I walked through the woods, bow in hand, dagger on hip, quiver on back. I had found some bear tracks, and was following them. Most people back home would’ve considered it suicidal. Cowards, I thought. Bears make good rugs, good meals, good clothes, and their claws are good to put on gauntlets to put blood in a punch. I had some of those on me right now, and about six more pairs back at home to sell. I call them claw gauntlets: made of bear hide and bear claws. That’s how I make a living. I sell things made from bears. Of course, I hunt other things too. I hunt foxes, ducks, deer, birds, and whatever else I can get my hands on. I keep everything I find sacks, each one containing parts of its respective animal. I don’t sell food though. I eat it myself. No, I use the non-edible parts like the furs, claws, and teeth for my work.

I had an empty sack with me, as I was determined to get some more claws for my projects. It was strapped to my hip, though, soon it would be slung over my shoulder as I happily marched back to my camp. It wasn’t long before I found where the tracks lead. They stopped at the mouth of a cave, and it was there that I made the most foolish decision of my life: I entered.

It reeked of fish, manure, and other smells that I couldn’t identify. I walked onward, and realized that it was a rather large cave. The light began to get dimmer, so I lit a torch. Every hunter knows you should carry one. The light cast eerie shadows along the walls, and that was when I really began to notice the quiet. Silence; nothing but the sound of my own footsteps. Each one sounded like thunder compared to the stillness of the cave. Nothing.

I was about to head back, when I heard breathing. This is my chance, I thought. I’ll admit, the roar frightened me. Here I was, walking in silence, and then there comes a thundering noise from in front of me. I saw it, and it saw me. My plan was to draw it out from the cave, though at this distance if it charged I’d be done for. It started towards me.

The bear was slowly getting faster. I was getting flashbacks of my life. My first bow on my seventh birthday, my first love, my grandpa’s death, people accusing me of overhunting even though I only kill two to three animals a month on average. The bear broke into a run, and I knew why. It felt trapped, so it was going on the defensive. It was getting brighter, yet ironically more grim. I could see without the torch! I threw it at the bear, and drew an arrow. It got closer. I lined up the shot and drew my bow. It got closer. The arrow stuck into the bear’s shoulder. It roared, and before I could draw another arrow, it pounced.

I drew my dagger, and the bear landed on me. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. After stabbing it, it recoiled. I felt blood trickling down my face, though that was to be expected. I got up before the bear could pounce again, and leaped on its back. It began shaking wildly, trying to buck me off as a wild horse does, but I held on to its ears, and didn’t fall off. Drawing my dagger yet again, I plunged it into its neck. The sound of roaring ceased, and the shaking stopped.

It was then that I realized how much pain I was in, and how lucky I was to be alive. My ribs ached, my leg was ripped open, and there was a gash in my right temple. A little further off and my eye would be gone. Boy, would I have a story to tell the townsfolk. I tended to my wounds, then lugged the beast back to the camp. I walked through the woods, bow in hand, dagger on hip, quiver on back. I had found some bear tracks, and was following them. Most people back home would’ve considered it suicidal. Cowards, I thought. Bears make good rugs, good meals, good clothes, and their claws are good to put on gauntlets to put blood in a punch. I had some of those on me right now, and about six more pairs back at home to sell. I call them claw gauntlets: made of bear hide and bear claws. That’s how I make a living. I sell things made from bears. Of course, I hunt other things too. I hunt foxes, ducks, deer, birds, and whatever else I can get my hands on. I keep everything I find sacks, each one containing parts of its respective animal. I don’t sell food though. I eat it myself. No, I use the non-edible parts like the furs, claws, and teeth for my work.

I had an empty sack with me, as I was determined to get some more claws for my projects. It was strapped to my hip, though, soon it would be slung over my shoulder as I happily marched back to my camp. It wasn’t long before I found where the tracks lead. They stopped at the mouth of a cave, and it was there that I made the most foolish decision of my life: I entered.

