One last tug, and the final knot gave way. I slumped forward, my legs too weak to hold me after hours of being tied up. I hit the grass, gasping for air. The bear nudged me gently with his snout, checking to see if I was okay.
I crawled over to my pack, which the poachers had tossed into the brush. My hands were shaking as I pulled out my first-aid kit. “Easy, Buddy,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady. “Let me return the favor.”
I cleaned the bite on his leg with antiseptic and wrapped it tight with a heavy gauze bandage. He winced but stayed still, letting out a low, rhythmic sound—not a growl, but a sign of trust. We sat there for a moment in the quiet of the woods—two survivors catching their breath. When I finished, he stood up and looked at me one last time.
The bear finally stood up. He looked at me with those intelligent eyes, and I knew it was time for him to go. I reached out one last time…
