Otter Creek january

Another joined the dam, this one, grizzled and tall. Her heart shuddered. Wolf-hunter. But she still stood tall.

These dogs could have the west. Perhaps there were human packs that way, the same way many had dotted the western coast of her own mainland. Perhaps there was some blessing in meeting these hostile faces after all, if it kept her from the clap of man's thunder sticks.

It is done, she assented, frustrated to have the land cut from here, but disinterested in a fight. She turned back to her northeastern trek along the creek, but did not turn her eyes away from the dogs.

The winter cold fogged with a final question, is this man's land? Or yours?

Curious, more than anything.

Perhaps in these, the wild blood still stirred.