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Few memories are left to me of the agony that Sharra and I endured during my mad race back to the cabin. Of those few memories that I do have, most have been pushed far back into the darkest corners of my mind and hidden there behind a protective membrane of forced forgetfulness, and for that I am glad. There are memories there that are still far too vivid and painful for me to recall, even after all of the years that have passed since then.

What little I do recall is fragmented and foggy and lingers like the cold touch of a nightmare that refuses to fade in the welcome light of morning. I remember running at very edge of control down a narrow, dark path in the heart of the forest. I remember being driven beyond the limits of my endurance and being pushed far past the point of exhaustion. I remember stumbling and crashing to the ground, Sharra's limp body slipping from my clutching hands to land heavily on the forest floor. I remember blood, so much blood. We were both soaked with it, our precious life bloods flowing together and mingling until we must have looked like something right out of a B grade horror movie. I remember going from screaming in rage to crying in despair and back to rage again as if someone was flipping a switch inside my head. I remember picking Sharra's limp form from the ground and stumbling awkwardly away into the trees, knowing I had nothing left and that I wouldn't make it back to the cabin, that I couldn't make it. I recall being seized by the horrifying certainty that we both were going to die out there in the forest. I was driven to the brink of madness by that thought. My fury gave me what I needed to stay on my feet and I drew on reserves of strength I didn't know I had...

There are other memories too and they usually return to haunt me at night. The nightmares invade my sleep every now and then and force me to relive the terror and agony of the fight with the bear before jerking me to gasping, heart pounding wakefulness, grateful that it was just a dream and even more grateful for Sharra's ability to ease such night terrors. That's one of the advantages to being Linked, the ability to share in and ease the pain that grips your partner. I did it for Sharra from time to time too.

My first clear memories begin sometime after I had returned to the cabin. It was like somebody suddenly flicked on a switch and I suddenly became aware of where I was, and the scene that greeted my eyes was not a pretty one. Sharra was lying on the pile of hides that I had been using as a bed since the first day I had arrived here. She was mercifully unconscious but blood still oozed slowly from her many wounds. I ran around frantically looking for some scraps of cloth that I could use as bandages but I didn't find anything that was suitable. Without a second thought I pulled my shirt over my head and draped it over my shoulder. I grabbed two of the biggest pots and pans that I could find and ran out the door of the cabin and down to the creek as fast as I could.

I'm pretty sure that it was still a beautiful spring day out but I was far too focused on the problems at hand to care about such things anymore. I ran wild-eyed and shirtless across the clearing to the creek, heedless of Sharra's blood slowly crusting on my bare skin. The large pot I grasped tightly in each hand swung in time with my long strides.

The creek was running high and fast with spring runoff from the last remaining snows of winter and had nearly overrun its banks. I ran out to the edge of a small gravel bar and knelt by the edge of the roiling stream. The water was cloudy with silt and debris and I wondered then what sorts of nasty microbes might be lurking in the murky depths. Hopefully the water would be okay after I boiled it for a while.

I clanked the pots down next to the water and took a moment to try and wash the bulk of the blood from my much abused shirt. Red tendrils swirled away from the cloth and mixed with the muddy current, destined to be washed down into the valley and join the river there.

When my shirt was as clean as it was going to get, I rang it out and threw the wet piece of cloth over my shoulder, shuddering slightly as threads of cold water trickled down my back. I grabbed both pots, dunked them into the creek and filled both of them to the brim with murky water. I straightened up painfully, feeling for the first time the agony that my wounds would soon become. The shock from fighting the bear was slowly wearing off and as it did, my senses were coming back, one by one. The renewed activity of my pain receptors was an unfortunate side effect of the adrenaline wearing off, but at least I was able to think a little clearer and to rationalize instead of panicking. I picked up my pots of water and staggered a bit under the additional weight. My leg disagreed with the extra load and began complaining in earnest. A dark cloud drifted across my thoughts on my way back to the cabin. The only thing that a clear head and rational thought was doing for me was to point out how desperate this situation really was. Any way I looked at things, the future wasn't very bright for Sharra and I. I shouldered my way through the door of the cabin and set both pots on top of the stove. My still dripping shirt I threw over the back of a chair.

