Winter Wolf

Part 8

With clear skies and daylight, it was almost easy to climb down the mountain. Leander had a few frantic seconds as he clawed his way to safety, barely managing to not go over the edge. Once that was over with, the climb down was almost dull. Every so often he called out for Axton, and he searched for any clue to his friend's fate as he traveled, but Leander had resigned himself to getting back to the cabin and calling for a search and rescue team. Maybe he could pick up some supplies and his shotgun and go back out looking while he waited for backup.

In truth, beyond the tedium of survival, Leander felt bad about killing an animal. The wolf had only been defending his territory, Leander was sure, and so it had been a needless death. He'd collected his knife, finding it in the snow, and then bowed his head and had a moment of regret. All the same: he hadn't been ready to die. He'd done what he's had to, or so he told himself. He hadn't been bitten--not even grazed--which was, in retrospect, strange. Surely those teeth had been more than long enough to penetrate his puffy coat, and the wolf had been very strong, certainly strong enough to clamp those jaws down firmly...

Regardless: Leander had to get off the mountain. He could puzzle over the curious case of the ineffective wolf for the rest of his days if he had to, but having the rest of his days measure more than one required getting off the goddamn mountain. Easy though the climb down was, it was dreary. Many of the usual ways down had been blocked by snow, and familiar ways had turned treacherous. So Leander took a winding, meandering path down the mountain, safe and dull and time consuming. Every so often, he would stop and listen for noises, wanting to stay clear of any other predators that could be lurking.

By the time Leander reached the last slope down, he was bored out of his mind. No dangers had presented themselves. The air had warmed slightly, because the howling wind of the past week had finally stopped. This was the least dangerous stretch of his winter vacation thus far, including the time spent cozily zipped up in a tent in front of his fireplace. Hell, the drive in had probably been more hazardous. Cooking was probably more perilous--at least then there was the possibility, however remote, of a lethal gas leak and then death either by slow poison or magnificent explosion.

While some boredom was probably just what Leander needed, his nerves were so frayed by adrenaline rush after adrenaline rush that he just resented the quiet.

So, half dazed with tedium, Leander almost missed the splash of darkness against the white expanse of the mountain. Something caught his eye and he gazed at it, idly and uncomprehendingly, as he jumped down from the last bit of slope. Then something shifted, either the angle or the light or both, and Leander felt his heart rush into his throat. For a horrible split second his knees felt weak, as cold dread warred with burning hot hope.

Then, he ran.

The dark splash resolved into hair, and the crumbled off whiteness following from it was definitely human skin, and the shape was unmistakably--

"AXTON!" Leander screamed, "Axton, Axton!" He rushed to Axton's side, heart pounding too hard to let any other noise be heard--but Axton, unmoving, obviously wasn't making any sounds to hear. With a cry, Leander dropped down to his knees, gloved hands going out to Axton's shoulders--

Axton's bare shoulders.

Although he'd seen it, Leander hadn't really processed that Axton was naked. Avalanches didn't slide your clothes off, and anyway, Axton wasn't half buried in a snow bank, but out in the open. Glancing around frantically, Leander saw that his clothes were nowhere to be found. That meant that Axton had striped himself naked, and to Leander that could only mean one thing: hypothermia.