The bear tore straight through the bag of food left on the campsite’s table. It was midnight, and Sister Margery peeped from a gap in her canvas tent, petrified. The beast’s blunt muscles rippled beneath its black coat. Its alien-dog movements fascinated and horrified her.
Before, back at the convent in Tennessee, Sister Alice had warned her. Margery complained that she only saw ants in their garden, and Alice countered that old nuns weren’t prepared for much more than that.
The bear sniffed and grunted. I’m too old for this, Margery suddenly thought, laughing, longing to return to their garden.