It reeked of fish, manure, and other smells that I couldn’t identify. I walked onward, and realized that it was a rather large cave. The light began to get dimmer, so I lit a torch. Every hunter knows you should carry one. The light cast eerie shadows along the walls, and that was when I really began to notice the quiet. Silence; nothing but the sound of my own footsteps. Each one sounded like thunder compared to the stillness of the cave. Nothing.

I was about to head back, when I heard breathing. This is my chance, I thought. I’ll admit, the roar frightened me. Here I was, walking in silence, and then there comes a thundering noise from in front of me. I saw it, and it saw me. My plan was to draw it out from the cave, though at this distance if it charged I’d be done for. It started towards me.

The bear was slowly getting faster. I was getting flashbacks of my life. My first bow on my seventh birthday, my first love, my grandpa’s death, people accusing me of overhunting even though I only kill two to three animals a month on average. The bear broke into a run, and I knew why. It felt trapped, so it was going on the defensive. It was getting brighter, yet ironically more grim. I could see without the torch! I threw it at the bear, and drew an arrow. It got closer. I lined up the shot and drew my bow. It got closer. The arrow stuck into the bear’s shoulder. It roared, and before I could draw another arrow, it pounced.

I drew my dagger, and the bear landed on me. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. After stabbing it, it recoiled. I felt blood trickling down my face, though that was to be expected. I got up before the bear could pounce again, and leaped on its back. It began shaking wildly, trying to buck me off as a wild horse does, but I held on to its ears, and didn’t fall off. Drawing my dagger yet again, I plunged it into its neck. The sound of roaring ceased, and the shaking stopped.

It was then that I realized how much pain I was in, and how lucky I was to be alive. My ribs ached, my leg was ripped open, and there was a gash in my right temple. A little further off and my eye would be gone. Boy, would I have a story to tell the townsfolk. I tended to my wounds, then lugged the beast back to the camp. I walked through the woods, bow in hand, dagger on hip, quiver on back. I had found some bear tracks, and was following them. Most people back home would’ve considered it suicidal. Cowards, I thought. Bears make good rugs, good meals, good clothes, and their claws are good to put on gauntlets to put blood in a punch. I had some of those on me right now, and about six more pairs back at home to sell. I call them claw gauntlets: made of bear hide and bear claws. That’s how I make a living. I sell things made from bears. Of course, I hunt other things too. I hunt foxes, ducks, deer, birds, and whatever else I can get my hands on. I keep everything I find sacks, each one containing parts of its respective animal. I don’t sell food though. I eat it myself. No, I use the non-edible parts like the furs, claws, and teeth for my work.

I had an empty sack with me, as I was determined to get some more claws for my projects. It was strapped to my hip, though, soon it would be slung over my shoulder as I happily marched back to my camp. It wasn’t long before I found where the tracks lead. They stopped at the mouth of a cave, and it was there that I made the most foolish decision of my life: I entered.

It reeked of fish, manure, and other smells that I couldn’t identify. I walked onward, and realized that it was a rather large cave. The light began to get dimmer, so I lit a torch. Every hunter knows you should carry one. The light cast eerie shadows along the walls, and that was when I really began to notice the quiet. Silence; nothing but the sound of my own footsteps. Each one sounded like thunder compared to the stillness of the cave. Nothing.

I was about to head back, when I heard breathing. This is my chance, I thought. I’ll admit, the roar frightened me. Here I was, walking in silence, and then there comes a thundering noise from in front of me. I saw it, and it saw me. My plan was to draw it out from the cave, though at this distance if it charged I’d be done for. It started towards me.

The bear was slowly getting faster. I was getting flashbacks of my life. My first bow on my seventh birthday, my first love, my grandpa’s death, people accusing me of overhunting even though I only kill two to three animals a month on average. The bear broke into a run, and I knew why. It felt trapped, so it was going on the defensive. It was getting brighter, yet ironically more grim. I could see without the torch! I threw it at the bear, and drew an arrow. It got closer. I lined up the shot and drew my bow. It got closer. The arrow stuck into the bear’s shoulder. It roared, and before I could draw another arrow, it pounced.

