Open Letter to an Idiot With Projectile Weapons
Dear Bloody Idiot,
I don’t know if someone of your miniscule mental endowment can even read the words in this sentence, much less ever wanders into a library. Assuming you get lost while searching for a mailbox to dance on and wander in here, though, I’d like to let you know the bear is doing just fine.
Which bear, you ask? Well, now… that would be the little bear cub whose mother you shot on your way through Kharanos! Nearly broke my heart when the mountaineer told me the story, it did. Lucky for the little bear, the mountaineer had known Greta, and recognized me as one she had adopted. He thought I might like to take on a wee orphan myself, and I jumped at the chance! So little Brann Bronzebear is safe with me, and I’m hoping King Magni won’t be too annoyed that I named the cub after his brother.
Did you get the gun as a Winter Veil gift? Or maybe you’ve been dabbling in engineering and figured you’d craft yourself a gun as soon as you could manage to get a copper tube and a wood stock to stick together? Either way, I suppose you fancy yourself to be some kind of hunter. No hunter I know would have, as the mountaineer described it, “filled that poor bear so full of lead there’s hardly any bear left”. It’s not that I oppose hunting. I’m a meat-eater, and so is Little Brann (though I’m getting him used to cheese). It’s just that I’m opposed to the absolutely senseless slaughter of an animal that was either doing you no harm, or trying to protect her baby!
I’ll get Brann to stop chewing my boots and gnawing on my hearthstone. I hope ale won’t stunt his growth, because I’m not sure I can keep him out of everybody’s mug. I’ll do my best to teach him to hunt, but I’m not a hunter myself. You’d best be thankful that I’ll also teach him not to eat the faces off of idiots!
Should you ever come face-to-face with me, though, I’m sure I could conjure up a few frostbolts for you.
-Fizzy Stouthammer, Angry Bear Mom