Part 6
A claw scraped inside the carrier as the truck’s rear latch opened. Evelyn heard it from beside the fallen spruce.
The ground had frozen overnight. Dana stood near her pouring coffee from a thermos, and the small click of the cup against the lid carried through the trees.
Evelyn wore the red scarf. The gray repair lay across the front of her coat. Hugh’s mended stick was in her hand; the satellite messenger was clipped to her belt.
Beth and a wildlife technician lowered the covered carrier near the timber. Its opening faced away from them, toward the creek route the pack used.
The wolf had a lightweight tracking collar beneath her thickening coat. Beth had explained what it might tell them: where she traveled, whether her movements matched the pack’s. It wouldn’t show whether another wolf shared a meal or whether every day was safe.
The carrier rocked. A growl sounded from inside, much stronger than anything Evelyn had heard under the roots.
Dana looked into her cup to hide a smile.
“Your satisfactory patient.”
“Very,” Beth said.
She checked the release mechanism and led them back toward the truck, parked well away from the crate.
“Once the door opens, we stay here,” she told them. “We wait as long as she needs. Nobody calls.”
Evelyn nodded. Then she saw something red moving at the carrier’s handle.
“The wool?”
“The saved strip. Just for transport.” Beth held up the remote. “I’ll remove it before opening.”
Evelyn had already taken a step toward the crate.
Dana said her name softly.
“I’m only getting that.”
At her approach, the wolf struck the inside wall. Evelyn stopped beyond the carrier’s reach. She waited until the movement ceased.
The strip fluttered against the handle. Beth had said it would come off. Evelyn knew that. Yet standing there, she wanted to ask for a different arrangement: one little piece left behind, some trace the animal could take into the woods.
She stood for another moment, leaning on the cane.
Then she lifted the strip free with its hook and walked back to Beth. She folded it into the veterinarian’s hand.
“No reason for her to follow that scent.”
Beth put the wool away.
From behind the truck, she pressed the release. The carrier door opened.
The wolf stayed inside.
Evelyn could hear occasional movement on the rubber floor. Dana shifted her coffee from one hand to the other. Five minutes went by, then another five.
“What if she likes it better in there?” Dana whispered.
“Then we wait longer.” Beth lowered the remote. “We don’t chase her out.”
Evelyn placed both hands over the top of her stick. She could feel the words she wanted to use, the quiet coaxing that had helped in the shelter. She closed her mouth more firmly.
A raven called downstream.
A nose appeared at the doorway, tested the air, and withdrew. Later the young wolf brought her head out, ears moving independently.
One paw touched the earth. Then the healed one, turned slightly away from the other.
It supported her.
She stepped fully out. Her winter coat made her look larger, though she was still lean and long-legged. She looked toward the truck, and Evelyn couldn’t tell what she recognized, if anything.
The wolf backed into the carrier.
Dana put a hand around her mother’s forearm. Evelyn kept both feet still.
A howl came from above the draw.
The youngster rushed out so quickly that the carrier shifted behind her. She stopped with her nose raised toward the ridge.
Another call followed.
On a shelf of stone well uphill, a large wolf stepped into view. Pale fur showed across its muzzle and chest. Evelyn couldn’t make out the damaged ear at that distance, but the coloring was familiar.
Dana’s hand tightened.
A darker wolf appeared lower down. A third, smaller figure passed between the trees behind it. All of them remained well away from the truck.
The young female called twice. She started up the slope with a little unevenness in her first strides. By the creek she was running freely.
The dark wolf came down to meet her in the brush. They circled and sniffed, tails moving. She lowered herself, sprang up again, and followed when the other animal turned uphill.
Evelyn watched without raising a hand.
The pale-chested adult remained above them. The youngster climbed toward him, stopping once near the log that had anchored the trap.
She nosed the ground. Her path carried her across the remnants of the small fire, then onward.
She never turned toward the people.
Evelyn swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Dana stayed beside her.
The adult stepped off the rock shelf and into the timber. The others followed. For a few seconds Evelyn could distinguish the young female’s back among them; then she couldn’t.
Beth lowered her eyes to the receiver. A signal moved away from the release site, paused, and continued north.
Dana leaned against Evelyn’s shoulder. The gray section of scarf rested beneath her cheek.
They remained until Beth closed the empty carrier. On the walk back to the truck, Evelyn used the cane without trying to hurry anyone.
Each morning afterward, the collar sent another location.
For eleven weeks, Beth’s updates placed the young wolf in the same drainages as the pack. She rested where they rested and moved when they moved. Beth cautioned that traveling near other wolves wasn’t a complete account of belonging.
“I understand,” Evelyn said.
Usually she managed to leave it there.
She kept the red scarf on its hook by the mudroom. The cabinetmaker’s truck came twice a week, leaving tire marks beside hers. Dana arrived on Saturdays, and sometimes they talked about the wolf while doing things that had nothing to do with her.
By late January, snow lay deep against the equipment shed. Evelyn was at the kitchen table when Beth’s message arrived.
The collar’s signal had stopped moving in a steep basin beyond the county road…
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