Chapter 165 - Nine

XXII.

Bridgette rode with the other rangers on their horses through the thicket with boar spears and crossbows, following the hunting dogs that barked and bayed loudly, in their pursuit of a fleeing pack of wild boars. 

At the sound of a pig's screeching and a dog's urgent yelping nearby, she pulled on the reins.

There, in a bush, one of the pigs had become hopelessly tangled, thrashing about to no avail as it was being harassed by one of the dogs.

Bridgette sidled her horse over and silenced the pig with a spear-thrust through the neck.

"That's one!" She declared to her fellow rangers.

Two! She heard another call out in the distance. Three! Four!

In many ways, wild boars were even more dangerous to the people of Bethel than wolves. They prowled in packs during the day, brazenly overrunning houses and farms and destroying everything else in their path. And because they breed like roaches, Rangers would do a regular sweep of the woods in an effort to cull the local population.

Bridgette dismounted as the cries of the hounds grew more and more distant. 

She stooped to scratch the head of the one pup she'd found, a reward for its good work, when a strange marking on a nearby tree caught her eye. 

The bark had been peeled off, in the shape of a large claw.

Glancing further along the way, she saw there were many more trees bearing the same distinct mark.

Something huffed aggressively in the distance.

Something...not human.

What was that, Bridgette thought, looking around.

None of the other rangers were around. 

She was all alone.

Before she could think, the hound she was with barreled off, barking, toward the sound.

"Wait!" Bridgette followed it, clutching her boar spear closely. "Heel, boy!"

But the dog had already disappeared into the dense thicket. Bridgette gave chase, the strange noise sounding closer, and growing more threatening.

There were more violated trees, bearing the same telltale marks and shattered branches. 

"Come back!" Bridgette yelled after the dog, but then stopped dead in her tracks. 

Through a veil of brush, she glimpsed it.

A tall, gray figure lurking ahead. 

She shifted the brush aside, and there it stood --a bear, the source of the grizzling howls she'd been hearing, reared onto its back legs in a leafy clearing to dwarf the hapless hound that had intruded upon its domain, baring its sharp teeth and claws.

The dog was backing away, whimpering, realizing it had bitten off more than it could chew.

Bridgette felt a shiver run up her spine -- bears were a rare sight in that neck of the woods, something she'd only ever heard about from dubious local legends. 

The bear fell to all fours and charged her, at a speed unexpected of its enormous size.

With a startled gasp, Bridgette held aloft her boar spear to meet it, piercing into its chest, but doing nothing to halt its bloodthirsty pounce, even as the spearhead broke off inside of it. 

With one swing of its mighty paw it smacked Bridgette away. 

The blow sent her rolling across the dirt, and bed of decomposing leaves, until she collided with a tree. She rose slowly, the wind knocked out of her, as the beast let out what she saw as a victory cry, rearing back on its hind legs with a baleful roar.

Bridgette's riding cloak had been torn, reduced to tatters by its claw, so she tore it off. 

Beneath it, she wore a dull green leather top that cut off at her chest, revealing the abdominal muscles of her torso cultivated through years of diligent training, and hard work and sweat. She was, despite standing at a full height less than five feet tall, every bit as sturdy as her ranger brethren.

She discarded the broken boar spear and unhitched the lumber axe from her side -- a mere tool to most, but as potent a weapon as any sword in the right hands.

The bear circled, intermittently bobbing its head and letting out a petty grunt.

Bridgette watched it, the muscles in her arms tightening in anticipation. She hadn't any experience with fighting bears, but figured it would be pointless to run. If she was going to make it out of this alive, she would have to fight her way out.

Bridgette was the first to break the stalemate, rushing forward with a wide swing.

The first attack missed, as the bear weaved out of the way, but In maintaining the momentum of the swing she surprised it when she brought the axe around for another, this time catching it in the side of the jaw. 

Its head was turned by the impact, and she thought she could feel a bone shatter. 

The fur under its chin dyed red, as it let out an astonished groan.

