Morning doesn’t come all at once in the high mountains. It crawls in slow, like an old animal waking up after a hard winter. First there’s a gray line in the east.
Then comes that flat, lead-colored light that doesn’t warm a thing, only shows you how cold and unforgiving everything really is. That morning the sky hung especially low. Clouds snagged on the sharp ridges, promising not just snow, but a full-blown storm.
The air felt thick and heavy. I could feel it on my skin. In those mountains, that usually meant trouble.
I woke before daylight, long before the sun had a chance to rise. My joints gave their usual crackle when I sat up on the squeaky bed. At sixty-five, cold mornings and I know each other pretty well.
“All right, old bones,” I muttered into the dark cabin. “Let’s get through one more day. Big one today.”
Usually at that hour the house is dead quiet. Just the soft pop of coals in the stove and the steady breathing of Thunder. My huge Arctic wolf, with fur the color of a storm cloud, usually slept curled up by the fire.
But that uneasy morning, the quiet was gone. Thunder was pacing the cabin, back and forth, from the stove to the door, from the door to the window. His heavy claws clicked against the wood floorboards.
I heard it half-asleep at first and thought maybe I was dreaming. But when I lit the dim lamp, I saw him clearly. The wolf was moving like a trapped animal.
His ears were pinned back, his thick tail hanging low. In his amber-yellow eyes was real fear, plain as day. “What’s the matter, buddy?” I asked quietly.
“Storm got you worked up?” Thunder stopped and looked at me without blinking. There was something in that stare that made my gut tighten.
Then he let out a strange sound, more like a long, rough moan than a growl, and started pacing again. I got up slowly, went to the stove, and added a few dry logs.
I set the old kettle on the heat and waited for it to boil. “You feel bad weather coming, huh?” I said, pouring myself a mug of hot tea. “My bones are talking too. Big storm on the way, Thunder.”
“Weather’s going to be rough, but we still have to go. Dennis is waiting, and we can’t be late.” The second I said Dennis’s name, the wolf froze.
He turned his head sharply toward me and gave one short, blunt bark. It sounded like a flat-out no. I just shook my gray head.
I went to the icebox and took out some smoked meat. I cut it into thick slices and set the bowl down for him. “Eat up. We’ll need the energy.”
The wolf didn’t even go near his favorite food. He stood by the wooden door with his head lowered, scraping one paw across the threshold until the wood groaned under his claws.
That sound got on my nerves worse than rusty metal. I sat at the oak table and wrapped both hands around my hot mug. As I warmed up, I watched him closely.
We’d lived side by side in that hard country for five years. I knew Thunder’s habits better than my own. He wasn’t acting up for no reason, and all at once my memory took me back…
