With blinding speed, he threw six daggers, three from each hand, and riddled the bear with knives. Then he redrew his sabers and attacked. The bear struck back. But North was at the ready. In an instant he’d sliced off the deadly tips of the bear’s claws. The bear surged forward; North, both sabers in hand, plunged. But the bear was not done. He tossed North to the ground like a rag doll. The bandit, stunned, could not get up. The bear lunged at him, his full weight bearing down. But North was not finished either. He would not let that monster have the children. With what little strength he had left, he raised both sabers just as the beast’s massive body slammed on top of him.
The bear landed with the violence of a meteorite. The ground shook for miles. A cloud of dirt and earth mushroomed up, turning the morning sky ashen. In the silence that followed, the children looked out from the splintered gashes of Big Root. They could just make out the bear’s huge shape through the haze of dust. He shifted and lurched, trying to get to his feet. His breathing was labored and short. With one long, mournful groan, he slowly rolled over and moved no more.
As the air began to clear, the children gasped. The man with the swords lay on the bear’s chest. Both sabers were jammed to the hilt in the black fur just above the behemoth’s heart. The man lay unmoving as well; he looked so small and ragged, like a toy. In a daze the children crept forward to stare at the valiant swordsman.
