Bear nimbly jogged through the densely wooded forest. Things had changed, and the passage to his last fight felt strange. It didn't alter his focus, though. He would fight. He would win. And he would go home. His last public bout on the fighting circuit was over five years ago, and he was a different man. He once exploited his heritage to please the crowd. He was the Shaman. He used drugs, beat on the drum, sang peyote songs and wore the Mohawk of his original ancestors, the Ka’to Indians. The people loved him, and he consumed the fame until it almost took his life.
He heard a buzz of voices in the distance. Bear stopped and listened, leaning against the long trunk of a pine tree. He looked up to the sky. The sun was almost above him. The bout would start soon. He appreciated the unseasonably warm winter day. The temperature was in the low 70s. He wondered how many people would show up for his last fight. Would they recognize him? He wore the simple leather sarong that he had always worn. It gave him the most mobility, and he was used to its presence. He tied his long black hair in a leather cord down his back. Would they notice the silver that now streaked through his midnight strands? He had chosen Enchanted Rock as the place for his bout because he knew his opponent was tall, young and too cocky for his own good. He had been challenging Bear for over a year now, and Bear finally accepted. The challenged opponent chose the spot for the bout, and Bear would take all the advantages he could get so he could win without injury.
Bear continued his brisk run, allowing the movement to warm up his body. He had parked his truck on the other side of the forest. He didn't want to linger long in the crowd, and they would try to congregate around his vehicle after the fight was over. He didn't understand why God had asked him to do one more fight. He didn't need anything. The winner's booty would be nice but unnecessary. He had arranged for his fighters to take the loot back for him. They wouldn't cross him, and he would give them each a gift for their troubles. He, on the other hand, would slip back into the woods unnoticed. He also didn't want to see the look of shame on the young man's face when he lost. Bear knew what it was like to put all your security in the fighting circuit, and he didn't want to see the young man lose face. Maybe the crowd wouldn't be big, and the young man would easily recover from this loss. The young fighter was supposed to be unbeatable, but Bear knew that he had weaknesses—every fighter did.
The crowd would be angry if Bear won quickly. He wasn't going to put on a show like he used to. When he was younger, he'd allow his opponents to take punches or bring him to the verge of submission, so the crowd would be entertained. He allowed his body to be strained and broken under the hands of his challengers, knowing the entire time he could easily win. But he learned from his father that no one wanted to see an easy win. He thought of his father—a giant man who looked otherworldly with his pale skin, white hair and translucent blue eyes. Bear was thankful he favored his mother—a full-blooded Ka’to Indian—though, at 5’11” he was taller and much stockier than his mother who was small even compared to her siblings. He thought of the day she died when he was still a young man. Before she passed, his father would visit whenever he had a break from the fighting circuit, but he had never been faithful to his mother. He got his mother addicted to the same drugs he was using, bringing her more whenever he came. Bear's childhood was filled with memories of watching his mother slowly die from drugs and a broken heart.
Bear quickly refocused his thoughts. He needed to keep his mind on his bout. He was almost to the clearing. He was in great shape—probably better shape than he was in his last fight when he was a younger man. He ate better. He slept better. He trained with the other men from the surrounding villages. They came to learn from him, and they would bring goods in exchange for his expertise. Many of them were beginners, but a few of them challenged Bear and kept him alert and sharp. But he wasn't willing to eat punches anymore. No matter how many fights he fought, getting hurt never got easier. He was at a point in his life when he realized winning meant more than merely submitting to your opponent—it meant not getting hurt either.
