Winter Prey

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It stirred. Sniffed. Then waited patiently until the long-dormant senses sharpened.

Cold. The bitter temperature penetrated through the thick fur.

Yet...not that cold. Not cold enough. The familiar frigidness of the giticmanidogizis month was missing.

It stretched one cramped leg, turned over and sought the drowsiness prior to sleep and the deadened waiting time again.

Something called. Faint. Persistent.

It ignored the summons. For centuries It had known when to hunt, when to rest. Nothing controlled the hunting seasons except Its own inner senses. The time was not right.

The summons came again. Its eyes opened and focused on the rock wall of the cave. Maybe...had the long-awaited time finally arrived?

That barely recalled emotion - hope - moved It to a sitting position, feet planted on the icy cave floor, arms hanging between splayed knees. Muscles needing food balked when It tried to rise. There was one meal left from the last waking period....

Eyes capable of vision in the dark scanned the cave, down the tunnel to the storeroom entrance, to where the first wakening meal waited. Always one left. Moldering and stringy by now, the blood dead and pooled, but enough of a body to fuel the first hunt in a new season. The hunts after that would feed the powers until they were full-force, and they would continue that way until Its thirst for revenge was satisfied for another four decades. Until inner instinct once again led It back to the lair.

It forced itself onto shaky legs and shambled to the cave opening rather than the storeroom. There It gathered enough strength to push aside the boulder across the entrance. Hardwood trees rose stark and leafless against a gray sky, dark-green pines the only color. Nothing marred the snowdrifts other than small animal and bird prints. Larger animals steered clear of Its cave; had for centuries.

The far off brrrrr of sound reached Its highly-attuned ears. It frowned as Its head jerked toward the noise, but the thing breaking the deep silence was even too far away for Its sharp vision.

It despised each new thing the prey devised during Its sleeping periods. For eons, only dogs pulling sleds had carried the prey through this wild land. Then It began to notice new wooden shelters built so close together a shout could be heard from one to the other. Later, the buildings lined up closer, mirroring the campsites Its people had settled their nasaogans in. Three seasons ago, when forced to track prey close to a group of those wooden shelters, It had encountered a strange, stinking beast. The thing rolled along a new iron path that scarred the land on four round black wheels, belching out a poisonous odor, a human steering it as it pulled numerous other four-wheeled conveyances.

The next hunt, metal birds appeared in the sky, small ones with one or two humans inside them. The hunt after that, huge ones were sighted, and keen vision allowed It to see the belly full of men, women, even babies.

This early morning scene today confirmed the suspicion It had awakened early. A rabbit skittered away, snow flying, fur a light tan shade, not the pure white needed for invisibility in the deep winter months. The drifts were soft, not hard-packed with a firm skin from melt and re-melt. In the far expanse stood a doe, slim belly not yet filling out with fawn.

The manidogizisons month, not giticmanidogizis, when this existence began. Buried memories from another time told It the accustomed waking month, the one of heavier, silent snows, was still a few weeks away.

Jagged ice flows, shaped by waves tossing in the windy days of early winter, fanned outward from the shoreline of the massive lake near the lair. But clear vision recognized the lack of ice depth in the middle. Not safe to cross until the coming bitter giticmanidogizis month worked weather magic.

It could be out there in the middle to test the depth in a second. No need to stay long enough for Its weight to threaten the ice. Not yet, though. No sense wasting Its present strength in that sort of flash movement. Later would be soon enough.

It should also wait until later to eat, gain strength and surface for this hunt. Only one meal remained. Too early and the season would catch It unprepared for the next length of sleep. It moved the boulder back in place and retraced the path to the dry leaf and pine bough bed.

No. Now. Eat now.

It stared around, brows lowered in a frown of suspicion. Nothing could be in here. It detected no unrecognized smell, saw no stir of a shadow. The words came from nothing visible. Did not even sound, except inside Its head. This had to be the summons It had waited season after season for. The hope of finding proof that could decide Its final path.

It shuffled past the deep body dent in the bed, on down the tunnel. No door, only a crack in the wall barely large enough for the huge being It had become. On the other side, the cave room spread wide, filled with spears pointing down from the ceiling and up from the stone floor, here and there a familiar one an inch or so longer, or higher, than when It first entered this half-death, half-existence. It remembered. Its survival depended on memories.

Human skeleton bones crunched under Its feet, some broken from previous trips to the inner lair, others eroded to near dust. Fresher ones - those from the last season - still retained a slight smell from bits of gristle left uneaten.

But Its nose twitched not at the old smells. Instead, It searched for the set-aside carcass, the one left to begin the new season.

Something else, though. Something fresher. Too fresh. New blood. It hadn't smelled that odor in forty years, not since It hung the last two human carcasses from descendants of the age-old enemy, fed on one, saved the other.