The Last of the Old Men

It had been nearly three hours now. The beast had been stalking its prey, walking in its tracks at first, and then simply watching it from a distance. The hunter's white fur and black stripes kept it well hidden in the thick trees and white snow of the land. It was at the edge of its territory, in a place it had rarely visited. It was only here because of the prey.

The prey was a small wild boar. It was nearing the cold season, and this one was still scrounging around for berries and other such foods. It wasn't fat like the others the beast had killed, but food was food. The opportunity was approaching. The boar had spotted some loose berries standing defiantly in the otherwise thick snowfall. Its back was to its killer.

The beast moved in slowly, and when it was finally in range, it leaped onto the boar. The prey squirmed and squealed, but it was no use. It was over in seconds. The beast held down the head of the boar, and bit out the back of the neck. The squirming and squealing stopped, as did the motion. The prey was now a meal. The beast began eating immediately, there was no time to waste. The scent of blood would travel quickly through the thin Siberian air, and much more desperate hunters would be here soon. The sun was still high in the sky, making it warm enough for them to care.

The "beast" was named Starik, and he was, to his knowledge, the last of his kind. He was old. He had seen many cold seasons, and as many warm ones. He'd watched as all the rest of his kind that he had known were killed, died off, or taken away. Two of those were mainly done by the Loud Ones. Those that came with their booming weapons, their metal traps, and killed and captured those with his fur. He was able to evade and hide from them, for the most part. He had once almost been unsuccessful, and had a scar along the right side of his face to prove it. Though, his attacker had much less of a face to show for it...

These were his lands now .The Loud Ones had been gone for a long time. He roamed them, taking his prey when he needed it, drinking from his river. It was the last thing they couldn't take from him, because they had no use for it. Starik had outsmarted them. He had outrun them. He had won.

And yet he had also lost.

His son, and his mate, both gone. Both taken by the Loud Ones. It wasn't the killers that took them, not the ones that shot down their prey before cutting them apart like sadistic butchers. No, it had been the takers. They had rounded them up while Starik had been hunting a meal. He had gotten back just in time to see them being taken away in the giant, loud, metal monster that they Loud Ones used for transportation, of both themselves and his friends. He had no idea of where they'd gone, but after seeing what they'd done to others of his kind, he didn't want to know.

So now he walked. He walked for most of the day, and most of the night, cutting out the time that he slept in a safe place. He went around, searching for and killing his food. He inspected his territory, making sure no bears or wolves tried to move in. He walked, and he walked, and he walked. And he waited. He waited for his time to come.

The boar was gone now. All the parts Starik knew he could eat were gone, or nearly gone, even though his stomach was hardly half full. He abandoned what was left of the carcass for the vultures and the rats and whatever else would bother with the parts he couldn't eat. The smell remained in the air to taunt him, and he tried to ignore it as he wandered back into the brush. It was just silent walking for a few minutes, nothing but the crunch of snow, or the rustling of dead leaves under his paws as he meandered about his land.

Until he heard the crack.

His ears perked up, and his head snapped in the direction it had come from. It was far from where he was, maybe even off his land. But he had to follow it. It was a sound he recognized, a sound he once feared. A sound that sent a shiver down his back. It was the sharp crack that the weapons of the Loud Ones made. The sound they made when they killed something. They sound they'd made when they'd killed his friends. When he'd gotten his scar. Starik ran. He hadn't even realized it at first, but he was running. He ran in the direction of the sound, faster than he'd ever run before.

It wasn't long before he reached the source of the sound. There was a large mound, made of oddly stacked wood with a triangular stack on the top. There were clear squares on the sides, so one could see into the wood settlement, and what looked to be a fire out front. The hunter moved slowly. He heard sounds of a struggle ahead. When he rounded one of the corners of the hut, he could see why:

There was a Loud One. It was different than the others though. Older. Much older. It wore different coverings, and a long white coat of strangely cut fur on its face. Starik believed he had only seen males before, because many of them had that, but even those that didn't had similar calls. The Loud One was fighting a brown bear. It had apparently discovered him, and the bear probably thought it to be an easy source of food. It was wrong. The bear swung at the Loud One, and it stepped back. It wasn't using its loud weapon, which was odd. He then saw the Loud One attempt to stick some kind of metallic sticks into the top of it, but he was unable to each time because of the bear's attacks.

