Bears'n'Whale (or the irrelevance of making plans)
It was not at all planned, but it turned out that we were not the only ones who arrived to the shore that night. And that same morning we woke up looking at the endless Pacific ocean, someone else didn't.
It was just a big coincidence and, considering that nothing even similar had happened there for at least a few years, a big luck (as much as anyone's death can be called "a luck") that this little whale was thrown out of the ocean almost the same moment we got there.
And it, of course, changed our plans. Next few days while Dima and Lena were trying to get in touch with a local fox family, I was completely dedicated to the whale. We couldn't help – not quite sure if it's him or her – in any way cause by the moment we found out what happened, him or her was already dead. So, all I could do is watch what was going to happen.
Obviously, there was a lot. And a lot happened except, of course, for anything we had expected. We'd expected to see bears fighting with each other for the meat, but we didn't see any. Some of them tried to attack me instead. We expected to see some foxes and wolverines trying to get their share, but we didn't see any. And there was a reason. Some other not quite wild animals came there instead. In other words, none of our plans had worked. And looking back now I can't quite understand why we kept making them. Probably, that's some inalienable part of modern human nature. Or, more likely, some acquired reflex grown by the society. Definitely not something we inherited from our prehistoric ancestors.
