Suddenly, behind me, came a heavy, low growl. Goosebumps ran down my skin. I slowly turned — and I saw her.
Out of the bushes emerged a huge mother bear.
Her eyes burned with rage, her breathing was ragged. She saw that I was holding her cub in my hands and thought I was the one who had killed it.
With a deafening roar, she rose up on her hind legs. The ground seemed to tremble.
Terrified, I threw the cub back into the water and bolted along the shore.
But the mother bear was faster. In just a few seconds, she caught up to me and swiped her paw across my back. A sharp pain pierced through my body — her claws left deep scratches.
I barely managed to stay on my feet, blood soaking through my shirt.
But fear gave me strength. I dashed into the forest, weaving between trees, until I heard her growl slowly fade into the distance.
When I finally reached the road, I collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. It was in that moment I realized: you must never interfere with wild nature.
Out there, different laws rule.
And man will always remain a stranger.
