Apex Magazine - Issue 38, July 2012 by Lynne M. Thomas

Author:Lynne M. Thomas
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-07-02T16:47:30+00:00

Richard woke to a gust of cold air. He pushed his sleeping bag away and looked around.

She was gone. Predawn gray seeped through the single small window. A puff of unmelted snow lay just inside the door. He dressed quickly and grabbed his backpack and the Winchester.

Outside, the sky over the cabin was just brightening with the cold blue of dawn. To the far north Richard saw the first streamers that presaged storm clouds: maybe another thirty-six hours before the snow got here. He’d call Jeff, have him fly them out later today, tomorrow at the latest. The snow on the ground glowed softly so that Addie’s footprints were nearly invisible. Cold air needling his lungs with each breath, he followed the prints due south across the meadow, toward the ridge where Genna had been hurt. He found the stains on the snow but Addie’s footprints ran past. The sky was gold and delicate pink by the time he found her.

He crested a hill by a half-grown fir. Addie’s footprints ran to the right along the bowl of the valley; as he watched, a flash of dirty red nylon flickered halfway down. He couldn’t reach her without disturbing the wolves in the valley, so he crouched down.

The wolves were on the opposite side of the basin, apparently undisturbed by the arrival of Addie and Richard. Genna was there, absently licking her paw. She didn’t appear to be in pain. The young darker wolf, Murie, lay curled beside her, head pillowed on her ribcage. When he shifted, she snapped at him without heat. Primadonna, the alpha female, hopped in place, surrounded by a whirl of half-grown cubs licking her face and tugging at her ears and tail. The alpha male, Black, trotted from the young firs uphill from the wolves. The pack rose and converged on him. When the three cubs bounced at him, he lowered his head and regurgitated meat, which they attacked with growls that were audible across the valley. Black and Donna touched noses for a moment.

Black started the howl. Donna joined in, then one by one the other wolves, until even the cubs sang with their wavering voices. Richard leaned against the fir, weak-kneed as he always was at the sound, the knots of pitch and overtone. The voices seemed many more than seven, laced together like a loose braid.

The last voice to join the howl came from his side of the valley. He opened his eyes. The pack were all still visible, clustered close together, lifting their heads with half-closed eyes. Black stared toward the brush below Richard.

In the underbrush Addie crouched on all fours, her chest pressed against one knee, her head tilted back and her eyes closed in complete absorption. Her voice was different, higher and rougher and lacking the fluid drop of a wolf’s song. He found himself harmonizing in his throat, but he bit back the sound. He could not stop watching her, even after the howl died and the pack moved off to hunt.

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