Kurrumin

INTRODUCTION Deep in Eclein’s northern wood, beyond the caribou tracks and the lights of men, a great bear lumbers across the frozen ground. She is in perfect condition, a true credit to her species; over seventy stone of muscle and fat with a paw thrice the size of a man’s. Claws (the littlest among them a good substitute for a paring knife) leave deep grooves in the snow as she crunches over frozen undergrowth. The air is clean and bitter cold. All the scurrying things of the cold forest, the mice and the voles, the snow hares, the ptarmigans in their nests, hold themselves still for fear of her. Snow whirls. She passes through a grove of young spruce and ambles toward the crest of a nearby ridge, drawn by some primal instinct. At the top, her tread slows. The land slopes away to a valley and a distant, humble village. Smoke curls up lazily into a darkening sky. The bear watches undisturbed. Lungs like forge bellows breathe in, and a warrior breathes out. Winter winds whip away