeral movements beneath the pristine surface. A quick dip of my head secures me a slippery prize between my sturdy jaws, a nice sockeye salmon.
Satisfied with my initial conquest, I retreat into the foliage-lined banks, carving a tranquil alcove hidden from prying eyes. There aren’t any eyes here, of course, but it’s instinctual for me to seek shelter from observation. Engulfed in solitude, I embrace the ancient ritual of feasting on my catch. The succulent flesh, red as the burning embers of a dying fire, nourishes my hunger while satiating my primal instincts.
I know this all seems flowery and over-descriptive, but it’s difficult to put into words the sensory experience of a bear.
Even as I gorge myself on the succulent bounty, I remain acutely vigilant. Aware that I am not alone in my pursuit, my heightened senses are attuned to the slightest alteration in the symphony of the forest. I can detect the rustling of leaves, and the crackling twigs that betray the presence of other foraging creatures, whether it be another bear vying for the same riches or a cunning wolf eyeing the scraps of my feast.
But I hear nothing.
I sense nothing.
I leave the remnants of the salmon for scavengers and continue my journey. Watchful and ever-aware, I gradually expand my search beyond the riverbanks, methodically traversing the sprawling meadows brimming with berries in their fullest bloom. The bushes quiver under the weight of ripe huckleberries and plump raspberries woven into a tapestry of vibrant hues.
With remarkable dexterity, I delicately pluck these bountiful bites, allowing me to savor each explosion of flavor with measured grace. Meticulously navigating the landscape, I become an agent of ecological harmony, an emissary of seed dispersal. For as I feast upon these tiny fruits, their seeds cling to my thick fur, carried on to distant lands, ensuring the continuance of diverse plant communities.
Again, forgive me.
A pure bear would do all of this on instinct.
A pure human wouldn’t express things the way I do.
Somehow, the combination of human intellect and emotion with bear instinct and physicality takes the wild of this world and expresses it poetically and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.
As the sun climbs higher, casting its warming glow upon the land, my search persists. The forest conceals a plethora of other treats, a twisted maze of insect larvae nestled beneath the bark of decaying trees, tender patches of grass teeming with protein-rich ants, and secret burrows concealing small rodents.
With every passing hour, my appetite begins to wane, and I retreat back into the comforting shadow of the woods, seeking respite beneath the shade of towering conifers. I nestle myself among the fragrant foliage, reflecting on the morning's success.
As twilight kisses the sky and the buzzing chorus of nightly creatures emerges, I allow myself a moment of contentment. Satiated for now, I revel in the delicate balance of my animal nature and my human nature. I rise and head back toward the cabin. I’ll sleep well tonight, the near-desperate need to go wild satisfied.
And I will think of Melody, I think. In all my life, I felt only for one woman an emotion strong enough to call me from the wild. One week was not enough with her but it was all I received. Even though it was not enough, that week was, nonetheless, the greatest gift of my life.
And then, I hear the gunshot and the unmistakable scream of a mountain lion wounded but not killed by a careless hunter.
