Baji sunk her water bag through the hole in the icy pond, filling it while she watched Gitchi. He lapped water from the other side of the pool, but his yellow eyes clung to the lone wolf out in the trees. The pack had moved on a little while ago, pouring in a silvery flood down the hillside and across the valley. From far away, their faint sharp yelps rose as they trotted up the trail that crested the tree-covered hill to the west. This wolf had remained behind. He stood motionless, as if carved of starlight. Long and lean, he seemed strangely curious about Gitchi. As well, he kept casting odd glances at Baji, tilting his head, as though not certain what she was.
Baji lifted her dripping bag from the hole, pulled the laces tight, and tied it to her belt. Then she lowered Dekanawida’s water bag to fill it. He still slept rolled in their blankets five paces away, unaware that she and Gitchi had started the day without him. She’d been standing guard most of the night, adding branches to the fire to keep him warm. One hand of time ago, she’d started breakfast. The tripod with the suspended cook pot hung at the edge of the fire. Flames licked gently at the soot-coated bottom, keeping it at a slow boil. The mixture of tic’ne—powdered red corn—along with beechnuts, dried raspberries, and leftover chunks of last night’s muskrat would make a hearty breakfast.
She pulled Dekanawida’s filled water bag from the hole and snugged the laces. She would keep it on her weapons’ belt until he rose. As she tied it beside her bag, the row of stilettos and knives rattled. It didn’t seem to disturb the lone wolf. He kept his shining eyes on Gitchi.
Baji adjusted the bow and quiver slung over her left shoulder. Her headache was gone, and she felt so much better, she wondered if this sensation was akin to being Requickened in a strong healthy body after a long illness. The shapes of the waking forest appeared clearer, crisper. The Faces of the Forest might have carefully chosen the background shade to highlight the massive chestnut trunks and dark branches that laced over her head.
Gitchi finished drinking and turned to face the wolf. The stranger took a step forward, stopping with one paw lifted while he scented the air. Gitchi curled his lip in a snarl, just a warning, and his big paws crackled in the ice that skimmed the low spots. Every fallen leaf and twig sparkled with a white coating of ice.
The lone wolf whined softly, then backed away, yielding the dominance contest to Gitchi.
It occurred to Baji that it might be a female, perhaps out examining the packs for a future mate.
When she whined again, Gitchi must have tired of her advances for the hair on his neck and shoulders stood straight up and he sprang forward with a ferocious growl, chasing the wolf out into the trees and down the hill. Branches cracked in their flight. Baji saw the wolves, stretched out full, shooting between the smoke-colored trunks like pewter lances.
Her gaze returned to the forest shadows, searching for odd shapes, textures, the slightest movement. Trees rocked in the breeze. Occasionally, an old leaf detached from a branch and fluttered through the air. The pungency of frozen bark wafted around her.
A short time later, Gitchi trotted back with his head held high, and dropped to his haunches beside her.
Baji stroked his soft back. “You protected the camp, Gitchi. Thank you.”
He licked her face.
Above them, the shimmering Road of Light that the Standing Stone People called the Path of Souls had begun to fade. As night edged toward day, its cold crystal brilliance paled to a faint white swath, dotted here and there by the largest campfires of the dead.
She whispered, “What do you think the Road is like, Gitchi? Is it winter there? Or summer? From the number of campfires, it looks crowded. I’m not sure I’d like that. You wouldn’t either, would you?” She scratched his neck and he half-closed his eyes in enjoyment. “Your ancestors are wilderness people, too. On cold nights they point their noses at Grandmother Moon and howl long and hard, complaining about the frozen forests and the dark, but you and I know they wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
Gitchi looked up, following her gaze, and seemed to be contemplating her soft words as he surveyed the sky, perhaps remembering litter mates and friends who had turned to dust long ago. A pained wistfulness filled his yellow eyes.
“Don’t worry, old friend, you’ll see them again. You’ll romp with them in fields of wildflowers and be able to run for days without your paws hurting at all.”
Baji reached down and gently petted his sore legs and feet.
Gitchi wagged his tail, and she slipped her arms around him and hugged him, resting her throat across his thickly furred neck. He vented a deep sigh and leaned into her embrace. They sat like that, loving each other, until Dekanawida’s soft voice called, “When we get home, I’m going to paint that image on a rawhide shield.”