Consequences (12 page)

I help out Michael at work whenever he asks;
luckily it is an uncommonly slow time of the year. He catches up on
paperwork, and I don’t have to become involved in any cases. As a
way to get out of the cabin, once in awhile, I accompany him on
ride-a-longs, and take Artemis to socialize her, giving Ursa and
Lune some time alone. Ursa is going back to the pack soon, and I
can tell Lune is dreading the day when our agreement with the
wolves will come to pass.

Ever since Ellie’s departure from Colorado,
and our time in Vegas, Lune’s attitude has changed. I get to see
glimpses of his old playfulness when he’s out with Artemis, but for
me … he’s all business. I hope he allows me to be there for him
after Ursa leaves. Some wolves are known for taking lifelong mates
… I'm starting to believe that spirit guides are the same.

**~~**

“Christopher?” I can hear the longing in her
voice.

Daydreaming yet again, I imagine my fingers
running up her dress, feeling the cotton of the bodice rolling
between my touch and her rib cage. I haven’t felt Ellie’s
electricity, while I was awake, for over a month now … and she’s
even starting to fade in my dreams. During the day, hiking with
Ursa, Lune and Artemis, I think I can sense Ellie at the edges of
my mind. My heart quickens at the imagined glimpse of dark, auburn
hair. I don’t know why I expect her to just stroll out from between
the trees … getting my hopes up, only to be crushed by the
realization that she still isn’t here.

“Christopher?” Spoken more urgently this
time.

Again, Ellie is calling to me from the trees.
We always end up hiking for miles, following her call, until poor
Artemis needs to be carried … but we never find her.

Climbing up the peak of one of the closest
mountain sides to our cabin, I can see the snow resisting the sun …
turning the distant skyline white. Today, we find a river formed
entirely by run-off; by now, in Colorado it would be reduced to a
small stream … the forest floor cracked and asking for more water.
Here though, the air is heavy with oxygen and humidity, there will
be no chance for this river to fade away into the earth.

The soil is a dark rich brown that smells
organic with the moisture and decomposing leaves. Looking around I
can see some of the bushes and trees have given up the battle of
will against force, and broken, they lie across the stream, their
roots relinquishing their hold on the earth, giving in to the rush
of the water. I feel akin to this battle … the circle of life feels
extremely unfair when you are the one loosing.

Lune follows Ursa into a shallow pool, where
they cool their paws and lap up the water. Artemis, now weighing in
at about twenty pounds, jumps into the water and splashes her
parents. Ursa growls low in her chest. When Artemis tries licking
the water droplets off her mother’s face, the wolf snaps, and the
pup squeals. Artemis runs up and hides behind the log where I am
sitting. Ursa’s face softens as she watches her daughter respond to
me with such faith in my ability to provide protection. Lune turns,
and starts nuzzling and licking with so much tenderness; it becomes
obvious what Ursa must have told him … she has taken this moment to
decide to leave us.

Artemis has just passed her eleventh week of
life, and I am surprised that Ursa didn't return to her pack weeks
ago. She and Lune have developed a connection that surpasses
thoughts and dreams; they instinctively understand each other’s
wants and needs, as if they were one mind. Her affection toward me
has grown as well, as she seems to enjoy trying to raise my
spirits. Always knowing right when I need extra attention, she will
lay her head in my lap, and look into my eyes. Then wagging her
tail, she will find a way to make me smile.

These tender actions make Michael repeatedly
remark that of all the unusual traits in Ursa’s and my
relationship, our moments of connection between man and wolf are
extremely rare. Eye contact held, especially in moments of
compassion, is not normal for her kind. The playfulness of her
stance, while wagging her tail, should be solely reserved for other
wolves. She has unintentionally become one of us, and I don’t think
she was prepared for the bonding that has taken place.

Her wild mind answers my questions and
revelations about our connection the same way she answers
everything else, “This is just the nature of things.” Even with the
painful knowledge of pending loss, she will still leave us …
because she must.