My mind was racing as I tried to plan what to do next. I was paranoid about infection. I had no real way to clean Sharra's wounds or any suitable implement to shave the fur away from her injuries so it would be easier to keep them clean. A knife just wasn't going to cut it in this case. Even if I could find one sharp enough that it would work, my hands were shaking so badly that I would probably just add to Sharra's large collection of cuts and scrapes. I looked around madly for a moment, wondering what to do. Fire, I thought. I had to get the fire going.

Rusty hinges squealed as I swung open the door to the old stove. With the recent warm weather, Sharra and I hadn't been using the stove as much for heat as we had earlier in the spring. We always kept the fire banked, in case it was necessary to use it to cook or for heat. Keeping the fire barely alive was a lot easier than starting it anew each time, especially when matches are a thing of the imagination and I prayed that the fire had not chosen now as a time to go out. I searched frantically among the ashes with a pointed stick, banging my elbow against the door in the process. The muffled clank sounded loud in the close confines of the cabin. I was able to breathe easier when my probing stick unearthed a few dull embers that glowed like angry red eyes in the depths of the stove.

I picked the smallest and driest bits of kindling from the pile that always sat within reach of the stove and arranged them carefully around the embers. I blew gently, hopefully. Smoke curled out of the open stove and wreathed my head in a pungent cloud. My eyes burned and I coughed. Dull red flared up into welcome yellow as a tongue of flame leaped up from the carefully placed wood. I added a few more small pieces of dry spruce; some of my tension melting away with each piece that crackled into flame. I added a few larger pieces of wood and partially closed the door to the stove. Smoke hung like fog in the cabin and I opened the door to let in some fresh air before I turned my attention to Sharra.

She hadn't moved since I had put her down on the hides that I used for a bed. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow and rapid. I knelt down beside her and checked the hollow of her throat for a pulse. The steady pulsing of the artery beneath my fingers eased my mind somewhat even though it was faster than I would have liked. Maybe that was normal for her. She wasn't human so I really had no clue as to what a normal heart rate would be for her. I'm no doctor anyway and I barely know first aid. All a pulse really told me was that Sharra was still alive and I drew some much needed strength from that.

Most of Sharra's wounds had stopped bleeding by the time I started examining her. The deep gash over her lower ribs on her left side was the only one that still oozed a slow trickle of blood. I applied pressure to the wound with my hand and left it there until the bleeding stopped. I smoothed the fur on her forehead with my other hand and swallowed nervously. How much blood had she lost? I wondered. Too much! Cried the voice in the back of my mind. She was a mess to say the least. Her fur was matted with a disgusting mixture of semi-congealed blood, dirt, pine needles and bits of old leaves. Worry creased my forehead as I looked her over. It would take hours to get her cleaned up and her wounds taken care of.

The clock was ticking. I could feel the swoosh of the pendulum in my mind as the seconds fell away. Water dripped from my shirt to splatter rhythmically on the floor. Every cell in my body jumped in time with each beat of my heart, each second that I was able to do nothing. The fire crackled and hissed in the stove behind me and steam began to rise from the pots that sat upon it. Smoke danced in the shafts of bright sunlight that shone in through the open door.

My left leg began cramping painfully under my weight as I stared entranced out the open doorway. The calm beauty that met my eyes there seemed to be light years away from the smoky gloom the held me trapped within its grasp. I longed to run out through that door, to flee from the fear and the pain and the blood...

It took considerable effort for me to turn away

I limped over to the chair and picked up my shirt. I wrung out as much water as I could and then shook it out. The murky stream water had washed away most of the blood and what was left had faded to a dull reddish brown against the once white cloth.

My only shirt, one of the few things I had left that still connected me to a life that was no longer mine. My old 'The Far Side' T-shirt. It had been one of my favourite shirts. Depicted on the front were two deer. One had a circular target-like mark on its chest and the other was staring at it. The caption read 'Bummer of a birthmark Hal'. A smile briefly lit on my lips when I remembered how Sharra had laughed when I had explained the cartoon to her, but my smile soon melted away and I groped in my pocket for my jackknife. I pulled open the large blade and nicked the cloth. I pulled, fabric tore. In short minutes, I had reduced my favourite shirt into a pile of strips to bandage Sharra's wounds with.

The pots on the stove were close to boiling and I threw the remnants of my shirt into one of them. My plan was to boil the scraps of cloth long enough to disinfect them. Half an hour was the magic amount of time my brain was telling me. I really doubted that I would be able to stave off infection, but I had to at least try. I hoped that Sharra's immune system was up to dealing with the trials that lay ahead for it.

