Canada Moose stood at his workbench with a length of braided rope in his hooves. He had practiced knots every night since the accident, but today felt different. Today he would make something his friends could see — a reminder that he would never freeze again when they needed him most. The gold cross lay before him, gleaming in the morning light. He had shaped it himself from metal scraps, engraving each curve with care. The center bore a maple leaf, and along the edges he had carved symbols of the forest — pine branches, a paw print, tiny quills. He threaded the braided rope through the top and tied it with a rescue knot he could now do in his sleep. But crafting the cross was only half of what he needed to do. He carried it to the clearing where the mossy boulder sat, the place where he had made his promise. He set the cross at the base of the stone and stepped back. His friends would pass this spot. They would see it and know what it meant. Then he turned toward the wooden tower rising above the trees. He hung the cross around his neck where it rested heavy against his chest. The weight felt right — a constant presence, a daily reminder. Canada Moose climbed the ladder to begin his training, the cross swinging with each step upward.

Canada Moose was halfway through his rope work when he heard the crash of branches below. He turned from the platform and saw Cee Cee Cougar burst into the clearing. She was breathing hard, her shoulder scraped raw, one ear torn and bleeding. "Hiker," Cee Cee gasped. "Trapped on the ridge near marker 164. His leg's pinned under a boulder." Canada Moose felt his chest tighten. This was real — not practice, not drills. He climbed down and grabbed the stretcher from the outpost cabin, slinging rope and supplies over his shoulder. But when he tried to lift the stretcher, his hooves fumbled the handles. The weight shifted wrong and clattered to the ground. Cee Cee didn't wait. She grabbed one end and he grabbed the other. Together they carried it through the forest, following the painted arrows on the wooden trail markers. Canada Moose's legs moved faster than his thoughts. He wasn't alone this time. When they reached marker 164, they found the hiker conscious but pale, his boot crushed beneath stone. Canada Moose set down the stretcher and braced himself against the boulder. He pushed. The rock shifted just enough for Cee Cee to pull the hiker free. They lifted him onto the stretcher and secured the straps with the same rescue knot Canada Moose had practiced a thousand times. The hiker winced but nodded his thanks. As they carried him down the mountain, Canada Moose felt the gold cross swing against his chest. He hadn't frozen. He hadn't been perfect either — but he had moved, and that was enough.

The next morning, Cee Cee returned to the wooden tower with a map tucked under her arm. She spread it flat on the cedar table and pointed to a spot high above marker 164. Canada Moose leaned in and saw tiny figures drawn on the cliff face — climbers, she explained, stranded on a ledge overnight. Cee Cee traced a route up the sandstone cliff with one claw. "We need to reach them before the storm hits," she said. "But neither of us knows high-altitude rope work." Canada Moose felt his stomach drop. The rescue at marker 164 had been ground level — this was different. He looked at the layered rock formation rising beyond the trees and knew his tower drills wouldn't be enough. They hiked up to the cliff and found a small log cabin tucked against the base. Inside was a shed stocked with coiled ropes, harnesses, and metal anchors. Cee Cee pulled out a manual with diagrams of knots and descent techniques. For three hours they practiced on the lower bands of rock. Canada Moose's hooves kept slipping on the carabiners. Cee Cee showed him how to thread the rope through twice and lock it with his weight. He tried again. This time it held. By afternoon, Canada Moose could rappel twenty feet without fumbling the brake hand. It wasn't enough to reach the stranded climbers — not yet — but Cee Cee marked the cliff face with chalk to track their progress. "We'll come back tomorrow," she said. Canada Moose nodded and felt the gold cross press against his chest. He wasn't ready for a high-altitude rescue, but he was closer than he'd been yesterday. That had to count for something.

Canada Moose woke before dawn to the sound of rain against the cabin roof. He stepped outside and saw Cee Cee already waiting by the shed, her fur slicked dark with water. She held up the map, now protected in a clear sleeve, and pointed to the storm clouds moving in from the west. "It's here early," Cee Cee said. "We go now or we don't go at all." Canada Moose looked up at the cliff face disappearing into gray mist. Three hours of practice wasn't enough — he knew that. But the climbers were huddled under an overhang near the top, exposed to wind and lightning. He felt his chest tighten. This was exactly the choice he'd failed to make last season. He pulled the climbing rope from the shed and looped it through the anchor bolts they'd drilled yesterday. His hooves fumbled with the carabiner. Cee Cee steadied his foreleg and helped him lock it properly. "You've got this," she said. Canada Moose tested his weight against the rope, felt it hold, and started his descent into the rain. Halfway down the cliff, his brake hand slipped on the wet rope and he dropped six feet before catching himself. His heart hammered against the gold cross on his chest. Above him, Cee Cee shouted instructions he could barely hear over the wind. He adjusted his grip the way she'd taught him and continued down. When he reached the overhang, two climbers stared at him with wide eyes. He clipped them to his harness one at a time and hauled them up through the storm. By the time all three reached the top, his legs were shaking and his hooves were raw. But everyone was safe. Cee Cee gripped his shoulder and nodded once. Canada Moose had done it — not perfectly, but he hadn't frozen.