"He's on his back," the hunter whispered. "This is his belly.

His forelegs must be up here

somewhere." He pointed to a place higher on the trunk.

She put one hand on his shoulder and knelt in the snow beside the den. Her eyes were wide and
unblinking. Her jaw hung open. Above her shoulder a star separated itself from a galaxy and melted
through the sky. "I want to touch him," she said. Her voice sounded loud and out of place in that
wood, under the naked cedars.

"Hush," he whispered. He shook his head no.

"Just for a minute."

"No," he hissed. "You're crazy." He tugged at her arm. She removed the mitten from her other hand
with her teeth and reached down. He pulled at her again but lost his footing and fell back, clutching
an empty mitten. As he watched, horrified, she turned and placed both hands, spread-fingered, in
the thick shag of the bear's chest. Then she lowered her face, as if drinking from the snowy hollow,
and pressed her lips to the bear's chest. Her entire head was inside the tree. She felt the soft silver
tips of fur brush her cheeks. Against her nose one huge rib flexed slightly. She heard the lungs fill and
then empty. She heard blood slug through veins.