I kept a close eye on Sharra as the water boiled furiously. The half an hour that it took to disinfect the remnants of my shirt was an agonizing wait. Seconds melted into minutes. Minutes dripped into a stagnant pool as my sense of time stalled. Water continued to boil and firelight flickered out through the narrow gap between stove and stove door. Sharra stirred where she lay on the hides. I crouched worriedly over her, a hand gently on her shoulder as she twitched and moaned. Her eyelids flicked open and she went rigid the instant she saw me leaning over her. I tensed and jerked my hand back, half expecting her to bite me again.

She didn't even try. She lay still and let her eyes rove around the interior of the cabin before they returned to me. She was confused and disoriented, I could see that much in her eyes. More than that, I could feel it through that damned connection she had used to cry out to me for help.

"Where...?" She managed to croak out, her eyes darting side to side fearfully.

"You're in the cabin Sharra." I spoke softly and gently to her, trying to keep her calm. She stirred feebly and tried to sit up. I put a hand on her shoulder, restraining her as gently as I could.

"Sharra! Lie still! You're in no shape to be wandering around." I said sternly. "You've been injured and lost a lot of blood."

She let out a low moan that trailed into a sharp whine of pain as she struggled against me.

"Sharra, take it easy!" I cried out as she struggled even harder. I tried my best to restrain her without hurting her, but she wasn't making that an easy task. Already I could see fresh blood trickling from the slash in her left side.

Whether from the pain that her struggles were undoubtedly inflicting upon her or the possibility that she still did not recognize me, Sharra began to growl. It was a low, threatening growl that meant business and I jerked my hands back as she flashed teeth. She began to claw her way to her feet and I wondered just what the heck I was supposed to do with her. I had enough problems as it was without adding an uncooperative patient into the mix.

An idea came to me in a flash. Though I wasn't exactly sure how to go about doing it, I figured that my best chances of getting through to her would be through that crazy link that we shared. I took a deep breath and concentrated hard. I poked around in the back of my brain until I found the 'thread' that bound us together. It was easy to find now that I knew what to look for. Sharra had almost made it to her feet when I gathered my wits and put everything I had into a mental yell of: <SHARRA!>

She stopped in the midst of her struggles as if she were some toy that had suddenly been switched off. She teetered unsteadily on her feet and a strange look clouded her features. I suddenly received a veritable flood on my end of the link. Pain, fear, relief, gratitude... The flood dribbled to a stop as Sharra collapsed. I sprang forward and caught her in my arms before she hit the floor.

She had lapsed into unconsciousness again. I gently set her back down on the hides and gave her a quick look over. The wound on her left side had started to ooze blood again. I clamped my hand over it until the bleeding stopped.

I sat back on my heels and took a moment to try and pull myself together. How long had it been since I got back here? I wondered. The pots on the stove were boiling furiously and the interior of the cabin had become stiflingly hot, even with the front door wide open. I thought about opening the windows but when I got up and took a closer look at the dusty sills with their thick layers of petrified insects, I gave up on that idea. The heat would bleed out of the cabin as the fire died down and the day grew into evening. I could tolerate it until then, and I hoped that Sharra would be able to do the same.

Limping back over to the stove, I picked a stout stick from the woodpile and carefully levered the pots of boiling water off of the stove and placed them on the floor a short distance from where Sharra lay. I noticed at that time that my right arm was really beginning to cramp up. I ground my teeth and tried to ignore the pain. My fingers were stiff and unresponsive on that hand and it hurt if I tried to move them too much. My right forearm, just below the elbow, was angry red mass of coagulated blood. I frowned as I looked at it. The back of my hand wasn't in great shape either. There was an ugly flap of skin left hanging where one of Sharra's teeth had punctured deep into the back of my hand and ripped forward two inches, leaving a long tear that ran between the knuckles for my index and middle fingers. It looked terrible. It didn't feel so great either and I really hoped there was no damage to the tendons and ligaments that I knew were so vulnerable there. A sudden twinge from my left calf reminded me that my arm was not the only part of me that needed medical attention. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore my problems for now. Sharra was in far worse shape than I was and tending her wounds was first priority. There would be time for me to clean myself up later.

