[Fiction] The princess of snow and wolves

[Wakinyan]

Montana’s Bitterroot Mountains felt like another world. Sure, there were some roads here and the occasional small town, but for the most part it was an untouched world despite the modern age. The deep snow that now covered the mountains and forested valleys gave the land a serenity that could not be replicated. The wind-whipped howl of wolves serenaded the land, a haunting melody and perfect soundtrack to the primeval world.

The rumble of engines seemed almost an affront to the surroundings. The racing of the snowmobiles through the landscape turned the pristine wilderness inside out. Birds fluttered and bison lumbered through the snow. The pack of snowmobiles thankfully came to a stop, but the growl of their engines continued to echo through the great valley for almost a minute after they had shut off before finally fading away.

The first thing Keith did after dismounting was to spit a wad of chewing tobacco onto the snow at his feet. This wad was replaced in his cheek by another as he tucked the tobacco pouch back into his jacket. “Think we scared them off?” Collin asked as he pulled his rifle from the hard plastic sheath on the side of his snowmobile.

“Nah, they don’t run from humans. Don’t fear us!” the man explained as he spat dark chaw into the snow. “These wolves were reintroduced here by humans so they don’t fear them... Fuck... You see those hippies that reintroduced them here about twenty years back? They hugged them! Treated them like god damn house dogs. Well fuck if I am gonna hug no god damn wolf. Especially who kill my cattle.”

Terry slung his rifle over his shoulder and muttered, “Not much sport to this if they are not afraid of us. Next time let’s just bring some dog biscuits out here dipped in antifreeze.”

Keith glared at his neighbor. “Look, we use rifles at least it gives us some target practice.” Terry shrugged and the three men finished getting prepped, strapping on snow shoes and backpacks before taking off down the frozen bank of Lolo Creek.

Keith was a life long resident of Montana; he had lived in the mountains of the western part of the state and never felt the urge to leave. ‘Mountain man’ might be an outdated term but it seemed to fit him. Collin was his ranch hand, just a kid looking for a job in a area that didn’t have many jobs; still, working on Keith’s ranch was better than any McDonalds, so he never complained. Terry however was another matter: coming from Seattle, he had been some wealthy OpNet businessman who decided to cut his ties and get away from it all. Keith wondered if he even knew how to use the two thousand dollar Remington deluxe sportsman rifle he carried now.

Terry was the first to speak, breaking the monotony of the crunch of snow under their feet and the light gurgle of water from the icy stream nearby. “Look Keith, I don’t want them harming my horses either but are you sure we can do this? Is this legal?”

The grizzled rancher’s sneer might have been enough of a response. “They aren’t protected any longer and you can kill them if they are a nuisance and by god they are that.” Terry didn’t press the issue any more, knowing that he wouldn’t have gotten anything from the older man even if he did. So over the next hour he watched the man check the ground over and over again, putting to use the tracking skills a lifetime living in mountains grants one willing to endure the hardships.

They had followed the Lolo for almost an hour when Keith signaled for them to stop, as he moved up a small embankment as silently as he could. Terry and Collin squatted down near a pine wreathed in snow and waited. The old rancher went belly down into the snow as he topped the rise and peered into the glade beyond. His tracking skills were on the money: the Bitterroot pack was less than one hundred yards in front of him, over a dozen wolves of varied colors and coats frolicking in the snow near the stream. But nothing in his years of living in the mountains prepared him for what he saw there with them.

A young woman played among them, dancing amid the jumping and nipping wolves. Laughing and giggling as the wolves playfully yipped and growled around her, she used snowballs as weapons, throwing them at wolves that would catch them in fang-filled mouths. She was beautiful, so beautiful the old man wondered if she was even real. She could have been a spirit of some Indian princess, wrapped in her white furs; her copper face held luminous, haunting eyes and loose raven hair spilled down her back whipping around as she tumbled and twirled with the wolves like a cascading ebon waterfall.

Terry heard the laughter coming from beyond the small bank and looked up at Keith with a questioning look. “What is going on!?” he whispered urgently to the rancher. Collin shifted his weight as he watched his employer slid quickly back down to them. “We need to leave right now. Someone is with them; she has to be a Nova.”

The look of alarm quickly crossed the young boys face but Terry seemed relieved. “Well, we can just go talk to her.”

“No!” Keith hissed. “We need to leave right now. You just don’t run into Novas in the middle of nowhere like this, come on!” With that the rancher started to quickly double back on his tracks.

*Are you going to finish what you came here to do?* came a voice to the three men. The beautiful sound, as delicate as it was noble, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere around them. *Did you not come to kill my family who did no harm to your cattle?* The anger in the ethereal voice was evident, and the three men did not need to be told to run; they took off as fast as their snowshoes could take them across the powder.