Starik was tempted to move in and assist the bear. These things had taken so much from him, so much from his kind. The least he could do in return was kill at least one more than he already had. But, no, he figured he'd let the bear do it instead. He wouldn't give him the honor of being killed by his paw. Again, the bear swung, and again, the Loud One moved to evade. It was fast, Starik could tell, definitely fast for its age. It was then that he noticed an odd scent that he had ignored before. It was coming from the fire.

Over the fire pit, there was a wild boar, just like the one Starik himself had killed less than an hour before. It was larger, and had a hole in its head, just like the ones that the Loud One's weapons had left in the bodies of his friends, and had tried to leave in him. But it was different somehow. Starik looked around. This place wasn't like the ones that the other Loud Ones had set up and left before. There were no stacks of pelts and barrels of other parts. There were no strange plastic stacks and wooden cubes. There were no metal monsters, lying in their silent sleep until they were used.

And lastly, there were no cages. All of the ones that didn't kill always brought cages to store his kind in. The cages were what they threw his family in. The cages were what they rode off with into the night. The cages that were not here.

Starik realized that this Loud One had to be different. He wasn't out here to kill him, or his kind. He was simply there. Walked the same lands, he drank the same water, he even hunted the same prey. Albeit, he went about eating it in a different fashion. He was just like Starik.

The bear raised its paw again to strike, and this time the Loud One was just a bit too slow. He got his body out of the way, but his weapon was knocked from his grip, and he fell to the snow. He still held the metal objects in his grasp, but Starik realized they were useless without the weapon. He didn't know why, but they were. Starik watched as the bear raised its paw one last time.

The hunter came rushing in from the forest, a flurry of black stripes and a piercing scream to announce himself. The bear was turned its head to see, but wasn't quick enough to react before Starik pounced at its upper torso. He sunk his front claws deep into the bear's chest and back, and brought his weight down with it. It was brought to its back, where Starik tried to strike at it with his claw, but was stopped by the bear's own. It knocked him away, but he kept his balance, and stayed on his feet.

The bear charged at him on all fours, and the old hunter charged in turn, throwing his paws at the larger opponent. The bear roared as its face was cut deeply, and returned more powerful blow, using less than half the effort. Starik was knocked to his side, but this time did not gain his balance. The bear got back onto two legs, and threw its arms into the air, ready to deliver the killing blow, just like with the Loud One Starik had attempted to save.

Crack!

The bear's face changed, and the beast got back down to all fours to see that the Loud One was pointing its smoking weapon in its direction. When it turned, Starik saw that there was a bleeding hole in its back. The Loud One pulled a metal notch on its weapon, and a small, hot, metallic cylinder fell to the ground, steaming and melting the snow. There was another crack, and fire burst from the weapon. Starik hadn't seen one this close in a long time. The bear shuddered as it was hit, but it still wasn't going down. It began to charge the Loud One.

Starik got back to his feet. The Loud One fired again, but this time missed. The hunter began charging again, leading slightly ahead of the bear as he approached from a different angle. Another crack, and the bear shuddered as its shoulder was hit. It didn't stop charging, but slowed slightly. When it was just close enough, before it could tackle the Loud One, Starik pounced on it again, this time hitting it between both its side legs. The bear crumpled under his weight, is injured shoulder being on the opposite side.

It rolled over, and Starik rolled further. The bear raised its good paw once again, and struck Starik in the side. He screamed in pain, but still managed to get up. There were five bleeding streaks running across his black stripes. The hunter watched as the bear began to charge again, but heard one final crack. The bears eyes widened, and something behind them seemed to disappear as it fell to the ground, unmoving and dead.

The Loud One stood, smoking weapon in hand, and cranked out the last cylinder. He stared at Starik for what seemed like a long time. The hunter stood. The wound on his side was painful, but it would heal. He looked at the Loud One. He was looking too. His eyes were green, and his face looked old and tired, as Starik had suspected. The face nodded, and the hunter wasn't sure how to return the gesture. So, without any further interaction, the he turned, and walked off back into the woodland.

The Loud One watched as he walked, and walked, and for as long as he could he kept his eyes on him. They were equals. They were the both the last of their kind.