Whitefish River and i saw death in the eye of a buck

The next place she searched was the river. On the end of it closest to the plateau. She paced along its shores, looked for pawprints that might be fresh or a track that might be telling.

She stared at the woods far, far in the distance. Even then she could not see them exactly, but she could see the paths they had traveled on the way home.

Had he returned to that place? Despite the way it had seemed so cursed?

Then she turned and stared towards the mountains that lined the backside of the plateau. She had compared him, in her mind, to snowy mountains. Glaciers. She wondered if he was drawn to them with the way he looked as one. Perhaps he would descend soon — or break free from woodlands.

Even if it had not been long in the grand scheme of things, each moment of absence placed a deeper dread within her.