The ice didn’t just crack, it screamed. I thought I was hauling a pack of drowning animals from the frozen gorge. I was completely wrong.

Part 1

The ice didn’t just crack, it screamed.

I thought I was hauling a pack of drowning animals from the frozen gorge.

I was wrong.

Wind battered the sturdy logs of my cabin, driving needles of frost through every gap.

Winter out here didn’t forgive mistakes, and I had spent the last five years making sure I never made one.

My father had taught me how to read the sky before he passed, and those bruised clouds meant a blizzard was coming.

I slammed the heavy door shut behind me, the iron latch clicking into place.

Safety meant isolation, and I craved the quiet isolation of this desolate mountain pass more than anything.

Sparks danced up the blackened chimney as I stoked the fire, the heat slowly returning feeling to my blistered fingers.

I reached for my thermos of bitter coffee, letting the scalding liquid burn away the lingering chill in my throat.

That was when the first howl shattered the stillness of the afternoon.

It wasn’t a normal wolf cry, it was a deep, chest-rattling sound that resonated in my very bones.

I froze, my hand hovering over my heavy hunting rifle resting by the door.

Another howl joined the first, followed by a chorus of panicked, guttural snarls echoing up from the blackwater gorge.

They sounded close to the deadly rapids.

My hand closed around the heavy iron latch, ready to throw the bolt and shut out the agonizing cries.

I gripped the stock of my rifle, staring blankly at the dancing flames in my hearth while the agonizing cries continued outside.

Cursing my own foolishness, I grabbed my thick canvas coat and slung a coil of climbing rope over my shoulder.

I stepped back out into the biting wind, the cold immediately stealing my breath as I marched toward the tree line.

The trek to the gorge was treacherous, the snow drifting almost to my knees in the steeper sections.

I navigated the rocky precipice by memory, keeping my balance against the gale-force gusts threatening to push me over the edge.

Below me, the river was a chaotic churn of white rapids and jagged, broken ice floes.

The noise of the rushing water was deafening, drowning out the frantic sounds of the struggling animals until I was right on top of them.

I took a sharp step back when I saw them.

There were easily a dozen wolves struggling in the freezing current, but their sheer size defied all logic.

These beasts were gargantuan, their thick coats slicked down by the icy water as they fought a losing battle against the undertow.

One by one, they were being swept toward the deadly falls, their powerful claws scrabbling uselessly against the sheer ice walls of the gorge.

I scrambled down the perilous embankment, digging my crampons into the frozen dirt for purchase.

My rope uncoiled rapidly as I lashed one end to a ancient pine tree near the bank.

I fashioned a crude slipknot, tossing the heavy hemp line over the edge toward the nearest struggling animal.

The wolf’s golden eyes locked onto mine, tracking my hand to anticipate the throw.

He clamped his jaws onto the knot, his teeth sinking deep into the thick fibers.

I braced my boots against a jagged rock, leaning back with all my weight, my muscles burning from the immense strain.

Hauling a creature the size of a small horse out of a freezing river was nearly impossible, but I locked my jaw and planted my heels deeper into the frost.

Inch by excruciating inch, I dragged him onto the solid ice shelf.

He collapsed onto the frost, his barrel chest heaving as water steamed off his dark fur in the frigid air.

I didn’t pause to catch my breath, immediately tossing the line back out to the next drowning beast.

My arms felt like lead as I repeated the grueling process, my boots sliding perilously close to the edge of the embankment with every pull.

The rescue became a blur of burning shoulders, bleeding hands, and relentless, numbing cold.

I pulled eleven wolves from the blackwater, my gloves torn to shreds and my palms rubbed raw from the friction.

They lay exhausted on the riverbank, surrounding me in a silent, watchful circle instead of running away or attacking.

I stood panting, my lungs burning with every inhalation of the freezing air, when I noticed one final shape still trapped in the churning water.

This wolf was easily twice the size of the others, his coat a magnificent, stark white that blended with the churning foam.

I waded knee-deep into the cold river, ignoring the ice water pouring into my heavy boots.

I managed to loop the rope around his torso, screaming in exertion as I hauled his dead weight toward the shore.

His head lolled against the rocks as I finally dragged his frame onto the snowy bank.

The other wolves immediately crowded around us, their low whimpers sounding strangely mournful in the biting wind.

I dropped to my knees beside the colossal white wolf, my freezing fingers frantically searching for signs of life.

His heart was beating, but it was dangerously slow and erratic.

That was when I noticed the dark, sickening stain spreading across his left shoulder.

I parted the thick, wet fur, expecting to find a gash from the jagged ice.

Instead, my bloody fingers brushed against cold, unyielding metal protruding deep from his flesh.

It was a heavy crossbow bolt, its shaft gleaming with an unmistakable, deadly silver sheen.

A thick, foul-smelling black fluid seeped from the wound, bubbling slightly where it touched his skin.

I wiped the black fluid from the silver bolt, my hands shaking not from the freezing wind, but from the realization that whoever shot this beast was going to come looking for the body.