The Way of the Beast

***

  "I'm getting cold," Tull said with a sniff, interrupting Stenhelt's reminiscent thoughts.

  The light snow had dwindled away, but was being replaced with a harsher wind. "Maybe you should go back home and get the hearth blazing," Sten said to his shivering brother. "I think more snow will come tonight."

  Tullgar stood, grabbing up his pack and the sack of ducks. He noticed that Sten remained seated on the flat rock with a line cast out into an eddy of the stream. "Aren't you coming?"

  Stenhelt half-turned back to his brother and shook his head. "I think I'll try to catch a few. Tell father I'll check the trap lines before I get back. Tell mother I'll be in before evening meal. Oh, and tell Iri not to come out looking for me."

  They shared a quick smile before Tull turned and walked off without another word.

  It was a short while later, after a respectable trout was pulled ashore, that Sten was once again lost in thought. Sensing movement, he looked across the wide, shallow stream. Almost directly across on the far bank was a large, lone fir tree whose branches were being disturbed. Sten could tell that something of good size was brushing against the back side of the fir, catching a glimpse of light brown fur. Stenhelt wasn't prepared for what soon stepped into view.

  It was a bear, but not like any bear he'd ever seen before. Kaldevarran bears were dark brown, their length sometimes matching a man's height, and their weight equaling two or three men. What Stenhelt was breathlessly staring at - and what was staring directly back at him - was no Kaldevarran bear. It was easily twice the bulk of one, half again the length, and had a golden brown coat. The huge animal came to the creek bank and stood, taking in scents.

  Stenhelt felt a surge of vitality, a feeling he had become familiar with. The first time was four cycles back, when he fought the wood curs. He'd feel it whenever he'd be close to Temper or the other horses at the estate, or that time deep in the Cragwood where he stalked and killed the elk. Less than two seasons ago when he chased the fox, even then Sten felt the invigorating energy flowing through him. It offered him a well of strength, agility and endurance. And, because he'd seen the change in himself when he gave in to that power, it also terrified him.

  The giant bear went back down onto four paws, turned, and began walking away toward the far tree line. For reasons he couldn't explain, Stenhelt wanted to track the bear. Not to hunt - just to learn more about the beast. It was a rash idea. His father would probably give him swats for even having such a foolish notion.

  He hurried across the knee-deep creek as soon as the bear moved into the forest.

  Quickly across the open land, Stenhelt paused at the tree line. The wind moved from his right to left, carrying only scents of evergreens. There was no movement in the trees except where the breeze pushed at bare or green-needled branches. There was no sound of old leaves rustling, or of twigs crunching underfoot.

  Taking a few cautious steps into the trees, Stenhelt searched and found... nothing. Not one sign, not one print, of the bear's passing. He wondered how any creature that big could simply disappear into snow-dusted woods.

  Determined not to be bested or fooled, Stenhelt ventured a little further into the dense patch of trees. He was halfway up a low-sloped hill when the smell of wood smoke and wintergreen tea filled his nose. Sten hesitated, confused and cautious, wondering who the camper could be.

  The other men in Bruvaal who hunted usually kept to the west, or north beyond the trail; they weren't known to venture into the southern depths of the Cragwood. Even if they did, those men knew better than to look for game so near his father's property. Halivik would see it as intruding on his domain and take issue.

  Stenhelt moved up and to the right where the terrain was rockier. Fewer trees found purchase in the jutting bedrock, which left him less cover for defense or stealth. A thin trail of white smoke rose from over an expansive outcrop just ahead. Whoever was camping was doing so openly on the far side of the prominent stony hillock. Keeping alert in case the stealthy giant bear returned, Sten circled slowly around the rock formation to get a view of the camp.

  The bedrock sloped back where it met the ground, creating a natural concave shelter from wind and weather. From a side angle, Sten could see the profile of a figure sitting cross-legged in front of a small fire below that overhang.

  Just by the posture, he guessed the camper to be a man. A blanket or maybe a thick wool cloak of faded blue was draped over the man's head and shoulders, and tucked under his backside. Sten was only able to see the tip of the man's nose from his current position, so he scanned the rest of the small clearing for clues.

  There was no ground snow anywhere near the fire, so it had been lit for some time. There was no hauling sled or pull-wagon for gathered furs, nor any other trappings of a skinner in sight. Except for a stout walking stick that was propped against the overhanging stone, the man had no weapons set out within reach to mark him as a hunter or soldier.

  A small tin pot sat on one of the stones that surrounded the campfire, letting the heat reach its contents. That dented pot, like the old blanket over the stranger, was too plain to be owned by a man of means. Unless the stranger was a wayward hermit, Sten had no idea why he was there.

  It then occurred to Sten that his pack - and his weapons, damn his fool brain - were back on the north bank of Scroll Creek. His thoughts raced quickly, deciding to quietly backtrack and then race home to tell his father what he'd seen. Before he took a step, the camper turned his shadowed face directly at Sten and held steady.