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Charles tightened the gloves and gave his fingers a wiggle. Still warm and cozy, as far as they could be in such a desolate place. The wind ceaselessly ripped through the canyon, a furious cold current that covered every inch of the place in snow and ice, every inch except for the large white-painted tent halfway up the cliffs. It was almost invisible amidst the storm, just as intended. Charles and his men knew they were lucky to be out of the biting frost, but after nine hours of waiting, their makeshift benches had become quite uncomfortable.

Charles reached past two men wth muskets and tapped the shoulder of a young man in a heavy grey winter coat, “See anything yet nephew?”

The boy lowered his spyglass and turned towards his uncle, “Nothing yet sir. Though it’s hard to tell through the flurry.”

Charles gave an understanding nod. The boy was trying his best, but there was no way he’d be the first to spot the beast. Aubrey had begged Charles to find a way to make the boy useful. Footsteps approached from Charles left, another soldier dressed head to tail in grey, it was impossible to tell who was who.

“Sir, the barometer is dropping.”

That tinny voice belonged unmistably to Girrin, their expert and guide. Charles hopped to his feet and took a step towards the white canvas. Even if his nephew hadn’t spotted it, the beast was near. “Into positions.” He ordered.

In a second, the bench was emptied out and every solder was moving. Five troops and Charles’ nephew lined up with muskets near the main door. Three removed patch windows in front of the ballistas, then got to work winching them into a fire-ready position. Charles and Girrin took their place at the observation post. Girrin stared out into the flurry, but Charles’ eyed up his guide, “You’re sure you don’t want a weapon?”

The guide shook his head, “No sir, I have no qualms with The Mother.”

Charles’ sneered, “Up to you, but you’ll regret it when that beast cuts you to ribbons and tosses you into the canyon.” 

“You think it’ll get up here?”

A smile crept onto Charles lips, “You ever hear about my cousins fight against the Firebird?”The guide nodded, everyone had. A valley scorched, a town turned to cinders, and a one-of-a-kind trophy in the middle of cousin Aubrey’s foyer that you couldn’t help but stare. “This fight will be ten-times that one. A battle for the ages, I promise.”

The clicking of the ballistas stopped. Charles turned for a final inspection. Each piece of artillery was armed and drawn back, they’d be lucky if they landed a single shot. They were mostly there for show. Behind the ballistas stood the musketmen, organized in a perfect line, marred only by Charle’s nephew, who came up a head shorter than the rest. But still he stood tall and proud, ready to fire down on the cliffs when The Mother started climbing.

“I think I see her.” Girrin’s voice was hushed, they had spent enough time waiting no one dared risk chasing the beast away now. Charles came to the lookout and scanned the snow-covered canyon. He couldn’t see anything, but Girrin’s eyes were better at this sort of thing. Charles took another look, squinting out into the flurry. A dark-grey form was barely visible out on the canyon floor. Charles took a deep breath, this battle had already taken half a year of his life, he couldn’t screw it up now.

“Take aim.” Charles kept his voice quiet, but still his orders pierced through the whistling winds. The ballista operators ratcheted their artillery downward, searching for a target. The mother kept up her slow, steady pace down the canyon. Charled raised his gloved hand, “Hold your fire until I give the signal.”

A pounding started in Charles’ heart, that nervous excitement in the moments before battle. He had missed it in all these years of peace. The Mother emerged from the flurry, her fur was barely greyer than the snow, but the deep scars and strange curling patterns in her fur made her easy to track. Another three steps.

The Mother brought her paw forward. Charles cast a glance at his nephew, the kid was still stoic.

Another step. Charles could see The Mother’s face, cruel and furious, no doubt she’d be a better trophy than that fire bird.

The final step, she was in range of the ballistas. 

“Fire!”

A pair of heavy stone bolts flew out towards their target. Charles raised his spyglass and held his breath. By the puff of snow a couple feet from The Mother, one of them had missed. The Mother head hung low, but she continue walking. No sign of a charge yet. Where was the third shot?

“What’s the problem?” Charles’ voice reverberated through the tent. The ballista operator gave their commander a worried look and pulled the trigger. Nothing came. Maybe it was jammed, maybe the operator didn’t know what they were doing, it didn’t matter. Charles hurried to the ballista and stammed the butt of his musket down onto the firing mechanism. The bolt vanished through the tent square and he hurried to pick up his musket, the battle was only beginning.

“She’s not moving!” Girrin shouted from the observation point, “I think we got her.”

Charles paused halfway into throwing a leather strap over his shoulder. He blinked. There was no way The Mother had gone down to two shots. He dropped his musket and elbowed Girrin away from the opening.

The Mother bear, god of storms, terror of men, lay on her side in the snow. Charles tore the observation window open for a better look. Her head was bent forward at a ninety degree angle and a stone bolt jutted from her neck. Charles cursed under his breath. “It could still be trick. Muskets, with me! We’re headed down.”

Two ropes trailed their way down the ice path to the canyon.  Charles and his nephew were the first two to descend. It was a slow and arduous slog. Even with spikes on his boots, every step threatened a slip. All along the way, Charles cast glances down towards the canyon floor, waiting for The Mother to make her move, for the chance to fire his musket.

All six men reached the ground safely, she never even twitched. Charles circled the beast, stopping at her head. One eye was open, a beady blue eye that stared off into nothing. The dilated pupils told the story. Charles rubbed at his neck and turned away from the bear,  “She’s dead. Let’s load her onto the sledge.”