It was several minutes before the water and the t-shirt fragments within the pots had cooled to the point where they would not burn me. Concentrating on other things, I reached in the pot and grabbed the largest remnant of my shirt with my right hand. I almost screamed as the hot water stung the wound on the back of my hand. It was several minutes later, after an extended period of grinding my teeth so hard that I thought they might shatter that the pain dulled enough that I was able to start again, this time with my intact left hand. I picked the largest rag from the pot, squeezed some of the water from it and began to use it to sponge the blood out of Sharra's fur.

It was a very time consuming process. Getting partially congealed blood out of fur proved to be a lot more difficult than I imagined and Sharra was literally covered in blood from head to toe. I began to wish that this old shack had a bathtub so that I could just dunk her in it and let her soak for a while instead of wiping away the mud, blood and pine needles, rinsing the rag out, working away at the next spot, etc. I was so clumsy with my left hand that I kept switching back to my right hand. For a few minutes I managed to ignore the pain but I gave up when my hand stiffened up to the point where I could hardly hold on to the rag. I sat back and took a breather for a moment before resuming the process once more, this time with my left hand. I was a lot slower and I had to concentrate more, but it did work. More than once I bumped against one of Sharra's wounds in my clumsiness but fortunately she remained unconscious. A few of her wounds, especially that tear on her left side, started bleeding again as I cleaned them. Whenever that happened I stopped cleaning and applied pressure to the wound until the bleeding stopped. That was all I could do. The water in the pot that I used for rinsing my rag was such a deep red by the time I was done that it looked to be undiluted blood. I hurriedly dumped it out beside the cabin.

I used my makeshift bandages as sparingly as possible, fearing that I would not have enough. The bulk of the remnants of my old shirt I used on the deeper wounds to Sharra's left arm and chest. The rest of her injuries I figured would be okay without bandages as long as she didn't move around too much. Even so, There were only four small strips of cloth left by the time I was done dressing her wounds. I hoped that those small pieces would be enough to bandage my injuries.

I leaned back and inspected my work soberly. I held no doubts that it was the best I could do with what I had, but I knew in my heart that it probably wouldn't be enough. The chances of infection were just too great without out any sort of antiseptics or antibiotics. Sharra didn't look much better all swathed up in the remnants of my old shirt. Actually she looked almost comical. The bandages showed just how little of her there was under that thick coat of fur, and I was caught by surprise when I realized that under all of that fur she had a startlingly female figure. I pushed that thought away hurriedly, wondering where it had come from. I stared blankly at the wall before I collected myself together and got my train of thought back on the rails.

I double checked my bandaging job and chewed my lower lip thoughtfully. The bandages would help to keep the blood, however little of it she had left, from leaking out of her as long as she didn't move around too much but other than that they offered little protection. I wished that I had a needle and thread so I could have stitched her wounds together but even that simple convenience was lacking. The only thing I could do was cross my fingers and hope for the best. Sharra's immune system had one hell of a battle lurking on the horizon and hopefully she would be strong enough to win it. I wished that there had been even just a simple bar of soap lying around the cabin somewhere but had I failed to find anything like that. I shook my head sadly as I knew that even the simple disinfecting and cleaning properties of soap would have given Sharra a better chance at surviving long enough to heal up. It would have given the two of us a better chance. I looked at my mangled right arm and hand and longed for the medical technology that made my old life so much more secure. Injuries such as the ones that Sharra and I had suffered were simple things to treat in a world where powerful antiseptics and antibiotics were only a visit to the doctor and a trip to the pharmacy away. My life may have become simpler when I was transported here, but it had become a lot harder and a lot less certain.

I grimaced as I tried to straighten up. I had spent so long crouched on the floor beside Sharra that my left leg had seized up. It hurt abominably when I forced it to straighten out. Something ripped and I felt a warm trickle run down the back of my leg. I groaned and limped over to the table and collapsed into a chair.

I was so tired. I could have just leaned forward and rested my head on the table and it would have been lights out but I couldn't let myself sleep, not yet. I still had far too much work to do. I bent over and untied my bootlaces. I spent a short moment wrestling with my boots trying to get them off my feet. The right one came off easily enough but the left was being stubborn and it hurt like hell each time I tugged on it. When I finally did manage to ease it off, my sock came with it, glued into the boot by the copious quantities of blood that had leaked down my leg and into it. I muttered a curse and tossed the boot aside. I unbuckled my belt and began the painful process of taking my pants off.

When my jeans were finally in a pile on the floor beside me and I finally managed to unclench my jaw, I took a nervous look at the damage done to my calf by the bear's claws.

