There were so many bears, huge adult males pacing the ground, adult females watching over their cubs, older bears picking fleas out of their fur, and young bears play-fighting. She caught scraps of their talk, or brief snatches of stories as they passed. “The river has dried up completely where we live,” one skinny she-bear fretted, looking down at her two cubs. “I can’t remember the last time we ate salmon.” “Nor can I,” an old male bear replied. “There’s still a river in my territory, but all the fish have gone.” “I just hope there’s food here,” the mother bear sighed. She nudged her cubs with her muzzle until they began to trot toward the lake. Just beyond them was another male bear with a wary look in his eyes. “Where do I come from?” he echoed to a younger she-bear who was questioning him. “Uh…over the mountains. There are slim pickings in my territory now. Too many flat-faces.” Is every bear short of food? Lusa wondered. A little farther on her attention was caught by another female, frail and grizzled with age, who was pushing a stick toward two small cubs.
