Journal of a Trapper

My trade as a trapper has taken me over every foot of Windsward, from the salty marshes to the balmy veldt. I’ve seen many a thing, but never once reckoned the stories of the Wild Man to be true. It started with the pitiful cries of a bear caught in a trap. I was creeping up on the keening beast when I saw him. A man of great and powerful stature, wild of hair and beard, with eyes that pierced his surroundings. He moved as an animal moves, approaching the angry bear with no fear. He pulled the trap open, stroked the thankful beast, and sent it on its way. I am hardened by the years, yet I feared this man. I believe he heard my heart beating in my chest, for his head snapped in my direction, and then he ran up a tree and fled along the branches of the forest. As for the trap, it was twisted and bent as if made of the thinnest copper wire.