His Wolf

Chapter 1

It was cold and crisp outside.

Today was his last trip into town, the last time he would see another human in months to come.

It took a certain type of man to live in the remoteness of Alaska. His family had owned the million dollar property for hundreds of years dating back generations. His ancestors were ranging from native Americans to French and English and even an Eskimo thrown into the mix.

To say the least his ancestry was very culturally diverse. And his looks were a very interesting mix rarely seen in the northernmost reaches of the country.

He had arrived in the frozen town four hours before. His truck was packed with carton of milk powder, ammunition, water filters and first aid supplies.

He had all of his alcohol supplies already back at the modest cabin high up in the mountains. Fuel he had enough to last him the whole year.

The last straps of the black tarpaulin were quickly fastened to the bed of his truck. Giving one last tug, he was satisfied with his work and made his way back into the tavern.

The burly bartender showed his teeth through a thick layer of facial hair. The ginger colour was stained from months on end of no proper grooming. It made him raise his own hand to investigate the condition of his own growing beard.

They had been friends since he could remember. He knew his friend's beard was hiding the broad grin that split his face and his own grew slightly more modest.

"Hey Packer, old buddy!" Packer laughed boisterously at the old jest that came from a drinking game from ages ago.

"Hey back ye grumpy bastard. How nice of ye ta stop by befo' ye go back u' ta ye hideout. At least tha'ts an improvement from lest yer'." Even after fifteen years in the Alaskan planes and his friend's Irish accent remained as oiled as ever.

"Sorry Packer. But you knew that that chick from last year's gather was there. I didn't wanna get the full impact of a hissing fit thrown at me just because I refused to see her again."

The big man tilted his head back and laughed in the jolly way as always. He had to admit that he missed his friend's company when he was up on his mountain.

"Well... I gotta get going I suppose. The ice ain't gonna wait for me. I hope you'll be able to make it up for fire night this year though. Last year was epic."

He had half turned away from the high counter and his shoulder was angled towards the thick wood door that led outside. It was getting warm standing in the heated tavern with his thick coat on.

In the dim lighting his friend was still grinning at him. His white teeth had a yellow tint from the lights.

"I'll see wha' I can do, Anton. You drive safe u' that wretched road. Keep ye pretty arse alive ano'er yer'."

He chuckled and said goodbye to the other patrons in the tavern. Old men were drinking beer and a few couples were enjoying their midday meal.

Many farmers lived remote. Most came into the settlements and towns over the winter months but a few stayed locked up in their homes and cabins.

He himself preferred to stay on his mountain. Nothing could best the mornings and sunsets. When the northern lights, the Aurora Borealis, lit up the sky, there wasn't a single place on earth he'd rather be.

Plus, most of his fortune came from the winter sky. As a nature photographer he lived in the best place to capture the raw majesty and beauty of the tundras and forests of Alaska. The frozen fjord and the cascading waterfalls were his debuts in the world of photography.

Pushing open the door, he had just stepped out when a big four-wheel drive pulled up next to his old trusty Troop carrier. Four men jumped out as soon as the vehicle turned off and hurriedly dragged a fifth out from the backseat.

"Hurry! Hurry!"

"Bloody beasts, e's gonna bled ou'" French accent. Big coats. Trunk full of furs, pelts. Hunters.

They carried the man inside pushing him out of the way.

"Get ou' o' te way, idio'"

By the load in their car Anton had no doubt that the injured man deserved every injury he'd sustained. A life taken was a life avenged. It was the unspoken law of the wild.

He was just about to get in when a man stopped beside him. His eyes were fixed on the tavern doors where the hunters had taken their friend to.

"Those were a Wolf's mark boy. They have tasted the man's blood. Now ye be careful when ye go up to yer mountain Ant. Yer a smart kid, stay on yer toes and lock the door at night."

The old man's concern made him smile.

"Sure thing Pete, don't let your misses boss you around too much ey?"

Old Pete grumbled some words that sounded more like a "yeh yeh, as if that'll ever 'appen" before he lumbered off into the tavern.

Without another backwards glance he climbed in and started the old engine.

Everything up here was old. Old people, old places, old items. The harsh environment let only the strongest survive.

He felt proud to be one of them.

The snow chains on his tyres clacked as he began his three hours journey home. Snow was already falling again, hiding the ice layer on the road from view. He hoped it would provide at least some traction and he wouldn't have to get himself out of a ditch again.

The flakes were a steady fall. Visibility was still high as it was more powder which the clouds spat out.

He was eager to get home. It had been a series of early mornings to drive into town for supplies and then drive back at night. Then repeating the same the next day.

A lot of time, effort and preparation was the key to surviving the demanding winters on the mountain. A few years ago it had taken his parent's lives. It wouldn't take his though. He was strong. He will survive another and another after that one and so on.

Unless he died simply of loneliness.

It wasn't that there hadn't been women before. It was more like none of them felt right. None of them had been the woman for him.

So he would just keep waiting. Capture his land's beauty and harshness and wait. Wait for her.