His Wolf

Chapter 3

Scratching on his front door woke him up at around seven in the morning, according to his digital solar alarm clock.

It was still pitch black outside. The daylight hours would steadily decrease over the coming months as the winter solstice neared.

Memories of white fur and a bloody muzzle sprang to his mind. Yesterday's wolf was the closest any of them had ever come to his cabin.

Scraping against the front door continued.

He got up and pushed the blankets away from his body. Still dressed in his clothes from yesterday he rubbed sleep from his eyes as he navigated through the abnormally large house.

Preparing for the impending chill from outside he pulled his fur jacket closer around himself. His jeans were nice and warm from his bed.

Opening the door he looked outside only to see nothing. The porch was thinly dusted in snow as the rough wood was hidden from side. It would have been nicer had the wood been polished, but when you lived in a constant danger zone for ice it was better not to. The rustic look never bothered him anyway and he preferred to not break his legs on a fall.

A spot of red on the deck before him captured his attention. Four oval spot around a larger dot. A paw print.

He turned to look at his door.
Four clear scratches were embedded into the thick solid cedar wood.

The door had withstood one hundred years of Alaskan hell only to be marred by a wolf's claw.

His eyes looked back into the darkness. The snow was illuminated in a circle by his tiny lightbulb in the foyer. The scratching had only been done a minute ago, which meant the wolf must still be around.

As if he had called the demon out of hell a dark shape trotted around the corner of the cabin.

It was a dark and cloudy morning, no moon could help him with light today. The wolf trotted until it reached the three steps that led onto the porch.

Same as last night, it's nose scented the air before the piercing blue eyes lowered to look straight into his.

The lips seemed to puff out as it stepped closer, further into the light. A huff came out as the air inside the lips was released.

For some reason Anton couldn't look away from those lips. The entire wolf was pure white he knew. The only other colour was the black of it's nose and the front of her lips and of course the dried blood covering it's snout.

The wolf appeared to be hungry still. He thought he saw bloodlust cloud it's vision as it took a step closer to him.

Slowly he stepped back into the house when the wolf advanced slowly, predatory.

It stopped when he gripped the edge of the door.

It's eyes lost the hunger and sadness washed over them. He laughed at himself at how absurd it sounded. A wolf feeling sad.

Until a soft whine escaped it's lips. A predator wouldn't whine at it's prey.

His hand halted on the door. He was about to close it when another whine penetrated his ears. The pure sorrow in the wolf's voice went bone deep.

Anton's whole body felt like collapsing. What on earth was happening?

His heart beat stronger than before. The door was still open a fraction.

He couldn't bear the sound and whatever compelled him to open the door again was in no way rationale. Ripping the door open another gust of cold air breezed into the house. His heart beat excitedly to see the wolf again but when he looked around it was nowhere to be found.

To his right in the left, in the east, the sun was beginning to light the horizon's cloudy facade. Within the next half hour, day would break and he would need to unload his car.

Shutting the front door he set about rewarming the house. The fireplace hadn't been lit in a couple of weeks and by the time he was eating his breakfast a small fire was crackling away.

Around afternoon his car was empty again. All the boxes and containers were safely stored in either the guest bedroom or the second guest room that had always been reserved for storage.

Throughout the day he had kept watch for the wolf. He had seen the circling tracks around his home and the ones leading away. So far it looked as though the wolf was gone for good.

The thought left him gasping for breath. The mere thought of not seeing the wolf again had him clutching his throat. He felt restricted to breathe.

It was getting dark again. It was late afternoon when the last light for the day was swallowed by the largest mountain to the west.

He took the time to snap a picture of the scattered cloud that were now a brilliant display of sunset colours. The heavy snow clouds had dispersed around midday to let glimpses of the sun out for the last few hours.

He was just about to head inside when motion from the forest in the east drew his attention. A now familiar white wolf had bested another caribou. Other than before though, it was now dragging the carcass through the thick snow.

Camera still in hand he snapped a quick shot of the wrestling animal. The wolf's pure strength fascinated him. His chest felt warm and it took him some time to realise that it was pride. Pride that this wolf was strong and independent.

But then it came closer, and closer. The carcass still following the wolf as its powerful jaw was clamped tightly around it's neck.

Anton knew the caribou had put distance between the homestead and themselves after last night. So that meant the wolf had dragged it's prey all the way back here. Several kilometres.

A wolf only ever dragged a kill back to it's den. When it had young.

Fierce jealousy burned through his veins at the thought of the wolf having pups.

He had spent too many winters alone he decided. He was going mad, even as far as wanting a wolf to not have pups.

The wolf had reached the porch steps. Satisfied with the position it turned to Anton and whined again. It lowered it's muzzle and motioned as to push the kill towards him. Then the wolf took two steps back, sat down on the snow, curled it's tail around her hindquarters and waited.

Blue eyes watched him. Followed his and as he lowered the camera onto the old table on the porch.

It's tail thumped the snow as he took a slow calculated step towards the wolf.

It didn't jump back or twitch or growl. All good signs he hoped.

His feet carried him down the step all the while his eyes were locked with the blue crystal pools before him.

He was standing in front of the dead caribou. It was a clean kill he had to say. Precise clean bite through the throat. A blood trail was left in the snow as the last pinkish glow reflected off the field behind the wolf from the setting sun.

"You killed this for me?" His voice was quiet and low. His eyes never left the wolf.

The creature licked it's lips and pointed it's nose forwards. The tail thumped again happily and the snout once more pushed the kill towards him.

He laughed. He laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. He laughed at the absurdity. But most of all he laughed at the giddy joy that spread like poison through his blood. With this wolf nearby he didn't feel so alone anymore.