Boris the Bear
“We don’t care for those bottom-feeders,” Luna spat, her voice thick with disgust. She dragged her massive claws down the trunk of a pine, scraping away matted blood and tufts of gray fur.
The three cubs froze. Sierra, Kaya, and Boris stared at their mother in stunned silence. The gentle giant who had nursed them, protected them, and nuzzled them with endless warmth had vanished. In her place stood a beast of pure fury—eyes blazing, jaws still flecked with blood.
With a heavy huff, Luna shook her massive head, as if shedding the rage like rainwater. Her shoulders relaxed. The terrifying mask melted away, and the warm, protective mother they knew returned. She settled her great bulk against a sun-warmed boulder and beckoned them closer.
“Come, my precious ones,” she said softly. “It is time you learned why.”
Over the next hour, Luna told them the old stories passed down through their bloodline—tales of survival, ice ages, forest fires, humans with thunder-sticks, and an endless hunger for land. She spoke of how grizzlies had once roamed vast territories across the continent, respecting the land and trusting their instincts.
“But there is one enemy we have never forgiven,” she said, her voice darkening. “The wolves.”
The cubs leaned in, wide-eyed.
“What you saw today was something I had hoped to spare you,” Luna continued. “But when they cross our path with hunger in their eyes, we have no choice.”
She told them of Crusher, one of their most legendary ancestors—a grizzly of unmatched size and strength who had ruled the high valleys for many seasons.
“One autumn, Crusher was ambushed by an entire pack of wolves. They came at him from all sides, clever and relentless. Though he killed many, their numbers and cunning overwhelmed even his great power.” Luna’s gaze drifted into the distance. “They tore him down. That is why we do not trust them. That is why we never will.”
The story was not entirely true—Luna knew history was often shaped by the teller—but it carried a deeper truth: wolves and grizzlies had bled each other for generations. Both sides told their own versions. Both sides nursed old wounds.
As the cubs grew, the lesson took root differently in each of them. Sierra and Kaya eventually let the hatred fade into caution. But Boris could not let it go.
When Sierra later fell to her death from a crumbling ridge, the loss shattered the family. Boris blamed the wolves, though none had been near. When he left his mother’s side to claim his own territory, the hatred only deepened. Night after night, he dreamed of wolves with gleaming teeth closing in on him, just as they had on Crusher. He began to believe the three wolves his mother had slain that day had been scouts, part of a larger plot. Paranoia became his constant companion.
Years passed. Boris grew into a colossal grizzly—broad-shouldered, thick-furred, and immensely powerful. Yet his hatred never cooled. Instead, it became a bonfire. He actively hunted wolves, hoping to avenge an ancestor he had never known. But the wolves, wise to the danger, stayed far from grizzly territory.
Until one day, a raven landed on a branch above him.
“The Lone Wolf of the Hollow sends a message,” the bird croaked. “He wishes to meet you in single combat on the shores of Teal Lake. Two full moons from today, at sunset.”
Boris stood motionless, stunned. Then a storm of emotions crashed over him: joy, rage, and unease.
A lone wolf? Challenging him? The arrogance! Boris was no ordinary bear—he was a descendant of Crusher. He deserved an entire pack, not one scrawny coward. The thought festered.
In the days that followed, Boris could think of nothing else. He replayed every possible scenario in his mind. What tricks would the wolf use? Was this a trap? Were more wolves hiding in the trees? Should he arrive early? Should he attack the moment he saw the wolf? Should he crush him slowly or end it quickly to send a message?
The hatred that had sustained him for years now worked against him. Instead of sharpening his focus, it clouded his thoughts. The twenty-nine days became an agony of overthinking. His sleep grew restless. His hunting suffered. His once-fearsome instincts dulled under the weight of endless speculation.
Time, which should have been his ally, turned against him. By the time the sun began to sink toward Teal Lake on the appointed day, Boris was no longer the calm, unstoppable force he should have been.
He was a powder keg of rage and doubt—exactly what a clever wolf might hope for.
[Lyrics for Boris’s Revenge]
[Hook]
Boris the Grizzly, shadow of the wood,
Devours the wolves and bathes in their blood.
Eternal hunger, eyes like burning coal,
Crusher’s cursed heir with a venomous soul.
Achilles slaughtered our blood in the blackest night,
Now we own the darkness, we feast on their fright.
Young fool howls challenge by Teal Lake’s shore,
Boris grins wide—death opens its door.
[Verse]
In fog-choked mountains where dead winds wail,
Boris awakens, his hatred unveiled.
Massive grizzly, fur matted with gore,
Razor claws dripping, craving more.
No mercy for wolves or their whimpering packs,
He stalks through the bones on forgotten tracks.
One scent on the breeze and he strikes like a curse,
Rips out their throats—makes their courage reverse.
[Verse]
It started with Crusher, colossal and proud,
Legend of the wild, until treachery bowed.
Achilles the wolf, with his treacherous pack,
Ambushed in moonlight, no way to strike back.
Surrounded by fangs in the smothering gloom,
Crusher roared thunder, but met only doom.
They tore him to pieces on blood-soaked ground,
Grizzlies swore vengeance that never comes down.
[Verse]
The feud festers deeper than roots in the grave,
Boris grew twisted on hatred’s black wave.
It claws at his mind till the sanity cracks,
Drives him through forests on merciless tracks.
Every wolf’s scream is sweet music to hear,
He leaves shattered spines and eyes wide with fear.
Opportunity whispers—he answers with glee,
Painting the pines with their agony.
[Verse]
Word slithers through deadwood: a young wolf so bold,
Dares challenge Boris at Teal Lake’s cold fold.
Thinks glory awaits for his pitiful pack,
But Boris’s bloodlust is already black.
“This whelp dreams of crowns? I’ll crown him in mud,
Crush every bone, paint the water with blood.”
He lumbers through mist to the moonlit shore,
Where death waits hungry for one victim more.
[Verse]
Teal Lake lies still like a mirror of doom,
Boris stands massive beneath blood-red moon.
Muscles like iron, a roar splits the night,
Young wolf steps forward—no fear in his sight.
Claws clash with fangs in a whirlwind of hate,
Old Crusher’s death fuels each merciless weight.
Boris tears deep, remembers the slaughter,
Rips out the life from the wolf’s final daughter.
Victory drips from his jaws as he stands,
Feud carved in flesh across bloodied lands.
Feud everlasting in grizzly bloodline,
Boris hunts shadows till the end of all time.
Wolves, hear his thunder—your end is foretold,
One roar in the dark… and your story turns cold