I drew my dagger, and the bear landed on me. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. After stabbing it, it recoiled. I felt blood trickling down my face, though that was to be expected. I got up before the bear could pounce again, and leaped on its back. It began shaking wildly, trying to buck me off as a wild horse does, but I held on to its ears, and didn’t fall off. Drawing my dagger yet again, I plunged it into its neck. The sound of roaring ceased, and the shaking stopped.

It was then that I realized how much pain I was in, and how lucky I was to be alive. My ribs ached, my leg was ripped open, and there was a gash in my right temple. A little further off and my eye would be gone. Boy, would I have a story to tell the townsfolk. I tended to my wounds, then lugged the beast back to the camp. I walked through the woods, bow in hand, dagger on hip, quiver on back. I had found some bear tracks, and was following them. Most people back home would’ve considered it suicidal. Cowards, I thought. Bears make good rugs, good meals, good clothes, and their claws are good to put on gauntlets to put blood in a punch. I had some of those on me right now, and about six more pairs back at home to sell. I call them claw gauntlets: made of bear hide and bear claws. That’s how I make a living. I sell things made from bears. Of course, I hunt other things too. I hunt foxes, ducks, deer, birds, and whatever else I can get my hands on. I keep everything I find sacks, each one containing parts of its respective animal. I don’t sell food though. I eat it myself. No, I use the non-edible parts like the furs, claws, and teeth for my work.

I had an empty sack with me, as I was determined to get some more claws for my projects. It was strapped to my hip, though, soon it would be slung over my shoulder as I happily marched back to my camp. It wasn’t long before I found where the tracks lead. They stopped at the mouth of a cave, and it was there that I made the most foolish decision of my life: I entered.

It reeked of fish, manure, and other smells that I couldn’t identify. I walked onward, and realized that it was a rather large cave. The light began to get dimmer, so I lit a torch. Every hunter knows you should carry one. The light cast eerie shadows along the walls, and that was when I really began to notice the quiet. Silence; nothing but the sound of my own footsteps. Each one sounded like thunder compared to the stillness of the cave. Nothing.

I was about to head back, when I heard breathing. This is my chance, I thought. I’ll admit, the roar frightened me. Here I was, walking in silence, and then there comes a thundering noise from in front of me. I saw it, and it saw me. My plan was to draw it out from the cave, though at this distance if it charged I’d be done for. It started towards me.

The bear was slowly getting faster. I was getting flashbacks of my life. My first bow on my seventh birthday, my first love, my grandpa’s death, people accusing me of overhunting even though I only kill two to three animals a month on average. The bear broke into a run, and I knew why. It felt trapped, so it was going on the defensive. It was getting brighter, yet ironically more grim. I could see without the torch! I threw it at the bear, and drew an arrow. It got closer. I lined up the shot and drew my bow. It got closer. The arrow stuck into the bear’s shoulder. It roared, and before I could draw another arrow, it pounced.

I drew my dagger, and the bear landed on me. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. After stabbing it, it recoiled. I felt blood trickling down my face, though that was to be expected. I got up before the bear could pounce again, and leaped on its back. It began shaking wildly, trying to buck me off as a wild horse does, but I held on to its ears, and didn’t fall off. Drawing my dagger yet again, I plunged it into its neck. The sound of roaring ceased, and the shaking stopped.

It was then that I realized how much pain I was in, and how lucky I was to be alive. My ribs ached, my leg was ripped open, and there was a gash in my right temple. A little further off and my eye would be gone. Boy, would I have a story to tell the townsfolk. I tended to my wounds, then lugged the beast back to the camp. I walked through the woods, bow in hand, dagger on hip, quiver on back. I had found some bear tracks, and was following them. Most people back home would’ve considered it suicidal. Cowards, I thought. Bears make good rugs, good meals, good clothes, and their claws are good to put on gauntlets to put blood in a punch. I had some of those on me right now, and about six more pairs back at home to sell. I call them claw gauntlets: made of bear hide and bear claws. That’s how I make a living. I sell things made from bears. Of course, I hunt other things too. I hunt foxes, ducks, deer, birds, and whatever else I can get my hands on. I keep everything I find sacks, each one containing parts of its respective animal. I don’t sell food though. I eat it myself. No, I use the non-edible parts like the furs, claws, and teeth for my work.

