A splitting headache greeted Bernard as the darkness eased out of his vision. As blotches of color returned to the world, he tried to raise a paw to rub his eyes only for a stab of pain to rocket through his shoulder. He winced, clamping his jaws shut to prevent a scream from escaping. He would have to let his eyes sort themselves out on their own.

The forest looked as if a five-year-old had painted it with watercolors. Bernard squinted, struggling to bring the world into focus. The muted colors surrounding him bled into each other until he could barely tell individual trees apart. A sea of greens and browns swam before his eyes. Waves of nausea rolled through his stomach.

Bernard closed his eyes, easing the searing pain in his head. He found himself nuzzling something beneath him as the darkness threatened to lull him back into unconsciousness.

The scent of blood brought Bernard out of his stupor. His eyes snapped open. Everything was back in focus. Bernard heaved himself up, keeping as much weight off of his wounded limb as he could. He wobbled for a moment before steadying himself. Then, he looked down.

Dried blood covered the front of the hunter's jacket. The man's eyes stared into Bernard's, and his mouth was frozen in an eternal scream. His gun lay inches away from his outstretched hand. Scratches stretched across his chest, and his left leg was bent at an unnatural angle. The stench of decay hung in the air, forcing Bernard to breathe through his mouth to avoid choking on it.

Bernard prodded the man's face with the tip of a claw. There was no reaction. He smacked the man's arm, tensing his muscles in case he had to flee. That didn't work either.

This couldn't be true. This had to be a trick. The man was playing dead. That had to be it. He had gotten scared and was waiting for Bernard to leave the area. The man was just waiting for the danger to pass. He would be back on his feet as soon as Bernard left. Everything would be fine. They could both return to going about their business, and everything would be okay.

If that was the case, then why wasn't the man's chest moving? Nobody was that good at pretending to be dead. Bernard leaned down and pressed his ear to the man's chest. There was no heartbeat. His chest was as cold as the dirt beneath Bernard's paws. Bernard couldn't deny it any longer.

The hunter was dead.

"I'm sorry," whispered the spirit cub.

Bernard shook his head. He trembled as the reality of the situation sunk in. This little monster had to be kidding. What was he going to do next, offer to put a Band-Aid on the hunter's wounds?

"What did you make me do?" Bernard said with a snarl.

The cub whimpered but refused to answer.

Of course he wouldn't respond. If he was willing to murder someone, refusing to explain himself was probably as natural as breathing to him.

There was nothing Bernard could do to help the hunter now, but he could at least take care of his body. The thought of what other animals might do to it gave Bernard the chills. He started digging, ignoring his aching shoulder. This man deserved a proper burial.

"Why don't you just leave him?"

Bernard clenched his teeth. Didn't this cub have some sense of decency? It was a miracle he hadn't suggested eating the corpse yet. Bernard cut off that train of thought before he got the chance to dwell on it. There was no need to give that little monster any ideas. He could never live with himself if he ever crossed that line.

As he scooped away clods of dirt, Bernard lost himself in the monotony of his task. There was something soothing about focusing on such a simple action. All he had to do was sink his paw into the soil and toss the dirt away. It was mindless work. His awareness of his headache, his sore shoulder, and the cub's repeated questions about the purpose of the ritual dimmed until they vanished from his mind.

There was only dirt. Scoop it up, fling it away, and repeat. That was all Bernard had to do. Nothing else mattered besides the ground.

The hole expanded as time wore on. Before long, it was wide enough to serve its purpose. Bernard continued to work, deepening the trench he had created.

Only the click of his claws against an impenetrable layer of stone brought Bernard out of his trance. The various annoyances he had escaped for the last few hours returned tenfold. His head pounded as if a raging river was constantly pushing against it. His bullet wound fared little better. Bernard turned to examine it.

The red-rimmed hole stood out against his fur. It was shallow enough that Bernard could still make out the bullet buried within it. How could something that tiny hurt so much?

Bernard craned his head around to reach the barely visible bullet, only to stop before he could start working at it. His teeth were built to tear flesh from bones, not to extract a bullet without making himself bleed all over the place. The pain was a nuisance, but he'd have to put up with it.

He turned away from the bullet wound and climbed out of the hole. The corpse kept staring at him, silently blaming him. Bernard avoided looking at its face as he searched for a good spot to grip the body. He'd never get the corpse's taste out of his mouth if his tongue so much as brushed the man's skin. The hunter's arms seemed like the best option. The jacket's sleeves completely covered them and would hopefully keep Bernard's teeth from touching the man's skin.

Bernard held the man's arm between his jaws as if it was made of eggshells. He dragged the body over to the grave before letting go. The corpse fell with a thud, landing flat on its back with plenty of space around it. Thank goodness Bernard wouldn't have to shift it into a better position.

With that taken care of, Bernard buried the hunter. No scavengers would feast on his flesh tonight. Too bad nobody else was present to pay their respects to him.

"I hope you can hear me," Bernard said, looking up. "Listen, I didn't mean to hurt you. I was scared, and so were you. Neither of us should have been hurt. You were a brave man, and I hope you're happy and safe now, wherever you are." Bernard's voice cracked. "If you see my dad, please tell him that I miss him and that I'm sorry I'm such a horrible person, bear, or whatever you want to call me."

Bernard stood quietly by the grave.

"Why did you bother burying him?"

Bernard scowled as the cub broke the silence. What kind of question was that?

He never would have left the man to rot out in the open. Whatever that man had been like, he at least deserved a proper burial. This ceremony didn't do him justice. There were no friends or family there to grieve for him, no flowers to put on his grave, no tombstone to mark the spot. Nothing he did could make up for the fact that the man had died because of him.

"I had to do something for him," Bernard said as he smoothed the soil over the grave. He patted it down with his paws until it was firmly packed. He sniffed around the area. The smell of death made him gag, but it was growing fainter by the minute. He doubted any scavengers would be able to find the body now. "I couldn't leave him laying here, especially since I killed him."

Saying that fact out loud made Bernard shudder. He had killed a human being. Granted, he hadn't meant to, but that didn't matter. Regretting what had happened wouldn't change the fact that the man was dead.

"He would have killed you if I hadn't stopped him," said the cub.

"He wouldn't have tried to shoot me if I hadn't been stupid enough to charge at him."

"Yes, he would have. Don't you get it? Those monsters don't care if we die. They took my mother away from me. What makes you think they wouldn't kill you too?" The cub started sobbing.

Bernard didn't care. This cub, this ignorant little creature, had gone way too far. His decision to kill the hunter had been horrible enough, but at least that had sort of been done in self-defense. Insulting the entire human race and completely ignoring what his father had dedicated his life to was unforgivable.

"Monsters? Did you just call humans, including the ones who have died because of your ungrateful species, monsters?" Bernard growled at the cub. He slapped the earth with his paw, ignoring his throbbing shoulder as he vented his anger. "You have no idea what it's like to live every day knowing that your father will never come back. You don't know how terrible it is to only have half a family. Your mother even had a chance to live. She could have left the humans alone. Instead, she killed my father."

Bernard was roaring so loudly that his throat burned, but he wasn't finished. "Do you want to know who the real monster is? It's me!" His voice hitched.

"Bernard—"

"Leave me alone. Haven't you done enough?"

The cub fell silent.

He couldn't expect the beast to understand. Not even his own mother had understood.

"It's all my fault," he said to the grave, bowing his head. "I'm sorry."