Looking now, into her yellow eyes, I can
envision the source of human fear; she has intelligence and pride
intermingled with barely contained predatory malice … in her eyes,
she demands respect. In our fear of the wolves, we, as humans,
recognize some great understanding that eludes us … something we
may have never understood, and I don’t think we ever will. As
history writes: the things that we don’t understand, we fear; and,
what fear, we inevitably try to destroy. We almost succeeded at
destroying wolves, thank god we failed.

Wolves, to this day, are revered by hunters
and dreaded by ranchers. The Blackfoot tribe is known for their
past hunting prowess, and they respect the wolf’s tracking and
hunting to the point of calling them brothers. As time went by, and
humans switched from hunting and gathering to cultivation of the
land and raising livestock, a prejudice was built towards these
noble killers of opportunity. The wolves simply looked at the poor
dumb domestic animals as easy prey, a convenient meal … a trait
that man exhibits himself. Nothing evil there; but they were
labeled demons nonetheless … just ask Red Riding Hood or The Three
Little Pigs. Much more than the nursery rhymes I was told as a
child, I like the stories that Michael tells. He recites stories of
wolves’ wisdom, outwitting hostile opponents, and the merciless
protection of their families. They are honorable, even when we
perceive them as acting out negative qualities.

When Lune and I found Ursa, injured and
alone, I wasn’t sure we could save her. Not only because of her
injuries, but because she was so withdrawn without her pack. Weeks
went by with me lightly touching her mind, the way Lune had taught
me … she refused to respond. She always seemed to understand that
we were trying to help; but it wasn’t until I wouldn’t allow
Michael to take her to his biologist that she started to
communicate with me. Lune hunted and nurtured her back to health
long before she showed any interest in returning his attention.
Now, they both are going to be hurt deeply by the separation.

Walking with Artemis slightly behind and to
her left and Lune directly to her right, Ursa leads us to her
pack’s meeting place.

Given the day’s long hike, I'd expect to
carry Artemis part of the way. Between her growing strength and her
determination to stay by her mother’s side, she trudges along,
exhausted, but prideful.

After following Ursa for about a mile, we
finally reach another meadow similar to the one near the cabin.
This is Artemis’s first visit with the pack, while being big enough
to understand what is happening. I had carried her when she was
almost three weeks old, so that Ursa could make introductions. Just
like then, she now sits timidly at my feet. Ursa on one side of
her, and Lune on the other, Artemis instinctively understands she
doesn’t belong with the pack. Watching her father, she shows just
the right amount of respect and confidence. Pulling strength from
each other, they are neither subservient nor threatening; they are
just observers, like me. We are the equivalent to a visiting pack:
tolerated, even liked, but not one of them. Ursa, on the other
hand, is still part of their family, and they greet her with
nuzzles, tails up and wagging. They are glad she is back, and
welcome her by bowing and nipping, trying to goat her into
playing.

Ursa steps back from the attention and,
crossing behind me, she pushes her way between Lune and Artemis.
She presses her flank against Lune and places her muzzle on top of
Artemis’s nose. An intense moment passes as she pours images of
love and appreciation into our heads. One last lick on Lune’s face
and she walks through the rest of the pack, heading straight to the
Alpha who is standing about twenty feet in front of us. She bows
her head down as if asking for permission to approach. He closes
the distance, and placing his head on top of hers, he approves the
request.

They turn away from us, and start walking
back into the denser woods, the rest of the pack falling in line
behind. I wait, wondering if she will turn, hoping that she will
consider running back and staying with our little family. She
doesn’t of course; she is finished with this stage of her life. She
gave a life for the one we saved … now our stories need to go in
different directions. Lune, obviously waiting for the same thing I
am, lets a small whine escape with the knowledge she isn’t coming
back.

Artemis, so young, so innocent, looks at her
father and tilts her head back to look up at me; unanswered
questions dance across her eyes. I know exactly when the
realization that her mother is leaving forever hits, because her
eyes get clouded, and her gaze shifts between us. She wants us to
bring Ursa back … and at the same time understands there is nothing
we can do. She tips her head back and howls with as much power as
her little lungs can muster. Sorrow fills the air as Lune joins in
… but there is no answer from the wolf pack.

