Samo did not know how long it had been since he last spent time in Elk Charm’s wetu.
The journey he took with the seal hunters should not have been so long, but Samo was a stranger to cold waves and the slippery, dark beasts that dove beneath them. A storm had overtaken him, and though he was strong—
He had not been born a seal hunter.
The wolf that now walked through the woodlands was ragged, tired, paws aching as he tried to retrace his route. It had been a struggle, at first, to remember his name. But he remembered Elk Charm’s. After a time, he thought, he had only dreamed her. Perhaps it had all been a fiction of this strange land.
Yet the notion filled him with a despair he could not name, and so Samo searched. He looked out for Martius; the Roman. He remembered him too. Samo never saw head or tail of him again. Good riddance. But there was a part of him that cringed in terror still.
The path he walked now smelled familiar. Felt familiar, to his heavy paws. Still it was not right. He walked. He rested. He ate, when he could catch game; the rabbits were still too quick for him, but he was growing wiser. He caught pheasants as the leaves changed, fat and slow from the berries they had feasted on; then with the first snows, a doe made careless by winter’s hunger.
He carried the skin with him still, imagining he could bring it back to Elk Charm. He imagined that her wetu would still be there, and that he might see her eyes light up again.
He lay down in a patch of clear ground beneath a bending pine and panted. It was then that he tasted a scent he knew.
He moved with quick, cautious steps, heart pounding in his chest. When he laid eyes on a brown shape, at first he could not speak.
“Elk Charm?” he croaked out.
The journey he took with the seal hunters should not have been so long, but Samo was a stranger to cold waves and the slippery, dark beasts that dove beneath them. A storm had overtaken him, and though he was strong—
He had not been born a seal hunter.
The wolf that now walked through the woodlands was ragged, tired, paws aching as he tried to retrace his route. It had been a struggle, at first, to remember his name. But he remembered Elk Charm’s. After a time, he thought, he had only dreamed her. Perhaps it had all been a fiction of this strange land.
Yet the notion filled him with a despair he could not name, and so Samo searched. He looked out for Martius; the Roman. He remembered him too. Samo never saw head or tail of him again. Good riddance. But there was a part of him that cringed in terror still.
The path he walked now smelled familiar. Felt familiar, to his heavy paws. Still it was not right. He walked. He rested. He ate, when he could catch game; the rabbits were still too quick for him, but he was growing wiser. He caught pheasants as the leaves changed, fat and slow from the berries they had feasted on; then with the first snows, a doe made careless by winter’s hunger.
He carried the skin with him still, imagining he could bring it back to Elk Charm. He imagined that her wetu would still be there, and that he might see her eyes light up again.
***
He lay down in a patch of clear ground beneath a bending pine and panted. It was then that he tasted a scent he knew.
He moved with quick, cautious steps, heart pounding in his chest. When he laid eyes on a brown shape, at first he could not speak.
“Elk Charm?” he croaked out.
