Gram Alder's Arc

Chapter 4 of 11

Gram set the cubs down on the ledge. They trotted to their mother. She sniffed them, then lifted her coal eyes to him. He reached into his pouch for another strip of venison and found only a few flakes of dust. The dried meat was gone. Without it, he had nothing to offer her. Her trust would break the moment her cubs went hungry. He had to bring her food before the sun dropped again. He climbed down the mountain while the mother watched from the cave mouth. His mind ran ahead of his boots. She hunted, but the peak was bare stone. If he could show her he was a provider, not a threat, the trust might hold. Lower down, the trees returned. He remembered a place below, where the slope leveled and grass grew. Gram had left his hunting gear cached under a fallen pine days ago. He dug it out. The rifle lay wrapped in oilcloth, the long knife beside it, the strap coiled and stiff with cold. He loaded the rifle. Three brass shells sat in the leather pouch. He took them and moved down into the trees. He found the herd in a clearing at dusk. Four deer grazed in the open, slender legs still, ears turning at every sound. A big stag stood at the center, antlers wide. Gram crouched behind a rock and raised the rifle. His breath fogged. He picked the stag and held the sight steady on its shoulder. The wind shifted. The deer lifted their heads together. Gram fired. The stag dropped where it stood. The rest scattered into the trees. He rose and walked to the kill. It was heavy work to drag it, but he had meat now, more than a pouch could hold. He hauled the carcass up the slope through the dark. His arms burned. His shoulders ached against the strap. Near the cave, he stopped and left the stag on the open rock where the mother could see it and smell it. Then he stepped back and waited by the crack in the stone. The mother came out. Fire rippled along her spine. She smelled the deer and looked at Gram. He held still. She crossed to the kill, sank her teeth into it, and dragged it toward her cubs. The cubs tore at the meat. She ate beside them and did not growl. When she finished, she raised her head and looked at Gram again. The look had changed. She had watched him hunt and bring food to her young. He was no longer only the stranger who took her cubs. He was the one who fed them. Gram had traded the last of his old supplies for a new place beside her. Now he had to prove he could keep bringing meat, day after day, until she chose to walk at his side.