He raised one eyebrow.
“Dog?”
“Something like that.”
He grunted and disappeared into the back.
When I left twenty minutes later, I had two heavy bags of raw trimmings packed in ice inside a cooler in the truck bed.
On the drive home, snow began falling lightly through the trees.
By the time I reached the cabin, tracks already crossed the clearing.
Elk.
And something larger behind them.
I unloaded the cooler slowly.
Worked carefully.
Methodically.
A little behind the woodpile.
A little beyond the treeline.
A little farther uphill where the wind carried scent downward toward the clearing.
Nothing excessive. Nothing stupid. Just enough.
By sunset the woods had gone quiet in that particular way wilderness sometimes does when something unseen is paying attention.
I sat on the porch drinking coffee when I heard the first howl.
Far away.
Long.
Low.
Not threatening.
Just present.
I smiled into my cup.
Friday arrived gray and cold.
Around noon, an SUV finally crawled up the muddy road toward the cabin, fishtailing slightly before correcting itself near the clearing.
I recognized Richard’s black Mercedes immediately.
Behind the wheel, Don Halpern looked tense already.
Good.
The vehicle stopped beside the porch.
Nobody got out right away.
