But he remained frozen, caught between the urge to run and the strange pull of the bear’s gaze. Gripping Bernie’s leash tightly, breath shallow, Jacob’s panic wrestled with a growing sense of pity. Then he saw it—a deep, bleeding gash on the bear’s hind leg.
His fear shifted. The bear wasn’t hunting him—it was wounded, vulnerable. Cuts lined its mouth, evidence of a desperate fight.
Jacob’s thoughts collided. Should he run while the bear hesitated, or was it truly seeking help? It made no sense. But the sorrow in the bear’s eyes quieted his terror enough to act.
Shaking, he pulled out his phone and typed a hurried message to a coworker: “Something strange. A wounded bear led me deeper into the forest. If I don’t check in soon, send help.” He hit send and turned to Bernie.
“Go, Bernie,” Jacob said, kneeling to meet the dog’s anxious eyes. “Head to the police station. They’ll know it’s me if you show up.” His voice cracked, but he forced calm. Bernie hesitated, whining softly, but Jacob pointed firmly down the path.
Bernie barked once, then sprinted into the shadows, loyalty overcoming hesitation. Jacob watched until the dog vanished, chest tightening at sending him alone. Now, it was just him and the bear.
The bear limped forward, pausing to glance back with urgent eyes. Its movements were slow, deliberate, pained. Defying every survival instinct, Jacob followed, pulse roaring as he ventured deeper.
Branches snagged his clothes; uneven ground challenged his steps. The fading light painted the world in gray hues, the towering canopy above ominous. The bear pressed onward, exhaustion evident in every labored step.
The absurdity of following a wild bear, guided only by its limping and pleading glances, struck Jacob. Logic screamed to turn back, but he was too far in—retreat felt impossible.