I needed leather for saddles. I needed bears for leather. I went out to hunt bears. At night. Without dropping my belongings off in my house chests firsts.
I am a plonker.
It started badly when I couldn’t find any bears, only coyotes and they only give one leather patch off so I had to range further and further away from my house until, with a shock, I realised I was near my first shelter south of my base. Here, for some reason I can’t pretend to understand, the sandy beach gives way snow & ice and the only critters other than seagulls are vicious polar bears. It was with one of these furry bastards I found myself in battle when my killing blow knocked the toothy snowball into the sea and I was forced to watch in horror as three prime pieces of saddle leather sank to the bottom of the freezing cold ocean.
I had no choice. Well, actually, I did but let’s pretend I didn’t, eh? It’ll make this narrative go much quicker if we pull together.
I dove in and swam down to where I could see the leather waiting for me, calling to me, beckoning me. If only the fecking stuff had shouted a bloody warning instead of whispering sweet nothings about saddles & horses! If only it had had the decency to shout “JESUS H CORBETT! SHAAAAAAARRRRRRRK!” but no, it kept regrettably quiet on the matter and just as I was about to reach the surface I found myself reenacting the opening scenes of Lake Placid…
Bastard sharks. Now I have a new enemy to punch in the nuts. If they actually have nuts. Still, you catch my drift. Shark. Nuts. PUNCH! Grrrrrrr!