I had an empty sack with me, as I was determined to get some more claws for my projects. It was strapped to my hip, though, soon it would be slung over my shoulder as I happily marched back to my camp. It wasn’t long before I found where the tracks lead. They stopped at the mouth of a cave, and it was there that I made the most foolish decision of my life: I entered.

It reeked of fish, manure, and other smells that I couldn’t identify. I walked onward, and realized that it was a rather large cave. The light began to get dimmer, so I lit a torch. Every hunter knows you should carry one. The light cast eerie shadows along the walls, and that was when I really began to notice the quiet. Silence; nothing but the sound of my own footsteps. Each one sounded like thunder compared to the stillness of the cave. Nothing.

I was about to head back, when I heard breathing. This is my chance, I thought. I’ll admit, the roar frightened me. Here I was, walking in silence, and then there comes a thundering noise from in front of me. I saw it, and it saw me. My plan was to draw it out from the cave, though at this distance if it charged I’d be done for. It started towards me.

The bear was slowly getting faster. I was getting flashbacks of my life. My first bow on my seventh birthday, my first love, my grandpa’s death, people accusing me of overhunting even though I only kill two to three animals a month on average. The bear broke into a run, and I knew why. It felt trapped, so it was going on the defensive. It was getting brighter, yet ironically more grim. I could see without the torch! I threw it at the bear, and drew an arrow. It got closer. I lined up the shot and drew my bow. It got closer. The arrow stuck into the bear’s shoulder. It roared, and before I could draw another arrow, it pounced.

I drew my dagger, and the bear landed on me. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. After stabbing it, it recoiled. I felt blood trickling down my face, though that was to be expected. I got up before the bear could pounce again, and leaped on its back. It began shaking wildly, trying to buck me off as a wild horse does, but I held on to its ears, and didn’t fall off. Drawing my dagger yet again, I plunged it into its neck. The sound of roaring ceased, and the shaking stopped.

It was then that I realized how much pain I was in, and how lucky I was to be alive. My ribs ached, my leg was ripped open, and there was a gash in my right temple. A little further off and my eye would be gone. Boy, would I have a story to tell the townsfolk. I tended to my wounds, then lugged the beast back to the camp. I walked through the woods, bow in hand, dagger on hip, quiver on back. I had found some bear tracks, and was following them. Most people back home would’ve considered it suicidal. Cowards, I thought. Bears make good rugs, good meals, good clothes, and their claws are good to put on gauntlets to put blood in a punch. I had some of those on me right now, and about six more pairs back at home to sell. I call them claw gauntlets: made of bear hide and bear claws. That’s how I make a living. I sell things made from bears. Of course, I hunt other things too. I hunt foxes, ducks, deer, birds, and whatever else I can get my hands on. I keep everything I find sacks, each one containing parts of its respective animal. I don’t sell food though. I eat it myself. No, I use the non-edible parts like the furs, claws, and teeth for my work.

I had an empty sack with me, as I was determined to get some more claws for my projects. It was strapped to my hip, though, soon it would be slung over my shoulder as I happily marched back to my camp. It wasn’t long before I found where the tracks lead. They stopped at the mouth of a cave, and it was there that I made the most foolish decision of my life: I entered.

It reeked of fish, manure, and other smells that I couldn’t identify. I walked onward, and realized that it was a rather large cave. The light began to get dimmer, so I lit a torch. Every hunter knows you should carry one. The light cast eerie shadows along the walls, and that was when I really began to notice the quiet. Silence; nothing but the sound of my own footsteps. Each one sounded like thunder compared to the stillness of the cave. Nothing.

