We watched the bear from across the river. He waded through the shallows lifting his head every so often to sniff at the air while cold diamond droplets of water fell from his chin. He knew we were close and we believed it nerved him ever so slightly.

It had been a fortnight since my brother and I left camp. We had tracked the beast since, watching him travel up mountain streams and through evergreen. We watched him scratch his back against rough bark. We watched him pick ripe berries ever so delicately from thin bush. We watched him rip and maim and tear and take life with no remorse.

Today is the day we share our blood with his. The elder trapper had told us that a hunter can only kill after he has linked spirit with the animal. There must be a bond between both lives before one can take the other else the kill is murder. There is no reason in killing an unknown. There is no beauty there.

So we approached, our hands streaming with our blood.

The bear turned.
His eyes met ours.
And we understood.