I walked along a turbulent river when my eyes caught something strange — a tiny bear cub’s body was floating on the surface of the water.
At first, I thought the little one was just playing, splashing around, but as I came closer, I realized he wasn’t moving. His body was limp, lifeless.

— “Looks like he drowned…” — I muttered under my breath and carefully pulled him toward the shore.

After dragging the animal onto dry land, I tried to revive him: shook him several times, ran my hand over his little face, even pressed lightly on his chest — but nothing worked. He lay there motionless, and my heart tightened with pity.

And then, just as I was about to cover him with my jacket, something happened that sent a chill down my spine… 😱😱
I was already about to step back when I suddenly heard a faint, barely audible sound. I thought I was imagining it — maybe it was the wind? But a second later, the cub’s paw twitched weakly.

I froze. His chest rose ever so slightly, as if he was trying to take a breath. I carefully leaned down and began rubbing his fur with my palms, breathing warm air on him, as though trying to share my own heat.
And then — a short, ragged gasp. Then another. The bear cub opened his eyes.

He was alive.
I couldn’t believe it. The tiny body trembled, a hoarse squeak escaping his mouth. I gently wrapped him in my jacket, holding him close to my chest, feeling how he shivered all over. My heart was pounding so hard, as if I myself had just returned from the other side.

I quickly ran toward the forest, hoping his mother might be nearby. And indeed, a few hundred meters later, I heard a low growl. From behind the trees, a massive bear appeared.

She stood tense, and I, making no sudden moves, laid the cub on the ground and stepped back. The little one staggered to his feet and made a weak sound. The bear rushed forward, sniffed him, and then suddenly looked straight at me.
I will never forget that look. There was no rage in it — only pain, gratitude, and something ancient, primal, that words could never capture.

I stood there, unable to move.
The bear carefully picked up her cub and slowly disappeared into the thicket.
The silence around me became almost ringing. Only far away, the river still murmured — the same river I had pulled him from.

I remained standing on the shore, staring into the water.
And then I realized: my hands were covered in blood. But not animal blood — human.
I ran my hand across my chest and felt a burning pain. Only then did I notice a long cut — I must have scraped against a sharp rock while pulling the cub out. But what was strange was that the wound was too deep… and I didn’t feel pain, only cold.

The world around me began to fade. The sound of the river grew quiet. The last thing I saw was my reflection in the water: I stood there, pale, eyes wide open — and behind me, the shadow of the bear.

When I blinked — the reflection vanished.
And beside me, only paw prints remained on the sand, leading back into the forest…

Since then, I have never returned to that river.
But sometimes, at night, I think I hear that faint squeak again — and a quiet, grateful growl somewhere outside my window.