I was about to head back, when I heard breathing. This is my chance, I thought. I’ll admit, the roar frightened me. Here I was, walking in silence, and then there comes a thundering noise from in front of me. I saw it, and it saw me. My plan was to draw it out from the cave, though at this distance if it charged I’d be done for. It started towards me.

The bear was slowly getting faster. I was getting flashbacks of my life. My first bow on my seventh birthday, my first love, my grandpa’s death, people accusing me of overhunting even though I only kill two to three animals a month on average. The bear broke into a run, and I knew why. It felt trapped, so it was going on the defensive. It was getting brighter, yet ironically more grim. I could see without the torch! I threw it at the bear, and drew an arrow. It got closer. I lined up the shot and drew my bow. It got closer. The arrow stuck into the bear’s shoulder. It roared, and before I could draw another arrow, it pounced.

I drew my dagger, and the bear landed on me. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. After stabbing it, it recoiled. I felt blood trickling down my face, though that was to be expected. I got up before the bear could pounce again, and leaped on its back. It began shaking wildly, trying to buck me off as a wild horse does, but I held on to its ears, and didn’t fall off. Drawing my dagger yet again, I plunged it into its neck. The sound of roaring ceased, and the shaking stopped.

It was then that I realized how much pain I was in, and how lucky I was to be alive. My ribs ached, my leg was ripped open, and there was a gash in my right temple. A little further off and my eye would be gone. Boy, would I have a story to tell the townsfolk. I tended to my wounds, then lugged the beast back to the camp. I walked through the woods, bow in hand, dagger on hip, quiver on back. I had found some bear tracks, and was following them. Most people back home would’ve considered it suicidal. Cowards, I thought. Bears make good rugs, good meals, good clothes, and their claws are good to put on gauntlets to put blood in a punch. I had some of those on me right now, and about six more pairs back at home to sell. I call them claw gauntlets: made of bear hide and bear claws. That’s how I make a living. I sell things made from bears. Of course, I hunt other things too. I hunt foxes, ducks, deer, birds, and whatever else I can get my hands on. I keep everything I find sacks, each one containing parts of its respective animal. I don’t sell food though. I eat it myself. No, I use the non-edible parts like the furs, claws, and teeth for my work.

I had an empty sack with me, as I was determined to get some more claws for my projects. It was strapped to my hip, though, soon it would be slung over my shoulder as I happily marched back to my camp. It wasn’t long before I found where the tracks lead. They stopped at the mouth of a cave, and it was there that I made the most foolish decision of my life: I entered.

It reeked of fish, manure, and other smells that I couldn’t identify. I walked onward, and realized that it was a rather large cave. The light began to get dimmer, so I lit a torch. Every hunter knows you should carry one. The light cast eerie shadows along the walls, and that was when I really began to notice the quiet. Silence; nothing but the sound of my own footsteps. Each one sounded like thunder compared to the stillness of the cave. Nothing.

I was about to head back, when I heard breathing. This is my chance, I thought. I’ll admit, the roar frightened me. Here I was, walking in silence, and then there comes a thundering noise from in front of me. I saw it, and it saw me. My plan was to draw it out from the cave, though at this distance if it charged I’d be done for. It started towards me.

The bear was slowly getting faster. I was getting flashbacks of my life. My first bow on my seventh birthday, my first love, my grandpa’s death, people accusing me of overhunting even though I only kill two to three animals a month on average. The bear broke into a run, and I knew why. It felt trapped, so it was going on the defensive. It was getting brighter, yet ironically more grim. I could see without the torch! I threw it at the bear, and drew an arrow. It got closer. I lined up the shot and drew my bow. It got closer. The arrow stuck into the bear’s shoulder. It roared, and before I could draw another arrow, it pounced.

I drew my dagger, and the bear landed on me. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. After stabbing it, it recoiled. I felt blood trickling down my face, though that was to be expected. I got up before the bear could pounce again, and leaped on its back. It began shaking wildly, trying to buck me off as a wild horse does, but I held on to its ears, and didn’t fall off. Drawing my dagger yet again, I plunged it into its neck. The sound of roaring ceased, and the shaking stopped.

