Interlude 67: Calling Vengeance

Hunting fierce beasts was never easy.

Russ had lost count of how many wild animals he had hunted in his life. Yet by his standards, only a scant dozen or so could truly be called fierce beasts—fewer than he could count on both hands.

He was very good at dealing with enemies armed with fangs and claws, thick hides, and boundless strength. He knew when to evade, when to provoke—and most importantly, he knew to consider the consequences before acting.

This rare philosophy had flowed through his heart since he was very young. It had originated with an old hunter of the tribe, who had once taught Russ the art of hunting.

One morning, after the snow had stopped, they entered the forest to try and hunt a mountain deer or two for the tribe to eat. The old hunter had even promised that if it was a stag, its antlers would belong to Russ. But they saw no deer that morning. Instead, they saw two bears.

One was a cub, staring at them in bewilderment. The other was its mother, terribly thin, her fur hanging from her like a shriveled tapestry.

Russ had thought it a fine opportunity and drawn an arrow. But just as he was about to draw his bow, the old hunter abruptly raised a hand and seized the shaft.

"Don't," he said softly. "Let them go."

Russ had wanted to move. In fact, if he had insisted on defying him, even his strength at that time would have been enough to tear the old hunter to pieces in an instant. Yet he did not do so. His instincts quietly warned him otherwise.

In the end, the mother bear and her cub watched them from where they stood for quite a while before turning away. They