At first glance it looked horrible, and I felt a sinking despair settle in my gut. Coagulated blood mixed with fresh blood leaking from two angry tears that ran right through the meaty part of my calf about four inches below my knee. Wearing nothing but my underwear I stumbled over to where the last remaining pot of water stood on the floor. The water within it was still warm to the touch. I pulled a fresh rag out of it and squeezed some of the water out of it. The pain was unbelievable as I rinsed away the crusted blood around my wound. As I cleaned, the wound began to look a little better than I had originally thought. The bear's claws had ripped two uneven slashes that were roughly three inches long. The cuts were deep, but fortunately they weren't as deep as I had originally feared. I breathed a sigh of relief and applied a fresh bandage over the ragged slashes. Spots of crimson slowly grew on the cloth.

I did my best to rinse the bulk of the blood out of my shredded pant leg and my one sock. My boot was another matter and I resorted to filling the thing with water and letting it stand for a few minutes before dumping it out. I repeated the process several times before the water I dumped out ran almost clear instead of cloudy red. I only had the one set of clothes with me and I had to try my best to salvage them. Running around the woods naked was not an option. I gritted my teeth and pulled my jeans back on, steeling myself against the inevitable pain. I put my socks and boots back on, heedless of the fact that the left ones were still wet. My left boot squished wetly every time I took a step.

The wounds on my right arm were far worse than the ones on my leg. My fingers were still stiff and unresponsive and I had a really tough and excruciating time when I tried clenching that hand into a fist. I began to worry when it didn't even make it halfway there. I picked up my rag again and began cleaning away the old blood. I hissed between my teeth as the warm water stung. There were four slashes across my forearm, and two of them had cut quite deep into the muscle. I swore as bright red blood welled up quicker than I could wipe it away. This injury was going to make my life a lot more difficult. I had a nasty suspicion that in a couple of days I would be developing better co-ordination with my left hand because my right one would be next to useless until it healed up. Once again a needle and thread would have come in handy but I would have to make do without. With a clumsy left hand, I held the gashes closed until the bleeding trickled to a stop. Two of my three remaining bandages I used to bind the wounds on my forearm.

I took a deep breath when I turned my attention to my hand. The injury there was the one I was the most worried about. There was the potential that something vital to the movement of my fingers had been injured and I really hoped that there wouldn't be any permanent damage that would affect the use of my right hand. There was a large flap of skin hanging off the back of my hand and the wound started bleeding badly as I cleaned the clotted blood and grime away. I could literally see exposed tendons and ligaments and I felt a little sick to my stomach. It hurt like hell for me to even touch that hand, but after a minute or two of fumbling I finally managed to position the flap of skin close to where it had been ripped away. I began to feel woozy and stars swam before my eyes. I almost passed out but I managed to hold the ugly flap of skin down until the bleeding stopped. I used my last bandage to bind my abused hand in a swath of white. Only then did I see how badly my hands were shaking.

When I was fully bandaged up, I staggered back over to Sharra and checked to see how she was doing. She was still unconscious. Maybe she was sleeping, but then again maybe she was in a coma. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to know. I was relieved to see that no fresh blood had soaked through her bandages. I stood over her for a long time, thinking. I had a difficult choice to make.

Our supply of food was getting dangerously low. There was perhaps four or five days worth of food left and we had been hunting almost non-stop every day in an effort to bolster our meagre resources but pickings had been slim. The deer that Sharra had killed would have helped the situation considerably but the bear had decided to interfere. I sighed and my shoulders sagged. I knew I had to go and bring back as much of that deer as I could. I didn't want to go and I was in no shape to do the amount of work that had to be done, but I really didn't have a choice. Neither Sharra nor I were in any shape to do any more hunting, and nor would we be for quite a while. I really didn't want to leave Sharra all by herself in the cabin in her current condition either. If she woke up when I wasn't around, there was the possibility that she could reopen her wounds and bleed to death before I returned. I sighed miserably. She was unconscious though and she would probably stay that way for some time. Hopefully it would be long enough for me to drag some food back home. I knew for certain that if I didn't bring back the deer today that I probably never would. There was no question that I was going feel a whole lot worse for wear in the morning, and by that time the local scavengers would have undoubtedly found the carcass and eaten large parts of it. I had to go, even though I had to leave Sharra alone for a few hours. The two of us had a long road to recovery ahead of us and we needed the food to maintain our strength.