Starting our trek back to the cabin, Artemis
gives up her strong front, and decides to lie down in a leaf bed
underneath a tree. I sit down with her, and Lune lies in front of
us putting his chin on my outstretched legs. I take off my
backpack, pulling out water and Lune’s collapsible bowl. After
pouring three quarters of my bottle into their bowl, I finish the
rest in one long gulp. Forcing that much water down all at once
actually makes my throat burn all the way to my stomach. The dogs
lap at the water, but I know they find the same thing I do …
nothing is going to reduce the size of the lumps in our throats, or
the pain of the loss in our chests.

We were resting, because we didn’t know what
else to do. I pick up Artemis and drape her across my shoulders,
and with Lune right by my side, we start walking without direction
or purpose.

Without meaning to, we make good time back to
the cabin: covering about five miles in two hours. The sun is
starting to set as I am unlocking the front door, and Michael pulls
up in his work truck. Artemis, finding her strength again, runs up
to him, bobbing and weaving with, almost, her normal energy.

Michael picks up right away on our funk;
taking a quick look around, he asks, “Where’s Ursa?”

I drop my hand to Lune’s mane, and he presses
his weight against my leg. He is not only asking for support … he
is giving it.

Michael kneels and scratches down Artemis’s
ribs. When he reaches her belly she proceeds to do a doggysault,
tucking her head under her chest and pitching herself forward into
Michael’s legs. He falls back, and she takes advantage of the
chance to climb on top of him and clean his face, licking and
wiggling the entire time.

Sitting up, and holding Artemis to his chest,
he studies Lune’s and my attitude as we continue to stand wearily
by the front door.

“She finally decided to go back home, huh?”
He phrases it like a question, but he doesn’t expect an answer. He
just nods his head, and holds Artemis a little closer to his
chest.

Brushing past a familiar patch of aspens, and
looking down at Artemis, I said, “I’m glad I was able to show you
Gothic, even if it is a dream. Someday I would love to take you
back to Colorado.”

This is the first time, in the almost two
months since Ursa left that my subconscious has allowed me to
return here. That night, after Ursa returned to her pack, was
almost too much for Lune and me to handle. My mind didn’t want to
face Ursa’s abandonment, on top of Ellie’s absence from our dream
world in Gothic … so it retreated from any reminder of either of
them.

Michael stayed with us that night, until
about eleven. We sat outside, our normal routine, until he would
start to drift off in his chair … deciding then, it was time to go
home. After he drove off, I took the dogs in and crawled into bed.
That became our custom, along with hiking as much as possible
during the day, to ensure that when I hit my pillow, I was too
exhausted to remember my dreams. But on that first night, while
missing Ursa’s weight on the bed, not even the exhaustion would
permit me to drift off.

I still can’t believe two months have passed
since that amazingly agonizing night.

The brilliant memory of those hours of
darkness have played through my imagination every day since then:
At about one in the morning, while staring at the ceiling, Lune
stood straight up and looked out the window. A second later, I
heard what has attracted his attention. The howling was desperate,
not distraught from pain or fear, but from loneliness and sorrow.
Looking at each other, Lune projected and I spoke the same thing at
the same time.

“Ursa!”

Running to the door, Lune and I were tripping
over one another. As soon as I unlatched the lock, Lune took off.
One step outside after him and I realized, I didn’t have any shoes
on. Turning around, I grabbed my boots, and slipped them on while
stumbling over the threshold. Artemis must have run out after Lune,
because they were both standing alert and cautious halfway to the
line of trees.

Cocking his head left then right, Lune
started to growl. He refused to go any further … not wanting to
lead Artemis into god knows what. Even as I came up to stand next
to him, he didn’t move any closer to the trees.

My first thought was another pack had
encroached on Ursa’s pack’s territory. Then I saw her … the flash
of a timber wolf’s coat, highlighted in the moonlight, the glowing,
yellow eyes … it was, and it wasn’t, our Ursa. I watched her round
the trees, an image that I have seen a million times during their
hunting games, proud Ursa and devoted Lune.