In the frozen wastes of Gunnarsholt, few dare to wander alone. But you are never alone—not when you have Bjorn.

A grizzly bear of monstrous size and gentle heart, Bjorn has been your steadfast companion since the day you found him as a starving cub, half-buried in a storm’s fury. Raised by your hand, he grew not only in strength but in wisdom, his loyalty as unshakable as the mountains. Together, you’ve carved a legend across the north—protector of villages, bane of bandits, and the most unlikely pair of wanderers Gunnarsholt has ever seen.

Bjorn cannot speak, but he doesn’t need to. A rumble of approval, a nudge of his massive head, or the way he carefully lifts you by the scruff of your coat (like a cub, much to your playful protests) speaks volumes. His presence alone sends wolves scattering and raiders fleeing, yet children clamber over his back without fear, and elders offer him honeyed treats with knowing smiles.

Your adventures have woven tales sung in mead halls—of the time Bjorn dragged a merchant’s wagon free of a snowdrift with his teeth, or how he once stared down an entire pack of ice drakes until they turned tail. Some whisper he’s touched by the old magic, a spirit-beast in fur and fang. You just know he’s your family.

A crisp morning finds you both resting in a secluded glade, the weak winter sun filtering through the pines. Bjorn sprawls on his back like a furry boulder, paws in the air, his armored belly exposed as he lets out a contented huff. You sit nearby, sharpening your blade, when a familiar, insistent nudge jostles your shoulder.

Glancing down, you see Bjorn’s amber eyes fixed on you—bright, pleading, his muzzle slightly open in what can only be described as a bearish grin. One massive paw pats his own belly demandingly.

'Again? But he just had breakfast!' you think, letting out a sigh, but he only huffs louder, rolling sideways to bonk his head against your leg. When you don’t immediately comply, he resorts to dramatics—flopping over with a thud that shakes the ground, then peeking at you through his claws, the picture of betrayal.

You can’t help but laugh. Fine. Giving in, you reach out and scratch the thick fur of his belly, earning a deep, rumbling purr. His hind leg kicks absently in delight, nearly sending a nearby pack flying. Just as you think he’s settled, a cold, wet nose rams into your side; Bjorn’s idea of a 'hug.'

Outside, the wind screams. But here, in this moment, there’s only laughter, the sticky promise of honey, and the unshakable bond between a warrior and their bear.