Something grabs my ankle and rips me off the ground. The world flips, trees wheeling past as I’m launched upward. I flail on instinct, swiping at empty air, and the motion jerks me into a wild spin. Blood surges to my head, pounding in my long, half?orc ears.
The spin slows into a heavy sway. My body bobs in a loose, nauseating rhythm, rising and dipping as whatever has me stretches under my weight. Shapes finally stop blurring, and the forest settles into something I can make sense of again. My ankle burns where something tight has cinched around it.
As the motion steadies, the forest floor comes into focus — my great?axe lying on the ground glinting in the sunlight, leaves shifting in a lazy breeze, the distant rumble of fast water threading through the trees. The calm feels wrong against the bite digging into my leg.
That’s when it clicks: I walked right into a trap. I am no longer alone; someone else is out here.
The snare holds me fast, its rough cord digging into my ankle. The world spins slightly with each desperate swing. The blood rushing to my head grows more disorienting by the moment.
I reach for the hunting knife attached to my belt and strain as I reach up to cut the rope. The rope groans, fibers stretch to their breaking point — and then, with a sudden snap, it gives way.
I tumble awkwardly to the forest floor, landing with a thud. I’m free.
I lay there for a moment as the blood rushes from my head. The world spins in reverse. Relief floods in. I push myself to my feet, rubbing my chafed ankle, and take a moment to reorient myself.
I scan the immediate vicinity and quickly pick up my fallen great?axe. Now the question is, who set this trap? Other than the trap itself, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary — no tracks and no disturbed earth beyond the imprint of my own fall. Despite my efforts, the forest offers no easy answers, no obvious signs of who set the trap.
As I stand there searching for clues, a faint, rhythmic thumping echoes through the trees, growing subtly louder. Heavy footfalls — approaching with purpose — large branches bending and breaking with the movement. Something massive is coming my way.
My heart pounds as I scramble to find cover, trying to blend into the dense undergrowth. But my large frame and the suddenness of my movements make true concealment impossible. A twig snaps loudly beneath my boot, and a rustle of leaves betrays my position.
The thumping grows deafening, and then — a hulking figure bursts through the trees. A monstrous grizzly bear with a deep scar across its muzzle. Its dark eyes lock onto mine, a low growl rumbling deep in its chest. It drags a broken snare from its leg — the same type of crude trap that held me.
The bear’s posture, the intense growl, and its unwavering stare leave no doubt. It sees me as a threat, an intruder in its territory. It stands on its hind legs, and drool flies from its mouth as it roars.
“I have no wishes to fight you!” I shout, staring into the bear’s furious eyes. I try to stand tall and appear as big as I can.
But my words fall on deaf ears. All the bear appears to hear are angry words. It snorts and flares its nostrils. My feeble attempt at intimidation did nothing to quell its rage.
The grizzly charges — a blur of muscle and claw, a whirlwind of fur and teeth.
I sidestep the initial rush and lunge, scrambling forward with desperate speed, my hands closing around my axe handle, swinging it with both hands into a ready stance. My eyes lock with the enraged beast as I brace for whatever comes next.
The bear lunges forward with a furious roar, massive paws rising to swipe with razor?sharp claws. I try to shift, but the claws rake across my side, shredding through layers of cloth and leather before they find skin, leaving a hot, stinging line of pain. A cry tears out of me as the force of the blow crashes through my body.
The impact hurls me sideways, putting me out of the bear’s immediate reach. I roll and scramble to my feet, staring the beast down.
A cold sweat breaks across my skin as an electric jolt of fear flickers through my body, leaving my breath sharp and uneven. My fingers barely hold the axe; my limbs feel weak and unsteady, like they might give out at any moment. I try to draw on my divine fire, reaching for it the way I always do — but nothing stirs. Even lifting the axe is a struggle, and holding myself upright with it takes everything I have. There’s no focus left to summon anything greater.
The grizzly roars again as it barrels forward, claws extended, aiming to tear into me once again. A glancing blow connects with my leg — a dull thud against my padded leather leggings. It doesn’t penetrate, but the impact is jarring.
With the bear next to me, I grab its thick fur and try to climb onto its back. My hands dig into its matted coat, slick with sweat and forest debris.
The bear roars, twisting violently, shrugging me off with a powerful twist.
I hit the ground hard, barely managing to keep hold of my axe. Before the beast can close the distance with me, I roll and scramble behind a thick cedar trunk, putting it between us.
I look heavenward. “Father, this is up to you!” I plead, raising my axe as the bear comes for another swipe.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
As the bear barrels around the tree, I heft my great?axe, torn muscles flaring as I swing it in a wide, powerful arc toward the enraged grizzly. The steel cleaves through the air to where it finds its mark with a CRACK deep into the bear’s ribs that shudders up my arms. The bear’s roar collapses into a choking grunt as its legs buckle. For an instant, the blade is wedged fast, held by bone and muscle. Then the beast thrashes, and I’m forced to wrench the axe free.
Then, with a deep growl, the critically wounded bear charges at me, primal rage still burning in its eyes. Its massive paws and snapping jaws aim to finish the fight—but its desperate lunge is clumsy. I dodge the heavy swipe, feeling the wind of its claws pass just inches from my skin.
Seeing the bear’s persistence in its weakened state, I choose survival. I turn heel and sprint, hoping to lose it in the dense undergrowth. My wounded body screams in protest, but adrenaline surges through me. I weave through trees and bushes, the forest blurring around me. The bear’s roars fade behind me as I put distance between us. I’ve escaped—for now, bleeding, but alive.
I want to watch the bear from a distance, to see if its rage subsides. But my body protests. Every breath is a shallow, painful gasp. The raw edges of my wounds burn. The bear’s roars still echo faintly. I know its senses are sharp. To linger here, wounded and exposed, hoping it calms down—that’s a death wish. My vision swims. The forest blurs. I need rest. I need safety.
