The bear was bigger now. Fatter, glossy, thick fur catching the light. Big head held low. She pushed air through her mouth so her lips fluttered. The bear looked past Mara intently, and Mara turned to follow her gaze.

She knew what she would see there, too.

The cub sat behind her, on the end of the gravel spit. His face was twitching. Ears flicking, nose to the wind. Alert.

All Mara had learned about mother bears was to stay away. Not to get near their cubs, and to never come between them. To avoid the situation at any cost. She had never learned what to do if it had already happened.

Should she raise her arms, look big?

No, that would be worse. That would make her seem a threat.

Maybe she could get to the cub somehow. Pass it. Get it to pass her. But that would mean stepping toward it, which would also make her a threat.

Mara shifted her weight slightly. Testing the movement.

The bear rose to her back feet, as easily as a bird taking flight. She let out a bark, deep and rumbling, and every hair on Mara’s body rose at once.

She should jump in the water.

It was the only way. The only solution. If Mara could get to the edge of the spit without triggering the bear. If she could somehow make clear that she was only getting away. That she would not come back. That she would never come back again.

Mara moved her foot. Just her toes, an inch toward the water. The bear barked again, and this time it was louder. This time it ate the world.

Mara made herself small, shrunken. Crouched. Pulled in against her very bones. Her eyes down, her empty palms up, although she knew that was a human gesture, a gesture that meant nothing, a gesture her body found when it had nothing else to say. She had never felt so human.

And then Mara’s anger came back again, hitting her like a wall. Now she was angry at the bear. Angry at the bear for her violent irrational drive to protect her child, angry that Mara was at risk when she had done nothing wrong, when she had not meant to hurt her, she had not meant to hurt anyone ever, she had only meant to walk to the creek, she had only meant to walk away.

Well, thought Mara. This will go one way or another.

She stood up and closed her eyes.

A sound rose, a sound that may or may not have come from her own head. A rush that turned into a scream, a bang, an explosion. And as quickly as it had come, the sound ended. Mara opened her eyes.

Blood spurted from the mama bear’s neck. She shook and it flew from her, a red sprinkler, and she turned in lumbering, frantic circles, looking for the source of the pain. For the third time, Mara knew what she would see before she saw it.