ShortFaced Bear

Jhonas crawled on his stomach, reducing his profile. He moved slowly and downwind from the den. Snow soaked his fur lined wool tunic. His massive frame shivered from the long days of intense cold.

He halted at the edge of the tree line. The conifers provided what little cover they could for a Jotunn.

Jhonas took his scope from his belt and peered through the lens.

In the distance, he perceived a crag of rock amongst the forests. The distant Ural Mountains were a faint blue saw-blade along the horizon. The young Jotunn had never been this far west since his father took him on a business trip to the capital. That was almost twenty-years ago. Jhonas had more immediate concerns.

He zeroed in on a shadowed section of rock. A natural shelter.

Jhonas licked hips lips.

Before long, a huge lumbering bear stepped into the dimming afternoon light. It stood almost seven-feet at the shoulders. It could stand well past Jhonas’s eight feet on its hind legs.

It sat and licked its paw. Claws like metal shears. Bristly grey fur and a squashed pale face.

It had been raiding nearby sheep and elf flocks. A human died defending his flocks. Damn little fools.

Bones were scattered around the den told Jhonas he had found the right bear.

He took his cannon of his back and loaded the shell. To a human the shell would be a 20 Gauge slug. The brass felt warm in his hand. He loaded it and pushed the bolt forward until he felt the satisfying click.

He began crawling towards his target. It was a shame that the bear needed to die.


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