When I had finally made my decision, I crouched down beside Sharra. I didn't know if she would hear what I was going to tell her or even understand it if I did, but I hoped she would feel something through the link we shared even though she was unconscious. I gently stroked the fur on top of her head, tracing my fingers around her ears. I hated to leave her when she was in as bad shape as she was.

"Sharra," I spoke quietly and gently. "I have to go and bring back the deer you killed." She made no sign that she knew I was there.

"I don't want to go and leave you here, but I have to. We need the food. I'll try to be back as quickly as I can." I let my hand rest on her shoulder. Warmth and compassion filled my thoughts. It was not so long ago that our positions were reversed and I was the badly injured one and Sharra was the one looking after me. It was time for me to repay the debt that I owed her.

"Sleep Sharra, you need the rest. Try not to move around too much if you do wake up." I straightened painfully to my feet. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Rest well."

I stopped to pick my knife from the table on my way out of the cabin. I paused in the doorway and looked back at where Sharra rested peacefully on a bed of deer hides. I shook my head sadly and prayed that she would be alive when I returned. I sheathed my knife on my belt and turned away from her.

I stepped out of the cabin to find that the day had worn into late afternoon. I blinked in surprise. It must have taken me longer than I thought to dress Sharra's wounds and clean myself up. I limped down the trail and stopped at the old shed and picked up a coil of rope. I threw the coil over my shoulder and felt the thick cord slide roughly over my bare skin. Shielding my eyes, I glanced at the sun through the branches of the trees. I had less time than I thought until dark. I had to hurry. Without another thought I began the slow process of retracing my steps to where Sharra had been attacked.

All sense of time slipped away from me as I stumbled through the forest. Pain and exhaustion were the only constants as the sun angled across the sky. Presumably I was surrounded by the usual forest noises, chattering squirrels, the buzz of insects, chirping birds, etc, but I do not recall any. My mind lingered long on the question of whether Sharra would still be alive or not when I returned to the cabin and I ignored everything else.

Fortunately, I still retained enough of my senses to be on my guard as I approached the area where the deer and the carcass of the bear lay. Enough time had passed since the attack that the local scavengers had probably been drawn to the scent of fresh meat sitting out in the open.

Such was the state of mind that the fight with the bear had left me in that I had neglected to bring any weapons with me other than my knife. Now, as I drew closer, I wondered why I had been foolish enough to do such a thing. Then I remembered that my spears and spear thrower had been lost during the fight with the bear. I swallowed nervously and clenched my knife in my left hand. My eyes warily scanned the trees for any sign of trouble. Nothing moved among the undergrowth.

I found the carcass of the deer first. A couple of large ravens and a lone magpie strutted around the carcass, gorging themselves on the entrails left exposed before Sharra had been interrupted during the process of gutting the carcass. The birds flew a short distance into the trees and scolded me raucously when I approached.

I stared dumbly at the carcass for a moment. I knew what I had to do but the energy to do it just wasn't there. I felt old, tired, exhausted beyond comprehension. My injured arm and leg throbbed abominably and I yearned desperately to sit down and rest but I knew that to do so would mean I wouldn't be getting back on my feet any time soon. I suspected that when everything was said and done and I finally managed to drag the remains of the deer back to the cabin that I'd collapse and spend the better part of the next two days unconscious.

I gritted my teeth and crouched down beside the carcass. My leg flared in pain and I almost fell over backwards into the soft, mossy forest floor. I sucked in a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside. When I opened my eyes again, I focused my attention on the carcass in front of me. The scavenging birds had been at the entrails and the sickly sweet stench of punctured intestines swirled around my head. I grimaced distastefully. Holding my breath, I poked around briefly in the pile of guts. I had hoped to save the liver for Sharra since she liked it so much but the birds had pecked it into a ruined mess. The heart was still intact and I briefly considered taking it. Memories flooded into my head, Sharra taunting me playfully about eating raw heart... The chase in the snow and Sharra tackling me... The brief moment of mutual understanding, of caring, that passed between us when Sharra had me pinned to the snow...

I swallowed convulsively and clamped down on my emotions as I felt tears threaten to flow. I did my best to shake the memories away and worry suddenly consumed me. For a moment I was racked with indecision. I wanted to return to the cabin to keep an eye on Sharra, to help her as much as I possibly could. I closed my eyes and sighed. I must have been crazy, leaving her all by herself injured as she was. My shoulders sagged when I realized that I didn't have much of a choice. I had done what I could to help her and her fate was out of my hands now. I understood, despite my fear for her well being, that bringing home the meat that she had worked so hard to bring down would be more of a help than leaving it to the scavengers and returning to the cabin. Both of us needed time to heal and regain our strength. Having enough food to last through the uncertain times ahead where I knew that neither of us would be able to do much hunting was of prime importance if we were going to survive.

