She followed the creek upstream. It was easier to walk through the water than around it, and she took careful steps, feeling with her toes, occasionally stepping off ledges that left her thigh-deep and soaked the hem of her shorts. The water was soothing, numbing. It raised wakes around her legs.

Before long, the creek widened and curved sharply around a bar of gravel, thirty feet long, with a few thin trees fallen across it. Mara climbed onto the stones and found a piece of quartz that she set on a log before continuing on. The creek led to the right and through a stand of pine before reaching another sunlit clearing. The water broke over shallow rapids, then smoothed, and a few hardy bubbles floated downstream.

Content that the ashes protected her skin, and that she was finally unwatched, Mara lay down in the sun and closed her eyes.

She woke to a shadow over her face. By the time she remembered where she was, the shadow had passed. It took her a moment to figure out what had cast it.

A few feet away, a bear watched her sit up. The bear was not familiar with humans; she had come, curious, to investigate, with her cub tumbling behind.

The bear had a strong smell. Like fish and blood, heavy in the air, and Mara thought that maybe she had noticed this smell in the woods before and not known the source. How many bears had she passed at close range in her life? Now she would know when she did. Mara didn’t feel scared, but her heart raced, and goose bumps rose on her arms.

The bear hopped oddly, from one foot to another, and swung her body to turn away. Now Mara saw her cub, loose and careless. He was half-grown, with shoulders as high as his mother’s chest. His ears looked too big for his head. The cub had never learned caution. He took a step toward the stranger. Then Mara’s stomach rumbled and he backed away.

Mara stayed frozen. After some time the bears decided she was dull, and wandered off in search of mice. Mara waited until her heart had slowed. She walked down the creek, but quickly. The water pushed her along.

Back at camp, Bullfrog wove pine boughs into the lean-to, and Kyle arranged firewood into stacks of even size. He kept trying to get Bullfrog to chat.

“So you’re a hunter,” said Kyle.

Bullfrog took a long time to answer. “I’m a meat hunter.”

“What’s that?”

“It means I hunt out my window for meat.”

“But that’s illegal, isn’t it?”

Bullfrog sighed deeply and reached for another bough.

“I saw a bear,” said Mara. “And her cub. A ways up the creek. Just so you know to keep an eye out.”

“Most bears aren’t dangerous,” said Kyle. “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“I didn’t say I was scared. I said we should be careful. Lenny was right about the bear.” Mara thought of the smells of their camp. Smoke and bodies and plants; nothing too appealing. She licked her lips.