Dazed by the blow, the beast issued a sluggish swipe, which Bridgette avoided with ease. 

In the moment, she knew it was imperative to find a position that was safe from those claws, and those gnashing teeth. 

Taking advantage of the beast's confusion, she swiftly maneuvered behind it. 

And then, after taking a deep breath, Bridgette jumped onto its back.

Adrenaline pumping, she buried her face into its stinking fur and straddled the rampaging beast with her powerful legs, to hang on. 

Steadying herself, she sat up to deliver the coup de grace.

Holding the axe in both hands, rearing back all the way with each swing, she repeatedly drove the axe head into the back of the bear's skull with the same technique she would use to chop firewood -- one hand on the handle, one hand on the head.

Blood matted its fur. Flicked across Bridgette's face. 

It roared in pain. Shook viciously to rid itself of her. But still, she kept up her lethal tempo.

She hit it until its skull cracked, caved in, and kept hitting some more. With that same motion for chopping wood. she was pulverizing the back of its head to mush.

It let out one final howl of anguish, before collapsing on its stomach. Dead.

Bridgette was shaking, panting, as she dismounted from its back. Her head started to spin. She felt something warm trickle down her lean belly. Warmer, than the obvious sweat. Looking down, there was a bloody gash where the bear's whole claw had torn into her flesh.

Then, she was startled by a hound's shrill yapping. 

She hadn't realized until then, but the one dog she'd chased after had gone to look for the other rangers for help, and returned with some.

Her comrades were all amazed, gawking at the scene of the fallen bear.

"A bear was still in these woods?"

"No way..."

"And Bridgette took it out all by herself!"

They crowded around her, a set of hands catching her under each arm just as she was about to fall. Little did she know that her smallness, juxtaposed against the hulking monster she'd just taken out, would inspire a legend to be told far and wide, for many years to come. 

A story about a brave mouse...that had slayed a lion. 

XXIII.

The infirmary was always plagued by a pungent odor, from all the salves and natural remedies that were employed there. With only alcohol on hand to dull the pain, often passersby could hear the agonized screams of the unlucky patients being operated on with crudely crafted  saws and chisels.

That evening, Jed was reassured by how quiet it was when he arrived.

Bridgette smiled from the bed she was resting in when the curtain flew open and she saw him standing there. Jed, with his bushy brown hair looking like a bird's nest that had just been rifled through by a fox, with specks of dirt, twigs, and tiny leaves poking out here and there.

All the physicians had stepped out, leaving just the two of them.

"Bridge," he said with his usual laid-back attitude, although the concern etched upon his face hinted at something more under the surface. Or so Bridgette liked to imagine.

"It's just a little scratch." she joked. "I'm more concerned with the state of your hair."

"Come on, Bridge. Don't act tough," 

"I heard that thing was massive."

She shrugged. "I guess it was pretty big."

"To leave a mark like this..."

Jed started to trace along the stitched wound on her chest with one of his fingers. 

She allowed it at first, blushing, until she felt the wound sting from him pressing the wrong spot too hard, at which time she swatted his hand away for him to stop.

"Oh," Jed said, reaching into a bag at his side. "I brought you these mitts."

They were a perfect fit for her hands, at the very least. But they were prickly, and likely to be very itchy if she wore them for too long. 

She bent her head to sniff one -- yeah, that's right, they stink too.

"This your idea of a get well gift?" 

Without warning, Jed suddenly planted both his hands unto the bed, hovering his body over her.

"Jed!" Bridgette squealed in surprise.

She turned her face away, thinking he was trying to make a move on her. "What the Hell!?"

"Take me there," he said, a wild look in his eyes.

Bridgette blinked. "Huh?" 

Jed slammed his hands against the bed, for emphasis – she swore she'd never seen him this excited before. 

"Take me...to where you fought the bear!" He said. 

"I've got to see it, Bridge!"

Bridgette sighed, feeling deflated.

It's Jed, so I don't know what I was expecting.