This odd disruption in the established structure continued. Somehow, Big Kitten could find prey at night—not every night, but often enough that we were not starving. We ate deer and elk that she would bury in the snow, or rabbits and other smaller mammals that she would bring back to the den.
My nose told me that Big Kitten was not hunting out in open ground, but was sticking to stretches of forest and places where sun and exposure to wind stripped much of the snow away. When I was in those areas I felt as free as if Lucas had just unsnapped my leash. In the trees, snow was of varying thickness, and I learned how to find the spaces where it lay the thinnest and I could actually move at a run. Big Kitten would often saunter through these areas by stepping daintily along fallen tree trunks, which I found impossible. And, of course, she resisted going very far at all during the day. I did not understand why she wanted to spend all of her energy at night, when it was impossible to see anything.
Our progress toward Lucas was almost nonexistent. Big Kitten’s hunting would pull us in whatever direction she sensed prey, which usually wasn’t where I wanted us to go. Often we would track along a strongly scented deer trail, the snow pounded down and easier to push through—but also meandering and aimless, completely off course. I missed Lucas, ached to be with him, and was miserable with longing for his touch. I wanted to hear him say “Good dog.” I wanted a Tiny Piece of Cheese. I needed my person so powerfully I could not sleep.
The terrain we trekked across was often slanted. Downhill, I could sometimes smell people and machines, smoke and food. There might be a town on the wind, or just a cluster of a few people near an open fire. Downhill meant humans. Uphill was only the pure, feral smell of rock and ice. Big Kitten always chose up, and I always followed.
I was even more frustrated when I smelled us. Big Kitten and I were crossing our own trail, not doing Go Home but just looking for prey, even if it meant wandering over the same land.
The storms seemed to make hunting easier for her, for some reason. My belly full, I took stock of where we were, which was so high on the mountain that the trees were sparse and the terrain sloped steeply down away from me as far as I could see. Big Kitten had returned to our sleeping spot for the day, but I was out trudging through the unbroken white, sticking to the trees, bent on proving that I could be an equally effective hunter were the situation more favorable.
And then I froze at the barest suggestion of a scent on the cold air.
Dog.
Without hesitation I turned toward it, though this meant struggling uphill. The signs were elusive at first, and while I was searching for them I picked up something else: humans.
This gave me pause. I had not seen a person for a long time, not since before the first snow. Big Kitten’s wariness around even the slightest hint of humans had given me an instinctive sense that I shouldn’t approach them, a sense reinforced by the tendency of even nice people who gave me food to want to lead me away from Lucas.
But to see the dog I would have to move closer to the human, because canine and man’s comingled bouquet was wafting down to me from up high. I could smell two other humans, also male, well off to the side.
When I stepped out of the trees and looked up, I saw a sheer white wall lifting steeply toward the sky. Way, way up there, a dog and a man were trudging through heavy snow just below where the hill ended in a ridge. A wall of snow sat heavily on the top of the ridge, curled over in a massive overhang. The man was wearing very long shoes and clutched poles in his hands, and I could smell that the dog, whose head was above the man’s hips, was a male. I did not know why anyone would lead his dog so far up a mountain, but humans are in charge of dogs and I was sure the faraway canine was happy—in fact, I could see a certain joy in his bounding gait.
“Stop! Hey!” someone yelled. Startled, I whirled my head to look all the way to the other side of the slope, where there was no ridge but just a rolling mountaintop. The two other men, so far away they appeared very small, had their hands to their mouths.
“Get out of there!” one shouted.
“That’s not safe!” the other one cried.
“Avalanche zone!”
“Stop!”
The men sounded scared and angry. The man high up the hill kept walking, but the dog halted and turned, and I knew he had heard the voices. Then he stared in my direction because he had picked up my presence as well.
Though he was very far away, this canine interaction caused me to wag my tail. I played with Big Kitten every day, but right now I longed to wrestle with a dog.
“Get out of there!” both men off to my side screamed with joined voices.
The dog barked and lunged a few steps downhill toward me. Almost involuntarily, I shoved my way into the thick snow in his direction, wagging even more furiously.
“Dutch!” the man with the dog shouted. “Get back here.”
The dog glanced back at his person, then leapt forward again. The pitch was so steep that he was able to travel a considerable distance in just a few bounds. He was wagging, too. The man lifted his long shoe and stomped it down on the snow. “Dutch! Come here!” he commanded.
“Look out!”
There was an odd, low noise, like when Lucas would toss a pillow at me and it would hit the wall. The curl of snow atop the ridge fragmented and fell. The man below it jerked his head around to stare as a rumble, loud as a truck, shook the air. He fell, tumbling, as the ground slid underneath him, almost like water in a stream. The wave caught the dog and knocked him over and then they were both floundering as they plummeted toward me, moving faster than I’d ever seen anything move, even Big Kitten.
The thunderous roar and the alien sight of the very earth sliding suddenly filled me with terror. I needed to get away. I turned and dashed for the trees, plunging in huge leaps, the booming din from behind me louder and louder and then something slammed me, tossing me into the air. I lost all sense of up and down, I was rolling and falling, I could see nothing and my paws could not find the ground and I had just one thought as something hit my head.
Lucas.
Sixteen
I tumbled, feeling numb, unable to smell or feel or see. The air left me in a gasp. And then, just like that, the noise was gone. I shook my head, clearing it, and tried to make sense of what had just happened, but couldn’t. I was now well into the trees, but did not know how I had gotten there.