Winter Study by Nevada Barr

forever, he folded his long legs neatly beneath himself
and sank onto the ice. Wolves closed in, tearing at the moose’s sides,
ripping out entrails in a wild display of color on the white canvas of
snow.
Anna
breathed. Till that moment, she’d not been aware she wasn’t. The
savagery and death didn’t sadden her. As the wolves fed, she didn’t
feel anger toward the predators, nor did she feel sorry for the prey.
What moved her was the stunningly beautiful dance of life and death.
The bull was old. Tough as he was, he probably wouldn’t have lasted the
winter and, if he did, he wouldn’t live to mate next rutting season.
Today he had died as he was meant to, gone down fighting with a
respected enemy, his body nourishment for the next cycle of life. The
wolves would stay with the kill till they had consumed it; nothing
would be wasted. Ravens and foxes would feed. Come spring, fishes would
get the bones.
The cub banked and climbed, and Anna lost sight of the dinner party. “Did you get some good shots?” Jonah crackled in her ears.
“Damn.” Anna heard a breathy chuckle in return.
“Greenhorn,” he said without malice. “We got to head back. Look at the horizon east there.”
The
horizon had solidified into a dark wall. Clouds touched the surface of
the lake. Both water and air were the color of slate. A mile or so out,
whitecaps snapped to life on black water.
Jonah radioed Ridley to let him know about the kill and that they were returning to Windigo.
There
was a moment without response, then Ridley came back: “Robin saw fresh
tracks along the Greenstone Trail. It wasn’t Middle pack; they haven’t
moved. If you’re looking at Chippewa Harbor pack, then it’s not them.
It’s either East pack or a lone wolf. Could you swing by and check it?”
East
pack was so named because the east end of ISRO was its territory.
Wolves were warriors; they protected their turf, and the fights were
vicious and often to the death. East pack that far from home would
indicate a major disturbance in the population, proof of Ridley’s
assertion that “something stirred them up.” A lone wolf wouldn’t. On
ISRO, only the alphas mated. Maturing animals would often leave the
pack to seek another lone wolf with whom to start a new pack.
Occasionally they joined a rival pack. Most often, after a month or
two, they came home humbled. Wolves, like other sentient beings, had
their own minds. One female had been noted to move, apparently with
ease, between all three packs.
“Roger.
We’re nearly there,” Jonah replied to Ridley. To Anna — or himself — he
added: “A couple of minutes out of the way. We’ll make it.” As if in
answer to his effrontery, a gust of wind, running ahead of the heavy
weather, nudged the cub.
Jonah
dropped the airplane down till they were flying two hundred feet above
the Greenstone Ridge. They were traveling at airspeed of eighty-five
miles per hour, slow for most airplanes but incredibly fast for humans,
creatures designed to go no faster than a horse can canter. Trees and
rock outcrops flashed by, their nearness enhancing the sense of speed.
Anna enjoyed the rush.
They
followed the trail for three miles but saw no tracks, then a fist of
wind rocked the supercub and Jonah said: “This bird’s for home.”
Anna
watched the ground. Jonah watched the sky. She saw a dark shape where
dead grasses had been mashed. It looked like a moose bed, but, lying in
the makeshift nest, partially hidden by the lower branches of a stunted
spruce, a dark shape was curled up.
“Wait,” Anna almost yelled into the mike. “I think I saw something. Make another pass.”
“Not today,” crackled back over the headset. “Pilots are a dime a dozen. Old pilots are rare as hen’s teeth.”
Anna didn’t argue but she wanted to.
“What’d you spot?” Jonah asked.
“I
don’t know what it was,” Anna said. She tried to look back but gear and
seat belt trussed her as neatly as a straitjacket. “It looked like