Werewolf's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Werewolf slept four hours and woke before dawn with the torn map on his chest. The trapper's name was written in Owen's careful hand. The address was a farm two valleys east. Werewolf did not go there. The trapper would come to him first, walking the line to check his catch, and Werewolf wanted to meet him in the woods, not at the rescue center where the cages were full and the fox cubs could be heard through the wall. He took the sack of coiled wire and walked back into the north wood. He picked a willow at the bend where the trap line had started, a tall tree with branches that hung to the ground like a curtain. He stepped through the leaves and waited inside. From there he could see the path in both directions. He set the sack at his feet so the wire would be the first thing the trapper saw. Owen came up the path an hour after sunrise, breathing hard, stick in one hand. Werewolf had not asked him to come. The old cartographer pushed through the willow branches and sat on a root without speaking. He unbuckled his map case and laid it across his knees like a shield. "You shouldn't be here," Werewolf said. "I sold the map," Owen said. "I stand where the map goes." They heard the trapper before they saw him. Boots, and a low whistle counting turns. He was a lean man in a canvas coat, and he stopped when he saw the first sprung stake. He crouched. He touched the empty ground. He stood and drew a skinning knife. Werewolf stepped out of the willow with the sack. He dropped it. Wire spilled at the trapper's feet, twenty-two nooses tangled together. "Your line is done," Werewolf said. "Walk back to your farm." The trapper looked at the wire, then at Werewolf, then past him at Owen. His face changed when he saw the cartographer. "You sold me the map," he said. "I did," Owen said. "I'm unselling it." The trapper laughed once, short. He sheathed the knife. "I paid for a season. I've got two more lines coming in from the south road next week. Your sack won't hold those." He kicked the wire aside and walked back the way he came. Werewolf did not chase him. His hands were shaking again. Owen stood up slowly and buckled his case. "He wasn't lying," Owen said. "He orders his wire in bulk. I've seen the ledger at the post." Werewolf picked up the sack. The confrontation was over. He had not been hurt. The rescue center behind the vines was still his secret from the trapper's eyes. But two more trap lines were coming, and he had six days to be ready for wounds he could not yet count.