You decide to go right to the source. You were planning on checking out the ravine in the day, before you realized day didn’t exist anymore.
You pull the truck as close to the edge of the cliff as possible before shutting off the engine and exiting. You flip on the secondary lights for illumination. It gives you
enough light to see the end of the trail, and casts shadows on a small ledge beneath. You pop the hatch and fish out a heavy flashlight and climbing gear. You smile
at the fortune; you’re glad you were too lazy to take it back into your apartment after that mountain climbing trip.
The short trek across the rocks would be more difficult without the heavy flashlight in your hands. It’s fortunate you keep it in the Land Rover; you’re not going to
get much light otherwise, natural or artificial. You shine the beam down into the gulley, and catch the glint of reflecting black metal.
Miles’ Blazer?
Panning the beam across the cliff behind you reveals no tire tracks. He couldn’t have driven it off the cliff. There would still be tracks even if it’d been pushed.
That’s when you catch sight of the other prints. They look like animal tracks, except these are way too large. Pads, like a dog. Four toes, clawed. They’re set very
deeply into the dirt. Whatever made them must be very heavy.
They begin where the tire tracks end. They lead to the cliff edge before circling around into the forest.
“Jesus H. Christ, Miles,” you gasp. “What’d you find up here?”
Her pack sisters continued their mating, unashamed by Windsong’s presence. Snowclaw reassured her continuously that she would find a mate of her own.
Windsong knew it to be true; sure as the scent of the doe she had chased down and feasted upon just minutes earlier. This land drew women to it; so many females
would find freedom and acceptance here, just as she had found her nature in these woods. She licked the final traces of her meal from her lips as her attention
diverted to the east.
The male’s vehicle burned for several hours. She had watched dutifully, to ensure not only his demise, but the land’s survival. The dryness did not succumb; it was
scarred, but it will recover.
And the dryness of my heart? she mused to the moon. Can that be so eased?
She raised her head and sang, filling the world with her dirge.