I dragged the carcass of the deer a short distance away from the stinking gut pile and proceeded to skin and quarter it. It was clumsy and slow work having to use the knife with my left hand and more than once I nicked my fingers with the sharp blade. I ignored such small cuts. After what I had recently been through they seemed insignificant in comparison.

I'm not sure how long it took me to butcher the carcass, but by the time I had removed all the meat that I could and tied the hide around the quarters, I was tired and sweating profusely. My injured arm and leg throbbed in constant pain. I stood up painfully and wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of a bloody hand. I had placed all of the meat in the center of the skinned hide and then tied all four legs together with a piece of rope to make a sort of bag. I estimated that the whole thing weighed at least twenty to twenty-five kilos and it was a long way back to the cabin. Needless to say, I wasn't looking forward to the return trip. I cleaned my knife with a convenient clump of moss and sheathed it on my belt. With a grunt of pained effort, I grabbed the legs of the deer hide, threw the makeshift sack over my shoulder and began stumbling back towards the cabin.

I staggered through the trees, keeping a watchful eye to the forest floor should I come across my spears and spear thrower that I had discarded during the fight with the bear.

I didn't find my weapons but I did find the carcass of the bear. The ravens and magpies had been at it as well and had already pecked away the staring eyes, leaving empty red sockets to stare silently out into the forest. I shuddered suddenly as I had a brief flash of memory. I doubted that I would ever forget the hate and the anger I had seen in those eyes. I pushed the memories away and took a hurried step away from the carcass but stopped in mid stride and turned around when an idea sprang into my mind.

Bear was meat too. It took a moment for that thought click in my exhausted mind. I didn't normally think of bears in that way but I suddenly remembered that I had eaten bear meat before. Years ago, when my father had still hunted, he brought one home. The meat hadn't been all that bad and he had tanned the hide and turned it into a wonderfully warm and thick rug. I thought hard for a moment. I should at least try and bring some of the meat home, but I should definitely bring the hide. More than likely, the thick fur would prove exceedingly useful when winter returned. I dropped my burden of deerskin and meat to the side and pulled my knife from my belt. I set my jaw and approached the carcass of the great bear. Even though the animal was as dead as it was going to get, being so close to it made me a little uneasy after everything I had been through.

The warm, fetid animal odour of the bear mixed with the stench of the carrion that it had recently fed on rose up to greet me as I approached. I gagged and took a step back, questioning the sanity of my decision to take some of the bear back with me. After a moment of indecision, I went against my instincts to run the other way and preserve my sinuses, and went to work skinning the huge animal. I held my breath for as long as I could before staggering away and gulping in huge lungfuls of relatively fresh air. That didn't work so well and I eventually just gave up and tried to ignore the stench. It wasn't so bad after a few minutes, but I began to wonder if my sense of smell would ever be the same again.

It was unbelievably hard work trying to skin the carcass. The bear was so heavy that it took every remaining ounce of my strength just to roll its dead weight into a position where I could begin to skin it. When I finally did manage to roll the great bear on to its back, it wouldn't stay there. I cursed and swore a bit before using my remaining length of rope to tie a front and a rear leg to a nearby tree to keep them out of my way and the carcass on its back. The skinning was slow and laborious work and the sun was well on its way to the horizon by the time I was able to pull the hide free of its previous owner. I spread it out on the ground, fur side down, and was amazed at the size of it. I spent a couple of minutes leaning against a tree, trying to catch my breath. I stared at that hide the whole time, wondering just how the heck I was going to get it and everything else back to the cabin without killing myself in the process. My injuries were really making themselves felt at this point. My right arm in particular was a burning mass of agony and the bandages there were stained a deep red with fresh blood. My fingers were so stiff that I could hardly move them, and the wound on the back of my hand was bleeding bad enough that bandage was completely soaked and blood was dripping from the last two fingers on that hand. Nevertheless, I went back to work, hacking away at the bear with my knife clutched in a clumsy left hand, trying to separate a heavy rear quarter from the rest of the animal. After what felt like an hour, I finally managed to cut the quarter away. I grasped it and tried to lift it and let out a grunt of surprise. That quarter felt like it weighed as much as I did and I really began to wonder how I was going to get it back to cabin. I fought with the slippery quarter for another couple of minutes and managed to drag it onto the hide. By that time I had given up on getting anymore meat from the carcass. I simply didn't have the strength to do any more, and time was running short. The rest of the bear I left as a meal for the many scavengers that lived in the forest or flew above it. My thoughts suddenly wandered back a few weeks to the time when Sharra had thanked the forest after I had made my first kill. Briefly I wondered if she would think that leaving the rest of the bear for the scavengers was an appropriate gift to the forest.