It was then that I realized how much pain I was in, and how lucky I was to be alive. My ribs ached, my leg was ripped open, and there was a gash in my right temple. A little further off and my eye would be gone. Boy, would I have a story to tell the townsfolk. I tended to my wounds, then lugged the beast back to the camp. I walked through the woods, bow in hand, dagger on hip, quiver on back. I had found some bear tracks, and was following them. Most people back home would’ve considered it suicidal. Cowards, I thought. Bears make good rugs, good meals, good clothes, and their claws are good to put on gauntlets to put blood in a punch. I had some of those on me right now, and about six more pairs back at home to sell. I call them claw gauntlets: made of bear hide and bear claws. That’s how I make a living. I sell things made from bears. Of course, I hunt other things too. I hunt foxes, ducks, deer, birds, and whatever else I can get my hands on. I keep everything I find sacks, each one containing parts of its respective animal. I don’t sell food though. I eat it myself. No, I use the non-edible parts like the furs, claws, and teeth for my work.

I had an empty sack with me, as I was determined to get some more claws for my projects. It was strapped to my hip, though, soon it would be slung over my shoulder as I happily marched back to my camp. It wasn’t long before I found where the tracks lead. They stopped at the mouth of a cave, and it was there that I made the most foolish decision of my life: I entered.

It reeked of fish, manure, and other smells that I couldn’t identify. I walked onward, and realized that it was a rather large cave. The light began to get dimmer, so I lit a torch. Every hunter knows you should carry one. The light cast eerie shadows along the walls, and that was when I really began to notice the quiet. Silence; nothing but the sound of my own footsteps. Each one sounded like thunder compared to the stillness of the cave. Nothing.

I was about to head back, when I heard breathing. This is my chance, I thought. I’ll admit, the roar frightened me. Here I was, walking in silence, and then there comes a thundering noise from in front of me. I saw it, and it saw me. My plan was to draw it out from the cave, though at this distance if it charged I’d be done for. It started towards me.

The bear was slowly getting faster. I was getting flashbacks of my life. My first bow on my seventh birthday, my first love, my grandpa’s death, people accusing me of overhunting even though I only kill two to three animals a month on average. The bear broke into a run, and I knew why. It felt trapped, so it was going on the defensive. It was getting brighter, yet ironically more grim. I could see without the torch! I threw it at the bear, and drew an arrow. It got closer. I lined up the shot and drew my bow. It got closer. The arrow stuck into the bear’s shoulder. It roared, and before I could draw another arrow, it pounced.

I drew my dagger, and the bear landed on me. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. After stabbing it, it recoiled. I felt blood trickling down my face, though that was to be expected. I got up before the bear could pounce again, and leaped on its back. It began shaking wildly, trying to buck me off as a wild horse does, but I held on to its ears, and didn’t fall off. Drawing my dagger yet again, I plunged it into its neck. The sound of roaring ceased, and the shaking stopped.

It was then that I realized how much pain I was in, and how lucky I was to be alive. My ribs ached, my leg was ripped open, and there was a gash in my right temple. A little further off and my eye would be gone. Boy, would I have a story to tell the townsfolk. I tended to my wounds, then lugged the beast back to the camp. I walked through the woods, bow in hand, dagger on hip, quiver on back. I had found some bear tracks, and was following them. Most people back home would’ve considered it suicidal. Cowards, I thought. Bears make good rugs, good meals, good clothes, and their claws are good to put on gauntlets to put blood in a punch. I had some of those on me right now, and about six more pairs back at home to sell. I call them claw gauntlets: made of bear hide and bear claws. That’s how I make a living. I sell things made from bears. Of course, I hunt other things too. I hunt foxes, ducks, deer, birds, and whatever else I can get my hands on. I keep everything I find sacks, each one containing parts of its respective animal. I don’t sell food though. I eat it myself. No, I use the non-edible parts like the furs, claws, and teeth for my work.

