Juniper's Arc

Chapter 7 of 7

Juniper rode back into the valley on the third day with the deed sewn into the lining of her coat. She left the horse at the gate and walked. The timber sanctuary stood where she had built it, beams dark with rain, stone pens running along its south wall. She had been gone almost two weeks. The water trough was low. The gryphon cub's feed dish sat empty by the door. She filled both before she went inside. Then she sat down on the bench to pull off her boots and did not get up again. She woke in the dark with her face against the wood. Something was wrong with the smell of the room. She knew it before she was upright. She lit the lamp and carried it out to the stone pen with the leafy roof where the lame fox slept. The fox was on its side. The bandage on its hind leg was wet through and yellow. The skin around the wound was hot and swollen and the fur had begun to slip. She had slept a full day and a night. The wound had gone bad while she lay on the bench. She carried the fox to the treatment table under the eaves. Her hands shook from hunger and from sleep still in her arms. She cut the old bandage off. The smell got worse. She pulled the silver web from the lower shelf and the small knife and the bottle of clean water and set them in a row. She worked the way the trapper had taught her, slow on the cut, fast on the pack. She opened the wound, drained it, washed it twice, and laid the silver web across the raw flesh. The fox did not fight. That frightened her more than anything. She stayed at the table until sunrise. She changed the pack twice. She got water into the fox with a cloth. By the time the light came over the ridge the swelling had eased and the fox had lifted its head once to look at her. She knew she had caught it in time. She also knew she would not catch the next one. There were too many pens and one of her, and she had slept through a festering wound because her body had given out. The sanctuary was hers in law now. It was still only one person's work. She carried the fox back to the leafy pen and latched the gate. Then she sat on the step of the timber building with the deed in her lap and made herself say it out loud. She could not do this alone. She thought of the hunter on the courthouse step, his knee bleeding through the cloth, and of the trapper who had taught her and gone quiet for years. By noon she had a sheet of paper on the treatment table and was writing the first letter.