I burned some trash, unknowing of the food smell drifting from the burning garbage.
Scarhead, the bear I had known for a while. He seemed sweet, and friendly, but instinct never dies.
Little had I known, that animals had scenting skills stronger than what I had thought.
I wasn't having any of this. I gripped a long stick in my hand, and threw with all my might, thumping the black mass on the shoulder.
And as follows the sweet aroma of burning food, ambled a huge black bear, picking at the burning delicacies.
Silence. His gaze flickering as he decided wether to crush my skull, or to let me be. When he slowly slipped down onto his paws, and turned to the trash once more, I ran.
Seconds. All it took for him to barrel up and loom over me, his shadow swallowing my mass in it's presence.
I loaded a gun, just about ready to pull the trigger, before I thought.
Kill him for what? Saving me? Deciding against taking my life's end to his own paws? He taught me a lesson.
He'll always be a hero, for helping me to learn respect.
I hope Scarhead is still alive, to this day.
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