I had an empty sack with me, as I was determined to get some more claws for my projects. It was strapped to my hip, though, soon it would be slung over my shoulder as I happily marched back to my camp. It wasn’t long before I found where the tracks lead. They stopped at the mouth of a cave, and it was there that I made the most foolish decision of my life: I entered.

It reeked of fish, manure, and other smells that I couldn’t identify. I walked onward, and realized that it was a rather large cave. The light began to get dimmer, so I lit a torch. Every hunter knows you should carry one. The light cast eerie shadows along the walls, and that was when I really began to notice the quiet. Silence; nothing but the sound of my own footsteps. Each one sounded like thunder compared to the stillness of the cave. Nothing.

I was about to head back, when I heard breathing. This is my chance, I thought. I’ll admit, the roar frightened me. Here I was, walking in silence, and then there comes a thundering noise from in front of me. I saw it, and it saw me. My plan was to draw it out from the cave, though at this distance if it charged I’d be done for. It started towards me.

The bear was slowly getting faster. I was getting flashbacks of my life. My first bow on my seventh birthday, my first love, my grandpa’s death, people accusing me of overhunting even though I only kill two to three animals a month on average. The bear broke into a run, and I knew why. It felt trapped, so it was going on the defensive. It was getting brighter, yet ironically more grim. I could see without the torch! I threw it at the bear, and drew an arrow. It got closer. I lined up the shot and drew my bow. It got closer. The arrow stuck into the bear’s shoulder. It roared, and before I could draw another arrow, it pounced.

I drew my dagger, and the bear landed on me. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. After stabbing it, it recoiled. I felt blood trickling down my face, though that was to be expected. I got up before the bear could pounce again, and leaped on its back. It began shaking wildly, trying to buck me off as a wild horse does, but I held on to its ears, and didn’t fall off. Drawing my dagger yet again, I plunged it into its neck. The sound of roaring ceased, and the shaking stopped.

It was then that I realized how much pain I was in, and how lucky I was to be alive. My ribs ached, my leg was ripped open, and there was a gash in my right temple. A little further off and my eye would be gone. Boy, would I have a story to tell the townsfolk. I tended to my wounds, then lugged the beast back to the camp. I walked through the woods, bow in hand, dagger on hip, quiver on back. I had found some bear tracks, and was following them. Most people back home would’ve considered it suicidal. Cowards, I thought. Bears make good rugs, good meals, good clothes, and their claws are good to put on gauntlets to put blood in a punch. I had some of those on me right now, and about six more pairs back at home to sell. I call them claw gauntlets: made of bear hide and bear claws. That’s how I make a living. I sell things made from bears. Of course, I hunt other things too. I hunt foxes, ducks, deer, birds, and whatever else I can get my hands on. I keep everything I find sacks, each one containing parts of its respective animal. I don’t sell food though. I eat it myself. No, I use the non-edible parts like the furs, claws, and teeth for my work.

I had an empty sack with me, as I was determined to get some more claws for my projects. It was strapped to my hip, though, soon it would be slung over my shoulder as I happily marched back to my camp. It wasn’t long before I found where the tracks lead. They stopped at the mouth of a cave, and it was there that I made the most foolish decision of my life: I entered.

It reeked of fish, manure, and other smells that I couldn’t identify. I walked onward, and realized that it was a rather large cave. The light began to get dimmer, so I lit a torch. Every hunter knows you should carry one. The light cast eerie shadows along the walls, and that was when I really began to notice the quiet. Silence; nothing but the sound of my own footsteps. Each one sounded like thunder compared to the stillness of the cave. Nothing.

I was about to head back, when I heard breathing. This is my chance, I thought. I’ll admit, the roar frightened me. Here I was, walking in silence, and then there comes a thundering noise from in front of me. I saw it, and it saw me. My plan was to draw it out from the cave, though at this distance if it charged I’d be done for. It started towards me.