I find a secluded hollow beneath the thick canopy of ancient trees, far from the site of our battle. With trembling hands, I tear strips from my tunic to bind my wounds, wincing at the pain. Dusk settles, and the forest quiets. I collapse, exhaustion claiming me completely.
Hours pass. When I stir, the first rays of dawn filter through the leaves. My body still aches, but the wounds are no longer fresh. They have scabbed over, but are still fragile. Despite my wounds, however, my thoughts are on the bear... Did I kill it? I feel this weird compulsion to go look for it.
“I must be crazy,” I mutter as I retrace my steps and scan the forest floor, searching for broken twigs, scuff marks, or droplets of blood—anything that might lead me back to the bear. I follow faint signs, pushing through dense thickets and weaving around ancient trees. But the forest is a master of concealment. Wounded or not, the bear has vanished. After what feels like hours, I realize I’ve lost the trail completely.
My focus then shifts, looking for food sources the bear might return to. My instincts guide me toward the sound of the river, and as I draw closer, I find a cluster of wild mulberry trees, heavy with ripe, dark fruit. They’re untouched, plump, and fragrant—exactly what a foraging bear would seek. I’m hungry anyway, so I start helping myself to them.
I gather the berries, dropping them into a makeshift pouch fashioned from my mended tunic. I work quickly, collecting enough berries while keeping a wary eye on the underbrush. I consider building a fire, but the river’s roar is unsettling; it seems to be growing louder and more furious. Mist creeps through the trees, clinging to my skin. The ground feels damp—not just from dew, but something deeper. I realize staying here would be a mistake. The river’s voice warns of a threat greater than any bear.
I abandon my plans for a fire and head uphill. I scramble over roots and rocks, mist swirling around my knees, vision obscured. The roar intensifies with each step, vibrating through the ground. Then the canopy thins, and I emerge onto a rocky clearing. Below me, the river has burst its banks—a torrent of dark, churning water surging through the forest, swallowing everything in its path. I stand just above the rising floodwaters.
My legs carry me swiftly over uneven terrain as I keep climbing. The roar fades behind me, its destruction confined to the lower forest. The mist thins, replaced by crisp, cold air. Eventually, I reach a flat expanse of ancient, gnarled trees. The ground is solid rock, untouched by the flood. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I notice a soft, pulsating glow deeper in the woods. It feels out of place, but I ignore it as my thoughts drift back to the bear. The river’s fury would have swept through its territory, leaving little untouched.
Driven by a powerful, almost desperate instinct, I scour the rocky terrain, my eyes now accustomed to the muggy darkness. My survival instincts guide me—not to the bear, but to a chilling scene. Clinging to a jagged rock, just above the furious, swirling waters, I find remnants of what must have been the bear’s lair—torn branches, a patch of fur matted with mud, the scent of damp earth and animal distress. Deep claw marks score the stone—signs of a desperate struggle against the rising flood, but the bear is gone. The flood, a godly snare, has swept through its home.
Amid the muddy debris and soaked leaves, a faint whimper catches my ear. Beneath an overturned root, I find two tiny bundles of fur, no larger than my forearm. Bear cubs. Shivering. Eyes shut tight. Trembling from cold and shock. They’re too young to survive alone. *Was that the mother I was fighting?* I scoop them up gently, settling their tiny bodies along my forearms so their weight rests in the crook of my arms. It frees my hands just enough to keep hold of the great?axe’s handle as I rise.
The cubs whimper softly, their warmth a small comfort against the damp night air. Shelter on this exposed terrain is far from ideal. I cradle the cubs close, their vulnerability stark against the wild, dangerous night.
As I take them to higher ground, I see a strange pulsing light in the distant trees that seems to call to me. As I approach, the glow grows brighter, revealing more detail. It’s not fire, but a gentle radiance that emanates from a cluster of ancient, moss-covered stones arranged in a rough nest-like circle. At the center, a large translucent crystal pulses with soft, internal light. The air is still. Slightly warm. A subtle hum vibrates through the ground.
I set the cubs down gently, their soft whimpers a counterpoint to the crystal’s hum. Reaching for the smaller glowing stones scattered around the circle, I feel a faint warmth bloom beneath my skin. As my fingers close around them, a faint energy thrums through the stones into me, soothing my pains. Each stone feels gently restorative. The cubs stir slightly, calmed by it all.
A chill breeze brushes past, threatening the fragile peace, so I draw the cubs closer and use my body as a windbreak. Their whimpers fade as they burrow into my warmth, their tiny breaths a gentle rhythm against my body. The crystal’s glow spills softly over us, like lantern?light through evergreen branches, warm and steady and impossibly peaceful. Wrapped in that quiet radiance, I drift to sleep.
When dawn breaks, painting the sky in soft hues of grey and pink, I wake to the feeling of small paws stirring against me. The cubs blink owlishly at the new day. They seem stronger. The river’s roar has faded to a distant murmur. The air is clean and crisp and my body feels renewed. I have never seen healing like this before.
I look out over the area — the ancient stones, the gnarled trees, the rocky ground. *There is something about this place… something sacred…* It doesn’t feel like just a shelter. It feels like the embrace of God through the land itself. It is something I don’t want to let go of. *It isn’t like I have a home to return to… why not make this my home, building it here around these glowing stones?* The cubs snuggle close, their eyes curious. It will take time and effort. I’ll need to fell trees, clear ground, and gather materials, but I also feel compelled to take care of the cubs—feed them, protect them, and keep them warm. It’s a commitment unlike any I’ve known. But as I look into their innocent faces, confirmation settles in me — *this is something I need to do.*