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Bear? Oooh. We'd crossed paths with bl
ack bears in northern Ontario, but never one of their big brown cousins. I scrambled up the trunk, nails digging in as I stretched to sniff--
Clay plowed into my side. I went flying. Then I bounced up, snarling, and tore after him.
He was smart enough to know that his advantage lay in the forest, so that's where he stayed, keeping only a few strides ahead, dropping back, then sprinting ahead, taunting and teasing.
When the forest opened into a clearing, I hit full speed, head down, paws sailing over the snow, closing the gap, the delicious smell of him filling my brain--
He swerved... right at the edge of a small embankment. I tried skidding to a stop, but tumbled over it, down the five-foot cliff onto the ice-covered creek below, each leg going its own way as I spun snout-first into the snowy embankment on the other side.
From behind me came the rough growl of Clay's wolf laugh. My answering growl was not nearly as amused. I got to my feet slowly, digging my claws into the ice for traction. Then, without turning to look at him, I gingerly picked my way along to a spot where a branch poked through the ice. I scratched at the thinner ice around it until I had a hole. Then I lowered my muzzle and drank.
I lapped the cold water, so clean and sweet that I closed my eyes to savor it. I could hear Clay pacing along the embankment, his panting getting louder, thirst growing. I bit off a chunk of ice, making the hole bigger, then shifted aside to give him room. He tore down the creek side, slowing as he reached the ice, testing each step under his weight.
When he got up beside me, the ice groaned, but held. He brushed against me, tail beating the back of my legs as he drank, droplets of icy water spraying my face. I shifted closer, rubbing against him. He made a deep-throated noise closer to a purr than to a growl. I quietly scraped at the ice with my far front paw. Then I reared up and slammed down, all my weight on my front legs. As I twisted and tore off the crack of the ice rang through the quiet forest.
Now it was my turn to stand on the embankment and laugh, as Clay scrambled like a lumberjack on a runaway log jam, jumping from piece to piece as they sank beneath him. He leapt for the shore, but didn't quite make it, splashing down to his dewclaws in icy water.
I tore off, but I'd stayed to enjoy the sight a few seconds too long. He caught me ten feet from the embankment, grabbing my back leg, yanking me down, then pouncing over me and shaking, water spraying everywhere. I tried to buck him off, but he bit the scruff of my neck and pinned me beneath his soaked underside.
I flipped him over and we tussled, fangs flashing, nipping and kicking and snarling, tone changing, the need for exercise and play fading fast, the need for something more primal taking over. The nips and growls grew rougher. I wriggled free, about to take off in a final chase before a quick Change back and--
A scent floated past and I went still. Clay's teeth clamped around my lower jaw, trying to get my attention. I shook him off and got to my feet. He tried one last time to grab me. I growled and stepped aside, nose lifting telling him however much I hated the interruption, what I smelled demanded my attention.
The distant murmur of a voice got him to his feet. He turned his nose into the breeze. His sense of smell wasn't as good as mine, but after a moment he caught it. His only reaction was a grunt, deep in his chest, the canine equivalent of a mildly curious "huh." When I started toward the source, he caught my hind leg in his jaws. Just a light tug, like catching my arm.
I looked back. He had his ears down, expression uncertain, cautious even. Normally, Clay's leading the charge and I'm holding back, but this was one situation where I was bolder than he.
I chuffed, getting his attention, then gave a slow shake of my head. I'd be careful, but I was going to investigate. He snorted, his jowls vibrating, huffed breaths hanging in the air. Fine, but he wasn't happy about it.
I took off at a lope, Clay at my heels. The sun was cresting the mountains now, the valley still gray and gloomy, with patches of snow glittering where the sun pierced the thick trees. It was a strangely eerie time of day, shadows playing with the light. More than once I thought I saw something and slowed, only to gaze out over empty forest.
We went a half mile before the distant murmur turned into three distinct male voices, and even then I couldn't make out what they were saying. For that, I'd need to concentrate, and I was focused on getting closer.
As the voices grew loud enough for me to eavesdrop without effort, Clay nipped my heels, saying we were too close already. I could have safely gone another fifty feet, but I stopped before those nervous nips became anxious bites.
I couldn't see the men, but their voices seemed to come from a lighter patch ahead, presumably the forest's edge. I circled to the east, until I could see a frozen lake through a gap in the trees. I kept circling, wide enough to keep Clay's complaints down to a steady grumble.
When I drew close to the forest's edge, I hunkered down, sliding across the snow on my belly. Clay tried to follow, wanting to stay close, but I chuffed and shook my head. He grumbled a little louder, but knew I was right. Our fur matches our hair color and, against a snowy backdrop, his gold caught the eye far better than my silvery blond.
I stuck my muzzle out beyond the tree line and took a deep breath. Four men--three standing, one on the ground. The scents didn't betray their positions; their voices did. For the three, their voices above my head told me their position. The scent of the fourth told me where he was. His smell was the one I'd caught back by the creek. The stink of decomposing flesh.
The smell wasn't overwhelming, but I should have picked it up while we'd been goofing around. I suspected it was no coincidence, then, that I'd noticed the smell and the voices at the same time. The corpse must have been buried under a layer of snow, now found and uncovered.
I pushed forward a few more inches. When my eyes passed the tree line, I could still make out only shapes in the twilight.
I shuffled another few inches forward. Clay's grumbling turned to growls. I stopped as soon as I could see the three standing figures. They were all too bundled to guess age, but I could take a good stab at occupation, given that two had badges on their hats and the third was in camouflage gear with a glow-in-the-dark vest.
At their feet lay the body... or what was left of it. Most of the clothing had been torn away. What remained was dark with frozen blood. Even up close it didn't smell too bad--a human nose would barely detect it. Freezing had kept decomp at bay, but by the time it got warm enough to stink, there wouldn't be anything left to smell. Being buried under the snow was the only thing that had stopped the scavengers from finishing what they'd begun.
I could tell that the body had been eaten, but unless I could get close enough to sniff it, I had no idea what had done the eating--wolf, werewolf, mink or one of the dozens of other predators out here. Even knowing what ate the man wouldn't tell me what killed him. At the tail end of a long winter, even wolves won't turn down free meat. And that, I realized when I concentrated on the men's speech, was exactly what they were saying.
"Fresh snowfall yesterday means no tracks today," the shorter cop said. "No way to tell if it was canine, ursine or Homo sapiens."
"You think a person could have done this?" The taller cop's voice squeaked with surprise and youth.
"Eat poor Tom for dinner? I hope to hell not, but I wouldn't put it past some of the whack-jobs we get up here. I meant he could have been murdered, then eaten by scavengers. He's so chewed up, we might not ever know for sure."
