Somewhere in the night an owl hooted. Maistoinna jumped. He gave up his attempt at sleep and climbed out of his bag. Sitting before the campfire, he watched morning light chase darkness across the sky. His mind grappled with the bear. What was he saying? The Eagle; the bear's wound-what did they mean?
These things once would have been intelligible to Maistoinna, but lately-ever since his nephew's accident -many things seemed incomprehensible. Maistoinna was frustrated that he didn't understand the bear. He related to bears better than women. He knew bears-women, well… leave it at that.
As a boy, his grandfather told him that their clan was directly descended from the great bear. Even then Maistoinna admired the bear's arrogant swagger. "They're always smiling," a young Maistoinna told his grandfather. Unknown to Maistoinna, his own smile resembled that insolent smirk.
Real-life encounters with bears didn't shake him the way this dream had- not even the time a black bear caught Maistoinna with his pants down. The sun shined brilliantly upon the jagged Mission Mountains as Maistoinna answered nature's call. He was squatting behind a stand of brush when he heard the bear lumber nearby. It swaggered across an opening in the trees, busily foraging, snout to the ground. Not until Maistoinna moved for his pepper spray - set upon a stump five feet away - did the bear notice him. With teeth clacking, the bear moved towards Maistoinna.
In his excitement, Maistoinna forgot to pull up his pants and fell over himself. He hit the ground with a thud-pepper spray out of reach. The bear closed, teeth clacking. It caught whiff of Maistoinna's scat and lowered its snout. After investigating, the bear scampered away.
Maistoinna didn't find the story funny, his screw ups were never the least bit humorous. That's not to say that Maistoinna didn't possess a blistering wit, he did, as long as others were the target.
As the sun rose above the Appalachian forest, Maistoinna dumped his remaining coffee on the fire and closed camp. He faced the long day ahead of him with a sigh. Hiking was a job in the mid-Atlantic summer time soup.