This is the fourth part of
the story. If you are joining us now,
you can read the first parts starting here.
Raindrops
do not tickle the cub's nose like they used to. Jarhead Bear perceives the
moist air as a faint fog on the jar's outer surface but cannot reach it with
its tongue. The drips and drops sound hollow; they are close but not quite
here. The rain leaves sad, watery
trails on the jar, thus hiding mother's footprints, which are essential for survival. Every now and then, the cub shakes its
head in a fierce attempt to free itself, but nothing happens.
When Jarhead Bear breathes and gets out of breath, the jar grows steamy and throws the cub ever farther from its sleuth. It cannot feel the wind on its ears, it cannot hear the crackles of the forest, it cannot scratch or clean its head. It is practically impossible to stay behind mother's dark, distant figure, drawing away inevitably.
When Jarhead Bear breathes and gets out of breath, the jar grows steamy and throws the cub ever farther from its sleuth. It cannot feel the wind on its ears, it cannot hear the crackles of the forest, it cannot scratch or clean its head. It is practically impossible to stay behind mother's dark, distant figure, drawing away inevitably.
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