Beastly Little Boy

Chapter 17

Bernard dropped his catch onto the shore. The salmon's scales shone in the sunlight as it flopped in the dirt. Bernard ended its struggles with a slap before taking a bite. His teeth sliced through the delicate flesh as he tore away a mouthful. The meat was somewhat fatty and tasted like nothing short of ambrosia.

Moments later, only the fish's bones remained uneaten. Bernard licked his lips, savoring the flavor for as long as he could.

"That was more delicious than any of the fish Mom ever brought home," Bernard said as he ran his tongue over his claws. "There are so many salmon here that it's going to be a miracle if I'll be able to drag myself into a den for the winter. I bet I won't be able to fit into my old one." Bernard burped loudly. He brought up a paw to cover his mouth. "Too bad I never convinced Mom to give raw fish a try. She's missing out."

"I thought she said it could make you sick."

"That doesn't stop people from eating sushi. Humans eat a lot of things that can make them sick." Bernard chuckled. "When I was six, I snuck into the kitchen in the middle of the night and ate a dozen cookies. Dad didn't even try to punish me because my stomach hurt so much. It took months for me to be able to look at gingerbread without feeling queasy!"

His stomach growled. "Sounds like you'd better focus on fishing," Orson said. "Let's see if you just got lucky with that first catch."

Bernard stayed by the river until it was too dark for him to aim at individual fish. Although he had caught a handful of them by the end of the day, he was far from full. With the taste of salmon lingering on his tongue as he strolled deeper into his territory, Bernard doubted his appetite for that particular delicacy would ever be satisfied.

He needed to fatten up on salmon as much as he could before they stopped spawning. Although it would be months before he would have to hibernate again, none of the other food sources he had found filled him up as much as salmon did. The last thing he needed was to emerge from his den with his ribs showing again or, worse, not wake up at all.

For the time being, Bernard was stuck finding a suitable place to rest. If he slept too close to the riverbank, the mud would cling to his fur and make it difficult to sleep comfortably. At the same time, he didn't want to lose his fishing spot. The sun had dried him off quickly after each attempt, preventing the chilly water from stiffening his muscles. If he left that sunny area unattended for long enough, another bear could easily be tempted to claim it as their own.

As he walked through one of the more heavily wooded parts of his territory, Bernard heard a faint rustling in the undergrowth. He paused and cocked his head. There it was again. He sniffed the air, detecting a musky odor coming from somewhere upwind of him. Another smell reached his nose alongside it: the scent of blood.

Had the older bear returned to hunt in his former territory? Perhaps a hunter had ventured into the area. Bernard had no choice but to investigate the scent. If he didn't assert his dominance, his neighbors might start getting ideas.

Bernard crept toward the source of the smell. The forest was in somewhat of a lull. It was too late for the songbirds and squirrels to be active, yet it was too early for the owls and other nocturnal animals to begin their nightly search for food. Aside from the mice scurrying in the bushes, few animals were making any noise.

A bleat that sounded from a few feet away revealed the source of the scent: a doe with an odd colored gash on one of her hind legs. At this short distance, Bernard detected a dog's scent clinging to her and masking most of her own odor. She was trembling and keeping most of her weight off of the damaged limb.

Bernard winced sympathetically. His shoulder ached more every day, but he doubted that it looked nearly as bad as the jagged tear in the doe's flesh. To make matters worse, her ribs stood out against her light brown fur.

"You should put her out of her misery," said Orson. "It looks like she won't last much longer."

"She may be thin, but there's plenty of food here. Once she has time to put on some weight, she should be okay since she'll be safe from predators here." He watched the doe as she grazed. Her gaze was dull and unfocused. A putrid smell leaked from her leg. "I can't kill her," Bernard said, keeping his voice at a hoarse whisper. "I just can't."

The deer glanced at him before letting out a high pitched screeching sound and bolting. She ran with a limp, constantly stumbling as her injury took its toll. Her tail flashed like a white flag as she dashed for safety.

One of the doe's hooves broke through a blanket of pine needles on the ground, falling into an abandoned burrow. The doe tripped and crashed onto the forest floor.

"If you don't kill her, someone else will. That's assuming she doesn't starve or die because of her infected leg first," Orson said. "You'll be sparing her from a lot of pain."

The doe thrashed, sending leaves and dirt flying. Each time Bernard thought she had found her footing again, she slipped and fell back down, bleating the entire time. He sighed. "I'll give her one more chance to get out of here. That's the least I can do."

He approached the deer at a slow pace, stomping through the debris on the forest floor in an attempt to give her enough adrenaline to overcome her injury. Her eyes bulged, and her thrashing become more frantic, but the doe's hooves kept scraping useless furrows into the dirt. "Go." Still stuck. "Leave." No progress. "Get out of here, you stupid deer!" Bernard yelled.

The wounded animal surged onto her feet. She bounded away despite her two injured legs, one now oozing pus and the other slightly twisted. "Thank goodness," Bernard muttered.

He had spoken too soon.

The deer's twisted leg gave a loud snap as she landed badly. More screeching. Another crash.

After following its tracks, Bernard found the animal lying on her side, panting. She raised her head, tried to get up, failed, and turned to face him with pleading eyes. Watching. Waiting.

Bernard clamped his jaws around her throat and squeezed. His prey gave one last tug of resistance before he crushed its windpipe. He let go.

"You did the right thing, Bernard. It was going to die whether you killed it or not."

"I'm not done yet. This deer deserves better."

Bernard crouched down by the deer's side and lowered his head until his nose was almost touching the body. "I'm sorry I had to kill you. You were a beautiful, brave deer who survived an attack and continued trying to survive. I wish nature hadn't been so cruel to you, to us. I hope there's a nice big field wherever you are where you can rest. Thank you for your life."

With the eulogy complete, he began to eat.