Blue Mountain
“A Chinook had blown in during the night, warming the air and melting much of the snow, but now the air was still, and that stillness had woken him. Fog swirled around his feet and slipped like spirit wolves between the trees that ringed the small clearing. He could hear water dripping in the creek bed and the wolverine snuffling in the trees.
Dall was awake also, gazing intently into the woods.
“The wolverine is still out there,” Tuk said to Dall quietly.
She nodded. “Out of sight but within smell.” The fog muffled all sound and flitted in the bare branches like ghostly birds. “But feel it, Tuk. Spring is at the top of treed mountain! It is as if spring has always been here, waiting for us.”
Sweet coltsfoot had sprung up overnight, the warm stems dimpling the snow. Tuk’s band feasted on them in the still-dark morning, and on the tender blades of new spring grasses. Tuk ate as much as he could, and gradually, though the fog still pooled on the ground, the skies cleared.
Dall came to his side.
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