Shell stood transfixed at the dozens of wolf prints. Max was a larger breed of dog, and most people considered his paws large, but these were easily twice the size. A wolf whose head came to Quester’s chest had left the kill and might return at any time.
Quester had turned and ran for the river carrying the deer, not bothering to waste breath in telling Shell to follow. Shell tried to keep up, but at the same time, he kept his attention behind and to the sides. Whatever had killed the deer would not appreciate them stealing its kill.
They splashed across the river like two crazy men stealing meat from a dangerous predator. Once on the other bank, Quester ran to the dying coals of the fire and sat the haunch on his blanket. “Keep a good watch.”
“I’ve never shot this bow.”
“So you keep telling me. Did you ever learn to scream?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then do that if you see the wolf.”
Feeling chastised, Shell rushed to the side of the river and looked both ways, upstream and down. Glancing behind, he saw Quester already skinning the meat. There were slices of venison lying beside him, and more being added as the fire grew. The fire had more wood on it. The flames climbed waist high.
Shell turned back to the river and made sure nothing moved to cross it. Then his mind played a dirty trick on him. It remembered Quester holding out his splayed hand indicating the size of the track the creature following them left. His mind pictured a giant wolf-like creature bounding out of the grass across the river and in four or five giant leaps to reach him before he could run.
Shell backed away from the water and called to Quester, “I’m going up higher where I have a better view.”
Quester nodded while slipping strips of venison onto green sticks to slow-roast over the fire. Dried and smoked, the strips would last for months. But cooked, they would last only long enough to feed the two young men. They might sun-dry part of them later and perhaps even smoke them. But, they would have food for days.
Shell watched the river and the shore across, trying to find where the creature might be. The deer could almost be a gift from another animal, but he didn’t think so. Grasslands only support a few carnivores because there is not enough food for more. He’d already seen the coyotes and the stalker wolf, so how many more could there be in this one location? Besides, mentioning the idea to Quester would invite a lecture on how animals don’t share.
By mid-day nothing had shown itself and Quester called. Shell arrived at the camp to find a dying fire, and two backpacks stuffed with strips of meat. Placing it in Shell’s backpack was an invasion of his personal property, but he realized Quester was simply using what was handy. Not that there was anything to hide or steal inside the pack. Still, he felt a little odd about it.
Quester said, pointing to the bone and other remains, “Enough to draw every meat eater within two days.”
“But enough in our pack to feed us for weeks.”
“Time to move on, my friend.”
They headed out at a fast pace. Shell struggled to keep up but refused to ask Quester to slow. The almost flat lay of the grasslands had given up to small hills and valleys filled with shrubs and even small, green trees along the streambeds. Now the terrain turned to taller hills, most covered with stunted trees and undergrowth, all of it green instead of brown.
At one place, late in the day, a few clouds dispersed and there directly in front stood the peak of a mountain that could only be Bear Mountain. They stood and observed in awe, looking at the height and the solid white top that never melted. The ground trembled, and the top belched a column of dirty-white smoke as if warning them.
“That’s where we’re going?” Quester asked.
“I never knew it would be so big. We could spend the rest of the summer searching the slopes and never find a dragon.”
“Calm down. We’ll find them sooner than you think.”
Quester turned at the cryptic remark and led the way over the next few hills where they found a small lake surrounded by trees. As they stood and watched the lake in appreciation, a sight rare to those of the grasslands, something ahead moved swiftly. A shadow larger than two men flicked from the edge of the lake into the shade of the trees.
“Did you see that?” Shell choked past dry lips.
“I did and I didn’t. Did you get a look?”
“Just a flash and it was gone.”
Quester adjusted the straps on his pack and said, “It might hide, but whatever it was, there are tracks down by the edge of the lake.”
“Are we going to look at them?”
Quester cast him an odd look before saying, “What else?”
“Just asking,” Shell said, reaching for his bow again. A good throw of a rock would almost reach halfway across the lake. It was perhaps twice as long, a small stream feeding it and another leading out at the lower end. From the hillside, they could see it all, but as they descended the trees blocked their view, and they followed game trails until they reached the soggy edges.
There, they fought their way through willows, ash, maple, and countless types of vines and thorn bushes until they reached a small clearing. The black dirt they stood on was soggy and covered with green grasses.
A set of footprints stood out as if they were stars at night. The pattern emerged from the forest and went straight to the edge of the water, and into it, probably where the animal got a drink. Another set showed where the startled animal had leaped, turned, and bounded back into the trees as Shell and Quester came into sight.
Quester knelt beside the nearest track and held out his hand for comparison. “Ever see anything like this? I guess it decided to cross the river, after all. I just hope it is not after the venison.”
The prints were long as Quester’s hand and fingers, and wider. Quester hadn’t exaggerated about them, and to Shell, they looked even larger than those at the river. “No, I’ve never seen a wolf with feet that big! Are they the same as last night?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Our stalker got here before us.”
“It didn’t cross the river,” Shell said. “I made sure.”
Quester shrugged. “Upriver or down, or perhaps after we left. It could have passed right by us, and we didn’t see it.”
Shell looked at the prints again. He looked around the area, into the trees, the shadows, and the nearby hills.
“Trying to find it?” Quester asked.
“I was wondering about caves. Is this the kind of place where there are caves?”
Quester burst out laughing. “Caves? Are you thinking of a small one a big thing like this can’t enter?”
Shell turned to him, hands on hips. “If we find a cave, I’m using it. If it isn’t big enough for two, find your own.”
That sent Quester into gales of laughter. When he finished and looked at Shell again, he laughed more. Then he said, “Listen, I’ll build us a fire. Even wolves don’t like fires. Help me gather wood.”
Using his heavy knife to help, Shell cut dead limbs from a pine and picked up branches. Quester cut several green bushes, and after setting up strips of meat side by side on large rocks, he covered the entire fire with the shrubs. Smoke escaped through a dozen places but mostly stayed inside the makeshift smoker, as Quester continued tending the fire.
Shell went to his pack and found his braided fishing line and hooks. At the edge of the lake, he managed to catch a small grasshopper and placed it on the hook. A careful cast allowed the insect to wriggle and float. In the space of a few breaths, a trout attacked it, nearly snatching the grasshopper, hook, and line away from Shell.