"He saw connections others missed," she says finally. "Could look at migration patterns and predict resource availability, population dynamics, climate impacts. He understood systems instead of just individual components."
"Sounds like a good teacher."
"He was brilliant. But more than that, he believed science could actually change things. Make them better." She brushes the toe of her boot against the binding I fixed earlier. "Most academics publish papers that twelve people read. Thaddeus wanted research that mattered."
"And Waldo was his proof."
"Waldo was his legacy." Her voice catches on the words, and I understand that this expedition is about more than completing research. It's about honoring a man who shaped her into the scientist she's become.
The wind picks up, carrying the sharp bite of snow from higher elevations. I scan the sky, reading the signs that suggest weather changes ahead. We have maybe six hours before the front moves through, which means we need to find shelter or risk getting caught in conditions that could strand us for days.
"We should keep moving," I say, but I don't start walking yet. She's holding herself like there's more she wants to say.
"Nash?" She meets my eyes, and I catch vulnerability beneath her usual professional composure. "Do you think I'm crazy for doing this? Chasing one animal across half of Alaska?"
The honesty in the question demands equal honesty in return.
"I think you're dedicated to keeping a promise. That's not crazy, it's rare."
"But impractical?"
"Practical is overrated." I adjust my pack straps. "Most important things people do aren't practical."
The corner of her mouth lifts, small and tired, and we continue following the tracks across a series of ridges that offer stunning views of the valley below.
The landscape opens up in all directions, endless white punctuated by dark patches of forest, mountains rising like cathedral spires in the distance. It's country that humbles you with its scale, reminds you how small human concerns become against the backdrop of geological time.
Aris moves through the terrain, reading the signs I've been teaching her without needing instruction. She spots the depression where animals bedded down for the night, notices the browsing marks on willow branches, points out the subtle trail that leads toward water.
"You're learning," I say, watching her kneel beside a scrap of fur caught on a low branch.
"I have a good teacher." She examines the sample, holding it up to the light. "This looks like caribou hair."
"Recent too. Maybe this morning."
Before I finish speaking, she has already capped the tube and labeled it, sliding it into her chest pocket with practiced efficiency. The excitement in her face transforms her completely. Gone is the defensive academic who arrived three days ago, replaced by someone alive with possibility. Her cheeks are flushed from cold and exertion, her eyes bright with the focus of someone exactly where she belongs.
And I need to stop noticing how beautiful she looks when she's in her element.
"How close do you think we are?" she asks, scanning the trail ahead with binoculars.
"Hard to say. Could be hours, could be days. Tracking isn't an exact science."
"But you think we're on the right trail?"
"I think we're following something worth following."
She lowers the binoculars, studying my face with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken again, echoing the moment back on the trail when I was at her feet.
"What made you become a guide? This doesn't seem like work you fall into by accident."
The question catches me off guard. Most clients don't ask about my background beyond confirming I can keep them alive. They want services, not personal history.
"I grew up here," I say, testing how much truth I want to share. "My grandfather taught me to read the land, understand how everything connects. It seemed natural to make a living from what I already knew."
"That's not the whole story."
No, it's not. The whole story includes a mother we lost last year after a long fight, a father still at the house on HollisterRoad and still standing, a sister married off to a good man at Serenity Cove with their first baby on her hip, an oldest brother raising his own girl just up the ridge, and the rest of us brothers half-raising each other on stubbornness and wilderness skills.