Four muskets turned and hurried up the canyon path. They had buried the sledge in the snow a couple hundred meters away, but Charles didn’t care about that. He wandered to the canyon wall and sat down on a sharp rock. It had taken months to get here, years to plan, all for ten seconds of battle, How had The Mother fallen so easily? Where was that ‘wrath of nature’ he had been promised? Weren’t these creatures the type to never go down without taking a few with them?

“Uncle Charles?” Charles glanced up at his nephew, the young man could barely stand straight under the weight of his musket, “Congratulations sir. You’ve achieved quite the feat today. It took my mum half a week to take down the fire bird.”

“It’s not a hunt if they don’t put up a fight.” Charles mumbled.

“What was that sir?”

Charles pulled himself to his feet, this was a bad time to show disappointment. “I said we’ll get you home to Aubrey soon. Right after I get this bear loaded on the ship.” The four musketmen effortlessly slid the sledge a couple feet from The Mother’s body, Charles turned around and shouted to the white tent on the cliff, “Girrin! Get the others and get down here!”

The rest of the soldiers emerged from the tent, one shouted back with the voice of Girrin, “You’re sure she’s down?”

“What did I tell you? She never had a chance! Now hurry up, I’ve seen enough of this canyon for a lifetime.” Charles’ voice echoed against the rocks, louder than ever it seemed.

“Uncle! We may need some help.”

The four muskets and Charles’s nephew were huddled around the bear’s body, clearly straining against something. Charles grabbed for his musket, a smile creeping onto lips, “Back up! Clear the way!”

All five quickly moved out of the way as Charles took aim, ready to drop the legend. But there was no legend to kill, just a hook the men had stuck into the bear’s body. His smile fell and he re-holstered his weapon, “Don’t do that! You’ll ruin the hide.”

Charles closed in and took hold of the hook. Even with gloves, a bitter cold creeped through the iron and into Charles hands. He wouldn’t lose that easy. Charles stuck his boot on The Mother’s shoulder and pulled hard. A chill coursed through his foot and hand, but Charles gave it no mind, wrenching harder and harder at the iron. 

“Uncle, do you need some help—”

His hands were going numb, but he gripped again and pulled at the iron. All at once, the metal cracked, shards struck Charles’ face and scattered across the field. There was still a spike of iron in the beast’s fur, but nothing to grip. Charles raised his foot from the beast’s shoulder, but the boot didn’t come with. Again, Charles’ lifted his knee, but the boot refused to budge.

A thin layer of ice crept up the sole and along the leather sides. His eyes went wide. Even in death, the creature had some tricks up its sleeve. Charles grasped at his knee and pulled with all his might. His nephew joined him, pulling desperately as the ice continued its climb up and towards the ankle.

“Cut the laces!” Girin’s voice came a few steps back. Charles’ nephew pulled a small knife from his belt and cut haphazardly at the string on the top of the boot. This wasn’t going fast enough. Charles seized his nephew’s knife, lined it up behind the laces, and made one swift incision. The leather prison let loose, throwing Charles to the ground. 

Girin, his nephew, his musketmen, his artillery, all their eyes stared down at the captain. More specifically, his foot. Ice crystals trailed the seams of Charles’s sock. It must have been freezing, but he couldn’t feel any of it. He reached for the tip of the sock, and rolled it down just an inch. Dark blue skin. His fingers trembled, and his eyes begged to look away from the unsighly limb. The entire crew had seen it now, they all knew The Mother had taken her last bite of frost. After a moment, he rolled the sock back up and looked toward Girin, “Got any spare boots?”

Girin nodded and pointed up the canyon, “In a cache next to the sled.” He looked towards Charles’ nephew, “Be a good lad and bring us back a pair or two, ideally in your uncle’s size.”

The boy ran up the canyon, Charles pulled himself onto his one good foot and hopped to the canyon wall near Girin. He looked out at The Mother’s body, laying tranquily in the snow, boot and hook now a part of her fur. “I’m not leaving without her.”

“I know that.” Girin answered.

“Could we dig her up?”

“The dirt here may as well be stone, the men’ll need pickaxes, not shovels.”

Charles rubbed his hands together, feeling was starting to come back into them. “Will she freeze the ocean if we put on our ship?”

Girin shrugged, “You’re talking to me like I’m the expert. All the myths only talk about what she can do when she’s alive.”

Charles grumbled under his breath. A rapid set of footsteps drew his attention, and his nephew’s voice calling his name, “Uncle! Uncle!” The boy approached carrying boots. Charles took them and inserted his right foot into the first boot. His limbs total inflexibility spoke to the damage The Mother had caused. He was already grieving long walks with his wife in the garden, but didn’t dare say anything to the others. After replacing his boots, Charles realized the boy was still staring at him excitedly, “What is it?”

“It stopped snowing.”

Charles held out a hand, not a single flake touched his skin. Even the wind had died down, “Look up captain. I dare say I’ve never seen a clear day up here.”

The clouds had cleared and the sun beamed warmly down on the ice. “The Mother must have carried a storm around with her. Captain, I believe you’ve saved the locals from an eternal blizzard. You’re a hero.”

Charles rubbed at his chin. The rest of the crew looked pleased with themselves, even triumphant. Given how things had gone, it’d take another two or three months to get The Mother to the ship. He couldn’t ask that of them. “Good for me. I would have preferred the trophy.”