My Canadian Girlfriend’s War With The Ursine Nation

My lovely Darla is six feet tall with pale blond hair sweeping down to her knees. In the reflective pools of her purple eyes, I have been lost many a time. Underneath her thick fur coat, she has ample breasts. I know this because in the past, I have of course seen and touched them. We have been apart for so long that I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever be able touch her magnificent flesh again.

She is currently stalking the eternal winter of the north for sustenance and a way back home. I’m told of her exploits through Canada Post in the form of long tear stained letters. Most assuredly, she writes these letters under candlelight between raids. The ursine chief’s war party is ever vigilant and my Darla has to keep moving in order to stay alive and free. They’re nice enough to wait for the sun, when you can see there menace in all it’s glory.

She is not afraid, not even in the face of the ursine chief’s lackeys. Five snarling bears, ten feet tall each and all versed in the martial arts of polar bears, still she stands ready to have at. Her shamshir shines blue as she dares the towering creatures to offend further. Each warrior present knows the saber to be painfully sharp. It had been a gift from a descendant of Saladin, gratefully given in recognition of her brave rescue of his beloved from the clutches of terrorists. In times since, she has proven herself worthy of the blade by a wide margin.

For a moment, her mind turns to the hunting rifle still sitting in the tent. It is a highly tuned SVD she took from a yogi sniper somewhere in Kashmir. In her hands it never misses but sadly, here it would just slow her down. The first comes shooting at her, a jab with claws extended It lands too late, she is already in the air and flipping back to ground three feet away. Snow erupts from the ground, awoken by the bears’ turbulent motions. They are all coming at her and she is effectively blind, with no ability to discern polar bears from the omnipresent snow.

Still, she knows they’re coming at her and so she slashes the air in front of her. The mixture of blood and howling proves her actions righteous. One comes at her left aiming at her head while another comes galloping at her right intent on steamrolling her. My Darla is a quick one, she’s in the air before the three meet. She lands on the right bear’s back and proceeds to play jockey, using her sword as a riding whip. For three minutes, she confuses and infuriates the whole war party driving the poor bear back into his own ranks.

Finally, she relents and the battle is suddenly over. The war party retreats, intent on exhausting her a bit further. They have time, they have supplies and they can just wait her out. Darla knows this because she has a shrewd mind for tactics and strategy. She grabs her rifle and prepares a parting volley but then thinks better of it. She’ll need those precious few bullets for the chief. Then once that’s done she can come home to my waiting arms.