Greta looked on in abject horror as a bear strode into the bandit camp, tearing the head off of the lookout and using some kind of magical power to send another one into the canopy and onto one of the sharpened stakes. The latter one screamed in terror until his descent stopped abruptly as sharpened wood pierced through his gambeson and out his chest. He had no last words, only gurgling sounds echoed out of him as blood rushed out his mouth and nose.

The whole camp seemed to freeze.

Magical beasts weren’t supposed to be in the Northlands.

The bear had very clearly performed an act of magic.

‘Volos, father of bears… please… spare me the violence of your children.’ It was the first prayer she’d ever uttered to the Bear God. Only druids and woodland folk ever prayed to him. Volos rarely ever made himself known. ‘Please… lord Volos… spare my life and the life of the children; I beg of thee.’

It was futile; she knew that. But she had to try… if not for herself, then for the children, who were unlucky enough to have accompanied their caravan. The others would surely be killed; the bear would rage and tear through whatever living thing happened to be in its path.

But… if Volos would hear her prayers, then maybe… maybe, some of them might live through this nightmare.

Bloody memories flashed through her thoughts.

Her uncle was killed by a bear. She’d seen the body – or what was left of it, mangled and ripped apart to such a degree that it was scarcely difficult to believe the corpse had belonged to a human being – and it had left a scar in her soul. The mere sight of the giants of the woodlands ripped through whatever mask of bravery she might’ve had.

She lurched forward, her legs absently and unconsciously moving, but the binds around her wrists stopped her from moving even half a meter forward. She wanted to run as far away as she could – far from this brutal creature, far from the bandits, far from everything. Greta wanted to scream, and so she did.

The bandits screamed as well. The bear roared in turn, drowning out their paltry voices. Her heart quaked and all she could here were the screams. The world itself seemed to blur. The pained and panicked voices of the people around her seemed like hushes and whispers. The children huddled together, though they couldn’t move away with their hands and legs bound by ropes.

“KILL IT!”

They charged as one, spears and flanges flashing as they moved to strike down the massive bear, who simply stood there – its face was almost… curious and fascinated by what the bandits were doing.

Greta’s eyes widened when their captors fluttered upwards into the air, as though pulled my invisible strings. Magic… the bear was definitely using magic; there was no doubt in her mind now. She turned to her companions; most of them lay bruised and bloodied, weakened by their attempts at fighting back.

“Daveth!” She called out to the caravan master, who’d taken them under his wing. The man teetered at the edge of his consciousness, eyes fading in and out as his head swung back and forth. “Daveth, there’s bear attacking the bloody camp!”

The old man groaned, but remained at the edge of his consciousness. He would of no further-

One of the bandits crashed into the wooden pole that held her in place, his body was mangled and broken so severely that most of his limbs appeared to be hanging on by literal threads of flesh and sinew. Greta screamed as the corpse fell and spurted bled over her. She kicked it away, but the remains were simply too heavy.

“Aaaaagh!” Her senses screamed at the sight of blood. The smell of it wrenched out the memories of her uncle’s broken, unrecognizable body. The same thing would happen to her. The same thing was about to happen to her – eaten alive by a bear, her body left to rot in the woodlands, shattered and forgotten, to be picked apart by carrion and rodents, scavengers and predators.

Her mind bleeding red, Greta could only scream was flesh and blood descended.

And so the mangled corpse fell atop her, like a sack of bloodied pork bits, still oozing blood and gore. “Get it away- get it away- get it away- aaaaahhhhhhggggg!!!!”

Behind her, Greta could vaguely make out the ripping and the tearing as armed men and women were hurled about, their limbs and entrails flailing in the air, their blood showering the forest floor. Around her, the other captives screamed in fear and panic – one of them had taken to breaking his own forearm just to twist and pull to no avail.

Was this their fate? Were they meant to be eaten alive by this magical beast?

She had joined a caravan to travel to the far west, where the land was yet to be touched by the plague that’d ravaged much of the Northern Kingdoms, bringing down entire cities to ruin and rubble. There were fifty of them, all lonesome souls who’d sold everything they had for a chance at a better life away from the sickness and the chaos that came with it. Greta had watched her own mother and brother succumb to the plague, becoming boil-ridden wretches that could no longer speak for their tongues had long since fallen out of their mouths. And they died as they lived, suffering.

Everything she and her family ever owned, down to the last piglet, was sold for meager prices; the only thing she had left were clothes on her back and the last few scraps of dried bread in her satchel, alongside a jerkin of water.

The journey to the west would’ve taken a whole month.

The bandits ambushed their caravan on the fourth day and dragged them all to their camp.

Why was her life so full of misery?

Had she done something to anger the gods?

Was she cursed?

Fresh, warm blood spilled across her garments, staining her white tunic red and brown as horrible fluids oozed out of the corpse atop her. Greta screamed and screamed, but even she could no longer hear her own voice as the chaos of the camp grew and men were torn to shreds before their very eyes by a dark and terrible creature.

“NO!” Why should she accept this fate? Why should she succumb to a bear?

Greta pushed and pushed against the corpse. Her hands were not bound, and the bloody mass of flesh and bone was far heavier than anything she’d ever tried to lift in her entire life, but she pushed anyway. Her harms screamed and she was sure she’d felt her shoulder popping. Greta did not stop. Neither pain nor fear held sway.

Loud and heavy footsteps echoed behind her, following by grunting and low growling. She swallowed the lump in her throat. The bear was right behind her. Her breath hitched and her heart pounded. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as the footsteps continued towards them. Around her, the other captives scratched and screeched at each other, determined to not be the first get mangled and eaten by a bear that was definitely big enough to do both to all of them.

“Shit shit shit shit shit!” The corpse atop her wasn’t budging.

Her arms suddenly lost all their strength and dropped. Her head flopped back and Greta found herself lying flat on the ground. A massive, furry paw that was definitely larger than her whole head dropped right next to her. The claws on it were about half as long as her entire forearm, each of them was easily sharp enough to cleave through flesh and bone with ease. Greta closed her eyes and grimaced.

Was this the end of her?

Was she to meet the edge of her road in this forest, half-eaten and forgotten?

Was this the place for her bones to find eternal rest?

Couldn’t the gods just give her a fucking break for once?

She closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable. If the bear just tore her head right off, like it did the watchman, then her death should be painless, right?

Greta waited and waited, but nothing happened.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and found the bear still standing there. It was eyeing them, almost studying each of them, unmoving and unthreatened, despite Daveth’s – so, he’s fucking awake now? – attempts at scaring it away by repeatedly yelling curses and expletives its way. Greta breathed out a slow, raspy breath as she turned her head to the side. Her fellow captives were alive, though they now huddled together and visible shivered – the potent smell of urine and… feces filled the air.

Well… at least, she didn’t soil herself at the moments before her death. That would’ve been embarrassing.

And yet… the bear was just… standing.

It sniffed the air and tilted its head curiously, but otherwise did nothing.

Her heart sank, however, when the creature turned towards the children and took a step.

“NO!”