DRAUMRS - Dreamweavers - Book Two

6 - Russian Bear

President Boris Pulisin was really enjoying this dream. He was moving swiftly on a beautiful chestnut Budyonny stallion, which seemed able to navigate the winding forest trail all on its own. He was holding the reins tight to the horse's neck trying to feel every powerful movement of the stallion's head and torso. He had to ensure that he moved as one with it, while ducking to avoid branches flying at him as they weaved through the dense clusters of trees. It was early winter; light snow covered the ground, with a touch of frost on each of the limbs that brushed his steer-hide jacket. It was a brilliant day, with early morning sun extending long rays through the evergreens and bare hardwoods, sparkling windless snowflakes that drifted down from the tree tops.

He had a wolf-skin ushanka hat pulled down tight against the rushing wind. Off the side of his saddle, he could see the gleaming butt end of a 7.65mm Dragunov Tiger rifle in its long holster. He was hunting. He was a great hunter. He couldn't imagine a better dream.

He knew that he was never really alone, but here in this brilliant snowy forest, he seemed to have lost the pack of followers normally clustered around him. No military guards, no aides, not even his trusted guides could keep up with him today. He was on the trail of something big. All alone was how he wanted it. This would be his prize and no-one else's.

He kept his eyes on the faint set of tracks ahead of him on this difficult trail. The ten-inch wide paws showed the broken rhythm of a bear on the move. Judging by the galloping gait and three-metre distance between strides, it was big and very aware that it was being chased. Broken branches and flattened brush showed that this animal could pretty much make its own path. A brown bear this size could move quickly through just about anything, but couldn't do it for long.

In a few kilometers, the effort of hurling 1200 pounds over too much terrain would catch up with it. Then, the bear would give up running and turn to make its stand. A fully-grown male wasn't really afraid of anything, so would expect to fight then and there for its life. If Boris were another type of predator, one that depended on physical strength, teeth and claws, the odds were good that he would be the one to die at that spot.

He planned to kill the king Kamchatka at very close range. Close enough, that any mistake would give the bear a fair chance at killing him. It was only right to honor such a formidable adversary by letting it smell the fear and excitement it provoked in its killer. He needed to look into its eyes to see the recognition of its defeat; to have it see the steeled conviction in his eyes before he shot it through the heart. It was a rule that he applied both to great beasts and to honorable men.

The stallion was in a full sweat, indicating that they had been running for a long time, but it showed no sign of slowing nor gave any indication of fatigue. The froth from its muzzle blew back over him as the great animal churned in continuous motion. He floated above the saddle, barely aware of the ground rushing below. His rough wool leggings glistened with the horse's sweat that froze on contact in the winter cold of this Caucasus mountain. Every detail, including the smell of the horse, its raucous breathing, the pounding of its hooves and the rip of the cold air hitting his lungs told Boris that this was real. Yet, he knew it was a dream. But, what a dream.

The rough track now broke down a steep embankment and started to zig-zag abruptly between rock outcroppings. The horse finally had to slow to navigate the sharp turns and to ensure its footing. Boris could feel the hooves sliding as the pitch increased and more and more rock scree mixed into the dirt.

Looking down the slope, he became aware of a sharp drop beyond a cliff off to his right, just visible through thirty meters of forest, but coming closer as they slipped and slid down the uneven chutes of the narrow track. This was better ground for a bear than a horse. The bear could bounce off the rocks and descend virtually straight downhill. The stallion needed to worry about the peril both it and its rider were falling into. His adversary had picked the escape route well, perhaps hoping to throw off his pursuers entirely.