By the time I had the quarter of bear all packaged in the hide and ready to haul back to the cabin, I was seriously beginning to doubt if I had the energy to get my payload of food back home. I stood there, staring at the rather sizable pile of meat and shaking my head. Even if I hadn't been injured and was still fresh it would have been a tough task.

Home... The thought had just come out of nowhere and I raised an eyebrow. When had I started thinking of the cabin as home? Memories of my old life began to surface and I tried hard to push them back to where they came from. The cabin really was my home now. I had no other place to go and Sharra was the only friend I had left to me. Worry suddenly gripped me when I thought of her. I forgot about my fatigue and some of my pain and began to drag the bear hide and the single quarter that I had managed to cut from the carcass over to where I had left the bag of deer meat. My mind was a flurry of tormented thoughts. I had to get back to the cabin as quickly as I could. I did not want Sharra to wake up and find that I wasn't there. If she reopened her wounds and I wasn't there to help her...

No! I wasn't going to let my thoughts go down that dark path. She would be all right, I knew she would. I felt it. I ignored the remnants of uncertainty that drifted through my cluttered mind and retrieved my rope from where I had used it to tie the bear's legs to a tree. I quickened my pace when I saw that the daylight was fading fast. I had no desire to be stranded out in the forest during the night in the company of a pile of fresh meat. Somehow I doubted that I'd live through that particular experience.

I ended up having to drag the bearskin and the quarter within it. It was just too heavy for me to be able to carry it. I tied the rope around the bearskin and looped the other end around my waist. The deerskin I carried over my left shoulder.

I have never again had to endure anything like that last trip back to the cabin and I'm still not sure how exactly I managed to do it. My progress through the forest was agonizingly slow and I had to take frequent stops to rest my aching body. After each break it was harder and harder for me to get back to my feet. The bearskin kept snagging on the undergrowth and it seemed that every second step I was forced to lift the blasted thing over fallen logs or push it around an obstructing pile of deadfall. I watched the descent of the sun towards the horizon with distinct unease and fear began to slink into my mind as the evening deepened. I trudged forwards, trying my best to ignore the screams of pain from my tortured left leg that came with every step. I almost gave up on dragging the bearskin and I was about to leave it behind when I spied the edge of a familiar clearing through the maze of trees ahead. It came not a moment too soon. The sun had set a few minutes earlier and the woods were darkening at a frightening rate. With home finally within my reach, I surged ahead as fast as I could. I fell to my knees when I reached the edge of the clearing and looked up the hill at the cabin that stood in the center of it. Never before had that old shack been such a welcome sight to me. It almost brought me to tears. Too bad it was all uphill to the door.

The last hundred metres felt like an hour as I fought my way up the hill. I worried about Sharra constantly. I could sense her presence now that I was closer to home. She was alive, I could discern that much, but little else. When I finally reached the cabin, I cast off my burdens and fought off the urge to collapse right then and there. I stumbled up to the door with my heart in my throat and wrenched it open. I half expected to see that Sharra had reopened her wounds in my absence and was barely clinging to life in a pool of blood. My fears were unfounded though and it was a great relief to see that she had not moved from the spot where I had left her. I limped over to her and examined her carefully. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully and she had a sort of half frown on her muzzle as she slept. Relieved beyond words, I moved to sit down beside her and nearly fell on top of her as my abused legs suddenly gave out on me. I ended up lying on my side, my nose about a foot from hers. I reached out with a bloody, bandaged hand and gently stroked the top of her head, letting my fingers trace down her muzzle and around her ears. She stirred slightly and a smile appeared on her muzzle but she didn't wake up. I smiled in return, knowing that the first hurdle had been passed, and I let myself relax for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

I don't even remember falling asleep.

'The Far side' is Copyright to Gary Larson.