Wood carved into points, bundled together, strapped to the bear’s back. It stepped across the brown leafy landscape, led by a small 8 year old boy. The boy was naked, just as the bear. The bear was his cub, his responsibility. Grunts were muttered between them. Neither of them understood the other but their small gesticulations kept the mood friendly. It was comfortable. The bear on all fours was as tall as the boy and if on 2 feet he would double the boys size. But the bear wasn’t a threat. The boy was his master, or brother, or mother, he was many things to the bear. And the boy felt the same way about the bear. They had decided they wanted to gather and sharpen sticks this morning. So they had. From small willow saplings. It had taken all morning and it was now midday. “What should we do with these sticks?” the boy grunted. The bear trod along silent. “We should arm you, strap a stick to every part of you, like a spiky pig. Just in case we meet the other bears.” The bear grunted a soft whine. “We’ll paint you red with clay.” The boy bounded around on all fours, roaring and pawing at the bear.