It happened one fine day in the month of October. Autumn was in the air. The morning sun was warm over Wulver's island. He woke up in his bed and found himself covered with dried, brown leaves. He had forgotten to close the windows the other night. And he did live in a cabin in the woods.

“That explains why I was a tree in my dream." Wulver said to himself, chuckling. He swept away the leaves and stoop up to close the window. Before he did so, he viewed the trees outside and the golden sunshine washing over the red groves. Birds were chirping, and the cicadas were buzzing and so were the bees. A cool, gentle wind rustled past him, ruffling his fur. Soon, it would be winter. He closed the window and got to sweeping.

A few minutes later, Wulver opened the door to his cabin. He carried a fishing rod, bucket, and some bugs for bait fresh of his garden, and a straw hat. He set his sight down south towards the sea. Most days he fished in the streams and ponds up north for salmon. But today he felt an appetite for some sillaks and piltaks instead. Furthermore, the bears pestered him too much for the salmon he caught instead of fishing themselves.

It had started innocently when he was catching fish sitting upon a bank of a rustling river and heard something large plop down behind him. It was a big, wet, grizzly bear. The lack of smell of fish upon it suggested that it had no luck that particular morning. Feeling generous and also having a more than sufficient catch, he threw some to the drooling beast. The bear ate hungrily and meticulously. After the fish were left to some fins and scales, it went away, licking its snout.

The second day, again Wulver, while fishing, heard a plop behind him. However it sounded more like a plop-plo-lo-lo-plop-plop.

Looking behind, he jumped a little and a soft shriek came out of him. Six bears of different sizes were sitting there looking at him. Wulver fished that day for hours and he returned home, smelling of bear and fish, but not a minnow in hand. He had to make do that night with emergency dried fish he kept for rainy days.

Next couple fishing trips, he fared no better. The bears kept coming to him and changing spots did not deter them either. They were excellent at tracking him down. His emergency fish supply had started to run low as well.

Hence, he refrained from going north and did most fishing down south. The rapids of the rivers were too quick for a catch, so he had to try his luck on the shore which was a fair distance away: a two hours walk. Though there was consolation. The woods looked beautiful in those parts and an assortment of flowers in beautiful glades bloomed there. He also found mushrooms and some edible roots down the road. He loved fish most as a wolf, but they were quite a welcome addition to the frying pan.

Finding himself in a joyous mood, with bears nowhere around for an ambush, Wulver began to sing:

As I walked out one May morning down by a riverside

there I beheld a bold fisherman coming rolling down the tide

Bold fisherman, bold fisherman, how came you fishing here?

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I am come for you, fair lady gay, all down the river clear

He tied his boat unto a stand and to this lady went,

For to take hold his lily-white hand, it was his full intent

Then he unbraced his morning gown and gently laid it down

And she beheld three chains of gold went twinking three times round

She fell down on her bended knee crying, "Pardon, pardon me!

"In calling you a bold fisherman come rolling down the sea!"

He took her by her lily-white hand saying, "Follow, follow me!

"I will take you to my father's house and married we shall be!"

"Should have had my lute with me. At least, I didn't have to hear my voice," Wulver mused to himself. "Oh well, better not. Don't want it hitting a tree or falling in the rapids."

Wulver took a deep breath. Gosh, he had missed the sea! The water was sparkling in the noon day sun. Seagulls were white as clouds soaring against the blue sky. Palm and coconut trees were swaying slightly in the breeze. He picked up a fallen coconut, ripped its wrap with his claws and punctured its shell with his nail. He drank deeply of the sweet water and kept the whites for later.

He went to a structure which looked like a mound made out of pine branches. He took them off to reveal a little boat. It pleased him to find it as dry as the sand beneath his sandals. He had been afraid the heavy storm the month before might stolen away with his makeshift rainshade, but it had dutifully resisted nature's frenzy.

Dragging it over to the brink, he set sail for deeper waters. He cast his line deeper still and waited. And then he waited and waited and waited.

Wulver grumbled. And the day had such a splendid start. The middle had taken a huge dip. He hoped for a happy ending at least. A fishy one. In any case, he made a loop of the line around his toe and settled himself down. Tipping the straw hat over his eyes, he went to sleep. He hoped he would be woken up with a pleasant surprise.

Wulver was descending down a mountain slope. It was cold and misty, and the ground was gravely and hard. Sunlight, almost none of it, came diffused from the dense fog above him. A moaning wind echoed in some hole among the rocks which he couldn’t see in the white smoke. Suddenly, he heard a loud crunch from behind him like that of a footstep. Startled, he looked into the dense fog but there was not another sound nor anybody came out of it.

He started to walk down when he heard the loud crunch again. It was much closer before.

“Who is there,” Wulver shouted into the fog. The fog said nothing back in return.

A chill ran down Wulver’s spine. He thought of going where the sound came from, but his heart cowered at the thought. He started walking down faster. Another crunch. Then, another! Something was after him. Wulver ran. The crunches pursued him. He was all alone on that mountain with nobody but his pursuer. He tried to scream for help, but no voice came from his mouth. Suddenly, fingers wrapped around his neck!

Wulver screamed and nearly tipped over the boat. He looked around and he was in his little boat in the warm sea and not a cold mountain. He breathed hard and sweat was wet upon his fur. He shook himself out of his stupor and saw the line was lax around his toe. No fish. He looked a the sky and it was darker. Noon was long gone.

“Not my day at all,” Wulver said, reeling back the hook. “What a nightmare. Don’t remember when I last had one. A mountain, some crazy stalker, and what a fog… fog?”

Wulver saw fog in the distance. There was a strange fog far away upon the sea. At first, he thought they were dark storm clouds, but no, there was a pale fog upon the surface. And it looked like it was coming towards his island.