Howls rose through the cold crisp air echoing down the valley. The hunters quickly became the hunted as the pack of wolves seemed to dart from tree to tree behind them, always close but never attacking. Soon the men were near exhaustion, staggering through the forest as fast as they could... and still the disembodied voice echoed intheir minds. *You do not come here to harm my family and not expect retribution; the question is, should all of you pay or simply the one who led you here.*

Wheezing and staggering Keith wheeled around and fired a shot from his rifle blindly into the trees in defiance of the beautiful voice. *You could speak the truth to them, Keith. Tell them how your cows died because of the cheap grain you bought them was spoiled with fungus... and that the ‘proof’ of the wolves you showed them was really left by coyote making a meal of one of the victims of your ruined grain.*

Terry looked over at his neighbor, the older man grimacing with the effort of running across the snow. *Yes, it is true. He can lie to you but he cannot lie to me. He has had a grudge against these wolves since they came back to this land. He has looked for any reason to do this for twenty years, and finally he gave you lies to support his hatred.*

Coming out of a stand of pine, the snowmobiles came into sight... but the chance of escape seemed to sweep away like an avalanche, as they saw that among the vehicles sat monstrously large wolf. His pelt was whiter than the snow and he was larger than a bull bison. The huge creature made no move when they came out of the trees, simply sitting there with eyes of glowing amber regarding them. Keith - either in the realm of bravery, stupidity or desperation - pulled the rifle to his shoulder; the crack of the rifle planted the bullet into the furred chest of the huge animal... which did not react at all to the impact.

The pack that had chased the men remained just within the treeline behind them. Terry could hear them snarling and growling... and at that moment, he did the smartest thing he had since agreeing to go into the woods that day: his rifle fell into the snow as he raised his hands out in front of him.

*It is good to see some wasicu have sense enough. I had thought they lost such long ago.* The white wolf did not approach; his only reaction was a flick of tufted ears.

Collin decided Terry had the best idea, and dropped his rifle as well. But Keith, still defiant, bolted another round.

“Please, we don’t need violence; it was a mistake.” Terry did his best, and the boardroom-trained voice of compromise was the best he had ever mustered. “I assure you this won’t happen again.”

*It will not.* The feminine voice agreed with him. Terry did not like the finality of the agreement, but before he could respond another shot rang out from Keith’s rifle. “Screw you squaw!” he roared defiantly.

Everything went quiet. The huge wolf stood, shaking out his fur starting to move across the snow toward the men, enormous paws better than any snowshoe. Another shot flicked through the white fur - to no effect - from the old rancher’s rifle before his firearm fell to the ground... but not of the owner’s volition. Keith clutched his chest, pressing his hand against his denim jacket and sagging quickly to his knees.

Terry and Collin came as quickly to his side as the deep snow would permit. “What did you do to him?” terry cried at the wolf who did not reply.

*We did nothing. His folly has brought him to this end.* It was then the beautiful maiden came from the snowy pines behind them. Despite the predicament of the older man, the two others had to pause for a moment as if convincing themselves that the stunning creature was real and not some exhaustion-inspired hallucination.

The huge wolf circled the men coming to the native girl’s side as she placed her hand caringly on his neck while watching the dying man and his two comrades with a cool expression on her exotic face. “Please help him. He made a mistake he won’t do it again,” Terry pleaded... and to his own shock, the woman spoke real words in reply.

“I have not yet decided on your fate, or that of the boy; I would not worry too much about a dying old fool.” Wolves began to emerge from the forest, coming to the side of the wolf princess and her monstrous companion. Keith’s wheezing mixed with the panting of the canines as Terry turned back to the older man.

Ptesan-Wi considered the lives of the three men, her anger fading only some at the plight of the old fool. She did not like to see suffering, even from those who so deserved it. Still, she needed to deal with these would-be butchers, and her mind considered the options. Perhaps a quick yank on the mountainside above them, letting tons of snow do the job. It would be a tragic ‘accident’. She reached out with her mind toward the high snowpack, when suddenly the deep voice of her husband’s thoughts entered her mind. *Gods are also merciful,* he observed as she gave pause. *You have the power to save him. Making him owe his life might be worth more than three dead wasicu buried in the snow.*

The goddess sighed and nodded. His council was wise, wiser than he had been when she first met him. The animal within Wakinyan wanted to crunch their bones, and she could feel it within the chest of the wolf he had become for the day. Still, the wisdom held true and her hand left the side of her husband’s warm furred neck and she knelt next to the three men.

“You will never hunt this pack again. They do no harm to your livestock and if they ever do I will know; there can be no third chance. Give me your worthless word, white men.” Her eyes peered at Collin and then Terry before turning to the dying man lying on the ground. “Your word that you will never harm my family here.”

She heard Terry and Collin’s hasty agreement, but was focused on the old rancher whose eyes were beginning to glaze. “Let your last breath be your word old man or go on to your wasicu god,” she demanded of him... and with a muttered, “Yes,” and a nod, she willed arteries to clear and blood to flow within him. She stood and returned to the side of the huge wolf. “You all have given you word, and your lives are given back to you. Never come here seeking to harm my family again.” With that the beautiful girl, the monster and the Bitterroot wolf pack disappeared back into the deep pine forest, with only howls echoing down the valleys were a sign they had been there at all.