The bear was slowly getting faster. I was getting flashbacks of my life. My first bow on my seventh birthday, my first love, my grandpa’s death, people accusing me of overhunting even though I only kill two to three animals a month on average. The bear broke into a run, and I knew why. It felt trapped, so it was going on the defensive. It was getting brighter, yet ironically more grim. I could see without the torch! I threw it at the bear, and drew an arrow. It got closer. I lined up the shot and drew my bow. It got closer. The arrow stuck into the bear’s shoulder. It roared, and before I could draw another arrow, it pounced.

I drew my dagger, and the bear landed on me. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. After stabbing it, it recoiled. I felt blood trickling down my face, though that was to be expected. I got up before the bear could pounce again, and leaped on its back. It began shaking wildly, trying to buck me off as a wild horse does, but I held on to its ears, and didn’t fall off. Drawing my dagger yet again, I plunged it into its neck. The sound of roaring ceased, and the shaking stopped.

It was then that I realized how much pain I was in, and how lucky I was to be alive. My ribs ached, my leg was ripped open, and there was a gash in my right temple. A little further off and my eye would be gone. Boy, would I have a story to tell the townsfolk. I tended to my wounds, then lugged the beast back to the camp. I walked through the woods, bow in hand, dagger on hip, quiver on back. I had found some bear tracks, and was following them. Most people back home would’ve considered it suicidal. Cowards, I thought. Bears make good rugs, good meals, good clothes, and their claws are good to put on gauntlets to put blood in a punch. I had some of those on me right now, and about six more pairs back at home to sell. I call them claw gauntlets: made of bear hide and bear claws. That’s how I make a living. I sell things made from bears. Of course, I hunt other things too. I hunt foxes, ducks, deer, birds, and whatever else I can get my hands on. I keep everything I find sacks, each one containing parts of its respective animal. I don’t sell food though. I eat it myself. No, I use the non-edible parts like the furs, claws, and teeth for my work.

I had an empty sack with me, as I was determined to get some more claws for my projects. It was strapped to my hip, though, soon it would be slung over my shoulder as I happily marched back to my camp. It wasn’t long before I found where the tracks lead. They stopped at the mouth of a cave, and it was there that I made the most foolish decision of my life: I entered.

It reeked of fish, manure, and other smells that I couldn’t identify. I walked onward, and realized that it was a rather large cave. The light began to get dimmer, so I lit a torch. Every hunter knows you should carry one. The light cast eerie shadows along the walls, and that was when I really began to notice the quiet. Silence; nothing but the sound of my own footsteps. Each one sounded like thunder compared to the stillness of the cave. Nothing.

I was about to head back, when I heard breathing. This is my chance, I thought. I’ll admit, the roar frightened me. Here I was, walking in silence, and then there comes a thundering noise from in front of me. I saw it, and it saw me. My plan was to draw it out from the cave, though at this distance if it charged I’d be done for. It started towards me.

The bear was slowly getting faster. I was getting flashbacks of my life. My first bow on my seventh birthday, my first love, my grandpa’s death, people accusing me of overhunting even though I only kill two to three animals a month on average. The bear broke into a run, and I knew why. It felt trapped, so it was going on the defensive. It was getting brighter, yet ironically more grim. I could see without the torch! I threw it at the bear, and drew an arrow. It got closer. I lined up the shot and drew my bow. It got closer. The arrow stuck into the bear’s shoulder. It roared, and before I could draw another arrow, it pounced.

I drew my dagger, and the bear landed on me. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. After stabbing it, it recoiled. I felt blood trickling down my face, though that was to be expected. I got up before the bear could pounce again, and leaped on its back. It began shaking wildly, trying to buck me off as a wild horse does, but I held on to its ears, and didn’t fall off. Drawing my dagger yet again, and plunged it into its neck. The sound of roaring ceased, and the shaking stopped.

It was then that I realized how much pain I was in, and how lucky I was to be alive. My ribs ached, my leg was ripped open, and there was a gash in my right temple. A little further off and my eye would be gone. Boy, would I have a story to tell the townsfolk. I tended to my wounds, then lugged the beast back to the camp.