The Winter Wolves

1. Haven

The vast Yukon forest loomed before me, a sight that would overwhelm the average person, but to me, it was home.

The tall white spruce trees and lodgepole pines stretched towards the azure heavens, while the trembling aspen and birch leaves danced gently on the warm spring breeze. The mesmerizing hues of greens and browns created a picturesque scene against the setting sun.

The forest to many was a place of fear and desperation. A place where mother nature was in utter control. Children were warned to not be in the forest after dark. There were countless predators that roved and would happily kill a child for an easy meal.

I was not one of those children.

My papa had taught me to fear nothing, and in this wild land, it was better to be the one feared.

My eyes squinted as I raised my rifle's scope up and I glanced around the open field. There was nothing but the waving grass. I lowered my rifle and glanced at the darkening sky. I had about two more hours before the light would be lost to the dark of the night. The soft rays of the setting sun gave an ambient glow to the forest.

Tobin, my draft mule, snorted quietly, seeking my attention. I found solace in his gentle presence. His comforting nudge against my arm reminded me that I wasn't alone in this untamed frontier.

After wiping the sweat from my brow, I slung my rifle across my back and swung onto Tobin's glistening pearl white coat. The warmth of the leather saddle against my thighs reassured me as I guided Tobin back into the embrace of the forest.

I still had a couple of hours before darkness would dull my senses. My father's birthday was in a few days, and his favorite meal was fresh black bear roast with gravy over mashed potatoes. The weather was perfect for an unsuspecting black bear to be grazing in the open. The spring grasses were irresistible to them. I had been hunting since dawn with no success, but the best hunter knows to never rush and remain patient. I knew I would find a bear; I just had to keep hunting.

As we ventured deeper into the wilderness, the forest grew thicker. I followed a familiar trail I had ridden for years. Tobin knew every step, hardly needing my guidance. Once we passed the fallen birch tree with broken roots, I knew my secret meadow was nearby.

The meadow had always provided for me. It offered game to feed my father and me, the best grass for Tobin, and a sanctuary where I could relax and forget about the world.

It was my haven.

I halted Tobin at the edge of the tree line and dismounted. I admired the beauty of the meadow, watching the lush green grass sway gently in the breeze. The bright purple buds of fireweed flowers were beginning to bloom, promising to paint the meadow in vibrant hues of purple, yellow, and green.

Tobin stood still as I unslung my gun from my back and brought it to my eye. Scanning the landscape through the lens, I searched for any signs of activity.

I listened to my surroundings. No birds were singing. The world was silent.

I smiled. There was a predator close by.

Just as that realization sank in, I caught a glimpse of movement on the opposite side of the meadow. My heart skipped a beat as I cradled the cold metal of my rifle closer. Adjusting my stance, I prepared for a black bear to emerge from the forest.

I slowed my breathing and inhaled, following the teachings of my papa. A good hunter must calm their heartbeat and tame the adrenaline coursing through their veins.

As the bushes swayed, parting to reveal the creature, my heart sank. Disappointment instantly washed over me, extinguishing the adrenaline. Instead of the familiar sight of a black bear, a large wolf stepped out of the shadows.

This wolf, with its dark, rich brown fur resembling milk chocolate or freshly turned earth, took my breath away. A light dusting of grey guard hairs covered its spine and ruff, adding to its beauty.

I was snapped back to reality when I noticed the wolf instead of a graceful walk, it was stumbling. Its sides heaved with the effort of each step. After several painful steps forward the wolf stood in its full glory in the middle of the meadow. Then it looked directly towards me. A cold chill of gooseflesh trailed down my arms as I met the piercing predatory amber gaze with my own.

A second later the wolf suddenly collapsed exactly where it stood. I froze. What was I going to do? It was apparent the wolf had an injury. Contemplation swirled within my mind. I knew that an injured lone wolf didn't stand a chance against the other predators in the area. It would be a slow painful death for the wolf. I knew I had to be the one to end its suffering.

I kept my rifle at the ready as I cautiously entered into the meadow. The wolf was not moving. It was laying on its side, as if it was asleep. I wondered if it was already dead. My papa would be happy with a beautiful wolf pelt.

As I got closer I was awe struck at the shear size of this wolf. It was prehistoric. I had never seen a wolf this large, even living in the Yukon where the wolves were large. I had hunted plenty of wolves before, but there was something different about this wolf I could not explain.

When I stood about three feet away, the wolf's head snapped up, and I instinctively aimed my rifle at its heart. But then I made the mistake of looking into its eyes.

I was entranced. There was such pleading and sorrow within those eyes, a human-like gaze from a predator. It was as if the beast was silently begging for mercy, a chance to survive.

The wolf's soft growl snapped me from my trance, its body tense with fear, but it made no move to attack. I was finally able to see the extent of the injury that was causing the wolf so much pain. Blood seeped from a large bullet wound from the side of the creature. The dried blood from the wound was matted and caked to the wolf's side in an unholy mess. It was a non fatal shot. One of the most despicable actions a hunter could do. Whoever shot this wolf was no hunter, but an evil doer.

Anger surged through me as I observed this majestic creature lying helplessly in pain and exhaustion. I had to end its suffering, to finish what the other bullet had failed to do.

I raised my rifle one more time and took aim. I knew how to end its pain and it would be over in a blink. In utter defeat, the wolf let out a loud drawn out huff and lowered its head back to the ground and closed its eyes. It had accepted its fate. A wolf had never done that before, they always fought. They would never accept death.

As I drew my breath in and readied my finger over the trigger, I hesitated. I recalled the wolf's piercing amber eyes that had met mine, filled with such pain and vulnerability. Such a human gaze, even though it was the eyes of a predator. It was as if the beast was pleading for mercy, silently begging for a chance to survive.

I lowered my rifle. This moment. This decision, would change my life forever. Something in me shifted from killer to savior.

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- deer66