I dreamed I was with some coworkers and we'd pulled off the road in a small canyon to observe some brown bears. We walked up the canyon a ways for a closer look, still far away from the two we could see. About two hundred feet from the car, we realized we were surrounded by brown bears, all standing on their hind legs, who proceeded to attack us with butterfly knives and syringes full of some sort of narcotic sedative.
I tried to look very small and inert against the canyon wall, but they saw me, and started to advance. One of my companions intercepted them, and I saw an opportunity to rush the bear that turned to attack him. I wrenched the syringe out of its hand and plunged it into its neck, then grabbed the butterfly knife and severed an artery.
I looked at the blood on my hands, and back to the bear that was gasping and gurgling on the ground, only to see that it was really an eight-year-old little boy. I fell to my knees by his side, sputtering out my useless apologies and tears as the life left his eyes and he stopped breathing.
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