Id been trekking through the New Forest for a few hours, enjoying the hush, the scent of pine, the fresh air and the birdsong. Everything was peaceful until a sharp crack of branches snapped behind me.
I spun around and froze. From between the oaks a pack of wolves emerged, at least eight of them, grey shadows slipping silently over the fallen leaves, drawing nearer. At first I thought they were just passing by, but then I realized they were heading straight for me.
A chill ran down my spine. I lunged for the nearest tree. My rucksack slipped from my shoulders and landed on the undergrowth, while I clutched the bark and hauled myself up, feeling my arms tremble.
The wolves encircled the trunk, their low growls merging into a dreadful chorus. One of the beasts leapt, clamped its jaws around my boot and hauled me down. I let out a howl, tore myself free, and barely kept my balance. My heart hammered as if it might burst out of my chest.
I knew I couldnt hold out long. My mobile was still in the pack, and help was miles away.
Suddenly a deep, resonant rumble rolled through the woods, far lower than any wolfs howl, as if the earth itself were speaking. The pack stiffened, ears pricked, bodies tensing. A moment later a massive shape stepped out from the shadow of the trees.
A bear emerged onto the clearing.
He moved slowly, confidently, each step echoing like a drumbeat in my ears. He stopped a few paces from the wolves and let out a roar so powerful the leaves shivered and the birds fled their branches.
The wolves shivered in response. One tucked its tail, another backed away, and within seconds the whole pack melted back into the underbrush as if it had never been there.
The bear remained alone. He lifted his massive head, glanced upwarddirectly at me. His gaze was heavy, not angry. We stared at each other for a few heartbeats, then the creature turned, slipped back into the forest and vanished among the trees.
I sat on a low branch, unable to move. I had escaped death only because another predator had intervened. When the panic eased a little, I dropped down, hauled my rucksack back onto my shoulders and looked the way the bear had gone.
Thank you, I whispered to the woods.
The forest was silent, save for the wind rattling the leaves and, far off, the low call of a distant wood pigeon.
Since that day Ive returned to the New Forest often, leaving a slice of crusty bread and a spoonful of honey on a clearing. Whenever the mist rolls low over the ground, I swear I can feel warm, keen eyes watching from the trees.
It may have been a coincidence. Or perhaps someoneor somethinghas been looking after me in those woods all along.
