Once upon a time, there was a hunter who lived in the woods. He had a little cabin and he kept it adorned with the fragments of those he slew. He took fish up in great nets. He stalked foxes through burrow and brush. He dragged the beavers from the dam and the rabbits from the warren and the birds from the nest. He sold feathers and skins and leathers and bones and antlers and hoofs and claws and teeth and that which he could not sell or eat, he burned.
The animals in the forest all feared the hunter, but there was nothing they could do. For he was skilled with bow and blade and gun, and could take any of the creatures in a fight. His footfalls were silent and his reflexes perfect. Every slightest motion drew his practised eye. Even the great bears, mightiest of the animals in the forest, failed to defeat the hunter. For he was clever and had set traps around his cottage, sharp things of metal and anger buried in the mud. And the bears found their paws trapped and their limbs broken and could do nothing but whimper as they waited to die.
And father and mother and chick were slain, one after enough and the forest grew empty and still and yet the hunter continued regardless. The few surviving animals crawled deeper and deeper into their nests, for there was little else to do. They did not dare whisper the names of the dead, lest that conjure death itself. All except for the great bear. For the great bear was old and wise. And the great bear knew that with time comes mistakes. And so the great bear hid itself by the cabin and sat so perfectly still that it practically became stone.
And the great bear watched as the hunter left in the morning and returned in the evening. It watched as the sun rose and the sun set and the days wound on and on. The moon spun in the sky, thin crescents giving way to a blood soaked circle and the hunter trekked past a thousand times, his arms always full of his awful products. And the great bear stayed motionless, even as its own family found their way under the butcher's knife. Their pelts were sold, or chopped, or used as rugs for cold feet. And the great bear felt nothing, because if it felt anything it would no longer be stone and in its rage and fury, it would fall for the same trap that broke the rest of its family.
And one day, as the sound of laughter and pleasure boomed from the warm firelight of the hunter's cabin, the hunter excused himself from the crowd to take a leak. And, as he stumbled out into the darkness of the woods, the great bear saw that he was drunk. He was drunk on his alcohol and he was drunk on his success and he was drunk on his pleasure. And he was so drunk that he stumbled, ever so slightly, and his foot found itself in one of his own traps.
And oh, how the hunter screamed. He cried out so loud that all the birds burst from their nests and whirled through the night sky. And the women and men poured from his hut in all their fineries and states of undress. They watched this pathetic shell of a man, his leg so mangled he would never hunt again and they shook their heads and walked away. And the man howled and howled as the moon rose and set and the sun glimmered onto the morning dew. And the bear watched him as wracking sobs grew more and more pathetic. The bear felt nothing because the bear was still stone. And stone had a long memory.
Stone remembered that the hunter would build little houses and sit in them motionless for weeks to lull the elk into security. Stone remembered that the hunter would lie still to draw the buzzards down from the sky. Stone remembered all this and more. And so for a week or more, the great bear say and watched the hunter. It watched as he starved, as he flesh caved inwards and began to drip off his fragile bones. And finally, when the stone could take no more, the bear lumbered forwards.
"Why," said the bear. "I think I've caught a little hunter in my trap."
And how the hunter begged. It told the bear of its riches, how only he could show the bear how to access them. He knew where the money was buried, how to work the tools, which of his things were valuable and which were junk. Why, he would never hunt again. For as long as he lived, he would never take up the blade. He would raise a thousand cubs for the great bear. He would name his kids after it. He would do anything if only the bear would set him free from this trap.
"I do wonder," said the bear at last after the hunter's words finally stopped. "Did my family not beg for their lives? Did they not offer you the same? Why did you not free them?" The great bear paused for a long moment, as if carefully considering the words. "It's almost as if when your leg is in the trap, you'll say whatever might you out of it. It strikes me that what I should do is ignore your every word."
"Well reasoned friend bear," said the hunter. "But you see,"
He never finished his sentence. The great bear left the forest with his belly full. And all was well.