I regained consciousness secured to a trunk. The cords digging into my flesh so severely I was immobilized. Illegal hunters had battered me and abandoned me to perish retribution for my years combating their illicit business. However, that wasn’t the most terrifying part. An enormous bear was standing just a few yards off.

 But not a typical brown grizzly. This was a rare albino giant. His snowy coat glowing eerily against the dark woods. His pale pinkish gaze fixed right upon me. The atmosphere turned cold in a menacing stillness. Abruptly, the white creature rose onto his rear legs, looming 10 ft above me like a snow-covered peak. A giant paw swept downward.

 I clamped my eyelids shut, bidding farewell to existence. Strike. Yet rather than jagged talons, I sensed only a violent vibration near my shoulder, a mighty blow that landed precisely on the rope around the trunk. The bear swung again, another strike once more, directly on the bindings. The enormous white predator was not aiming for me.

 An incredible realization took hold. This animal was actually trying to set me free. The beast dropped to his paws and moved closer, his pale muzzle inches from my face. He sniffed me, growling low, then sank his teeth into the thick rope and pulled with all his might. The rope tautened, but didn’t budge. They were wet with the knight’s dew and pulled tight.

 The bear snarled in frustration and bashed his paw against the tree with such intensity that the wood splintered. He slashed at the bindings with his nails, operating with nearly medical accuracy, attempting to sever the knots. His actions were guarded, as though the creature knew one wrong motion of those mighty limbs could tear my shoulder apart.

 Then I noticed it. A lengthy, uneven scar on his flank, partly obscured by the thick white fur, yet still distinct, I went still, doubting my vision. 3 years back, early in the springtime, I discovered a white cub trembling beside his mother’s corpse. Poachers had gunned down the rare albino SA for her valuable pelt, and the young one was injured defending her.

 The gash on his side was profound and ragged. I brought him to my cabin and nursed him toward recovery for a fortnight, washing the injury, suturing it, feeding him by bottle. Once the cub grew sturdier, I set him free into the woods. I never viewed him again until this moment. Buddy, I rasped, my voice trembling.

 Is it really you? The bear flicked a snowy ear, a small sign he was listening. He stopped chewing the rope and looked me straight in the eyes. In that look was recognition, memory, a connection never broken. He gently nuzzled my cheek. That’s when I heard the first howl, distant but clear. The bear froze instantly. Ears hurt. Another howl, then a third.

 It was a pack of gray predators approaching. The beast didn’t abandon me, but attacked the ropes with redoubled fury. He tore at them with claws, noded with teeth, powerful jaws clamping on the thick strands. One rope began to unravel, strands snapping one by one. A tug, the rope snapped. My arms gained freedom, but I was still tied.

 Gray shadows flickered between the tree trunks. a stark contrast to the bear’s bright coat. The first wolf appeared from behind a bush, a large gray male, his yellow eyes watching us. A second followed, then a third. There were now six of them. The pack slowly tightening the circle in no hurry because their prey wouldn’t escape.

 The white bear turned, shielding me with his body, and let out a warning roar, a low sound that sent shivers down my spine. But the wolves didn’t retreat. The alpha male, a large leader with a scar across his muzzle, barked a command. The pack stepped forward in unison. The beast faced an impossible choice. Continue freeing me or protect us both.

 He turned decisively toward the wolves and reared up on his hind legs, his enormous ghostly frame rising above the ground. A loud roar erupted from his chest, a sound full of fury and determination. It wasn’t just a growl, but a clear message. I will protect him to the end. The alpha barked, and the wolves began to surround him three to the left, two to the right.

 The bear couldn’t defend all directions at once. He turned toward the wolves on the right. One fainted, and the beast slashed with its paw missed. The second wolf came from the side, and the bear spun, driving it away. Pack tactics wear down the enemy with faints. While he was distracted, the two wolves on the left began to creep toward me, crouching low to the ground.

 I tugged with all my might, the rope slowly giving way, but the wolves were already 10 m away, their yellow eyes glowing brightly. The bear spotted them, turned sharply, and charged with such a roar that birds flew out of the nearby bushes. The wolves jumped back, one snarling, bearing its fangs, trying to lure the bear away from the tree.

