“That’s a grey bear, right?” Teagan asked. “I mean . . . look at that silvery fur! And look at that shot! Pow! Right in his eye! A carbine do that?” He stopped, blinked, then stared at the dead bear. “Father’s gonna be real mad. Not at us, though. Right? Right, Liz? Not at us?” “Right, Tee.” Liz nodded, pushing her braid over her shoulder. The hounds’ barking went louder. Liz looked around Teagan, past the pack – and saw something move, something small and grey beside the bear’s corpse. Her eyes widened. Teagan had been right about Father being mad. And he’d been right about the killing shot. But he was wrong about something else. The giant, dead bear wasn’t a “he.” It was a “she.” And it had been a mother.