 The alpha seized the opportunity and rushed behind the bear. The bear sensed danger. He spun around, but the wolf had already sunk its fangs into his thigh. The beast roared in pain and rage, then shook off its opponent with a powerful blow. The wolf flew several meters, flipped in the air, and landed on its paws, ready to attack again.

 I watched, completely helpless. My savior was fighting for both our lives, and I could do nothing to help. This only angered the bear even more. The beast went on the offensive, making powerful lunges, first at one wolf, then at the other. His white paws left deep furrows in the ground, his claws glinting. Each blow was deadly.

 A direct hit would have killed instantly. The pack backed away, but continued to circle, trying to split up and attack from different sides simultaneously. The bear spun and growled, giving them no chance to coordinate. One wolf proved slow a blow from a bear’s paw caught him mid leap, knocking him aside.

 The wolf whined and tried to rise, but his paw gave way. The gray predator limped, fleeing the fight. The pack hesitated. The loss of even one member changed everything. The bear didn’t pursue, but instead took two powerful strides toward the alpha, rose to his full height, and let out a roar so loud that the earth shook.

 His mouth gaped wide, his huge fangs bared, his fore raised, ready to strike with devastating force. This turned the tide of the fight. The alpha quickly assessed the situation. and one wolf was wounded and unable to continue the fight. The bear was clearly ready to fight to its last breath, and the prey wasn’t worth it.

 He barked a sharp command. The pack began a slow retreat, never turning its back on their ferocious adversary. The wolves retreated into the forest, their gray silhouettes melting into the shadows between the trees. But I sensed they were nearby, watching. The bear stood motionless, breathing heavily, completely exhausted from the fight.

Crimson blood trickled from a wound on his thigh, staining the pristine white fur and stark streaks, but an unwavering fire still burned in his eyes. He listened to the sounds of the forest, assured himself that the danger had passed, then slowly turned to face me. His gaze said clearly he hadn’t gone through all this to retreat on the last step.

 He approached, sniffed me, checking for wounds. Then his gaze fell back on the ropes. The bear let out a low growl, a sound full of determination. The animal sank his teeth into the slack rope again and pulled with renewed vigor. I helped as best I could, tugging my arms, twisting my wrists. One rope snapped with a dull thud, then the second.

 The pressure on my chest suddenly eased. The beast moved on to the knots around my arms, working carefully, careful not to pierce my skin with its fangs. Another powerful tug, and the last loop snapped. I collapsed forward, too weak to hold on. I landed face down on the grass. The bear leaned over and sniffed me, checking to see if everything was all right.

 I crawled painfully toward a tree trunk and leaned against it. The beast sank down next to me, as exhausted as I was. Blood was still seeping from the wound on its thigh, vivid against the white coat. I looked at the wound and knew I had to help. My backpack lay nearby, abandoned by poachers, gathering my remaining strength.

Kid, let me help. I crawled to it and pulled out the first aid kit. The bear watched wearily but didn’t move away. Easy, kid. Let me help. I croked. I carefully cleaned the wound with antiseptic, then tightly wrapped the bandage around his thigh. The bear winced, but endured as if understanding that I was trying to help.

When I finished, the beast purred softly, not from threat, but from gratitude. We sat like that for a few more minutes. Two tired creatures who had survived mortal danger together. The bear was the first to rise to his paws and looked at me. There was weariness in his eyes, but also satisfaction. The debt was paid.

 I realized he was about to leave. Gathering my last strength, I extended my hand. Wait. The bear stopped, took a step back. Approaching, I reached for his muzzle, ran my hand over it, scratched behind his ear, as I had done so many years ago. Then I found a scar on his side. You’ve grown. You’ve become so strong.

 The bear closed his eyes for a moment, let out a soft purr. As if to say, I remember. I never forgot. His pale eyes met mine one last time. A long look full of meaning. The bear turned and headed toward the forest. Without looking back, without stopping, between the trees, his ghostly white figure dissolved into the greenery, leaving me safe and completely stunned.

 I remained sitting by the tree. Torn ropes lay around. The ground was pockmarked with track silent witnesses to an incredible rescue. It was no accident. It was a lifelong lesson. Selfless kindness is never forgotten. The bear remembered the one who saved him when he was a helpless cub.

 And when his turn came, he risked everything to repay the debt.