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Disappearing Into Thin Air
Once I settle amidst the mound of clothing, the trip is surprisingly comfortable, even given that bumping over the odd rock sends me airborne. The strength in those huge wings is phenomenal. I thought eagles tended to glide on air currents, but he’s flapping away up there, piling on the speed.
I sit up to enjoy the ride, only to face freezing wind whistling past my bright pink ears and making my eyes water. Talking of whistling past, we’re slicing through the snow at such a rate that wolves and bears scatter around us, veering out of the cart’s headlong flight as we plough through their midst. Teeth snap in anger as we scrape the side of a wolf and I only just snatch my fingers clear in time.
“Not my fault,” I holler, pointing at the mad pilot above. “Blame him.”
I have to admit it’s fun though, especially when I spot my limping wolf runner looming ahead and we’re catching up fast. A naughty thought bypasses my brain and goes straight to my fingers. As we rush up beside him, I lean out of the side of the cart and pat him on the head, cooing, “There’s a good boy.” When his face turns towards me, I wish I hadn’t joked. His tongue hangs loose as he fights to breathe, saliva spraying the snow, sweat dripping off his coat. The tension in his jaw and eyes give a clear sign - keeping up this pace is agony.
As we fly past, heading for the leaders, I look back to see Curt’s gaze fixed on me. If Wings could hear me, or take any notice, I would ask him to stop, but the wolf wouldn’t thank me for my pity. I turn my head forward, just in time to avoid being decapitated by a low hanging branch as we hurtle into the treeline.
I keep an eye out for Curt’s log cabin, but we seem to be heading up the mountain in a different direction, since I don’t recognise this view at all. Not that there’s much to see in the darkness. I pull the collar of my coat up around my neck; it’s already feeling cooler up here, exposed to windchill, despite the thickening forest.
Wings weaves in and out of taller trees and flies directly above smaller ones, putting the cart through a stomach churning slalom course. I park my backside on the cushioning clothes and hang onto the side to avoid being catapulted into the snow. Only my eyes are visible to Dulcis and Alpha, side by side, as we draw level. She lets rip a howl of greeting, tail swishing back and forth as she sprints.
Only Adamo and Ursid run ahead, leading the packs on the route taken by the bears, earlier. After pounding relentlessly, they suddenly grind to a halt, growling back at the arriving packs. The cart glides to a stop and the guide rope drops from the sky, flopping into the snow. Wings lands gracefully beside the cart and fixes me with his beady eye.
“Thank you,” I tell him, holding his gaze.
He shuffles, gives a soft squawk and tucks in his plumage. I’ll take that as a ‘You’re welcome.’
A wheezing Alpha arrives with a sleek Dulcis beside him, barely panting. I know how he feels. Sometimes I hate the young.
Adamo roars at Alpha, clawing at something in the snow to direct his attention. I pop upright, leaning over the side of the cart to get a better look at the imprint of tracks, fading in the falling snow, but still deep enough to clearly see a wolf paw print, partially stamped into a bear’s. Another wolf was following the bear tracks: Alpha’s missing wolves?
Curt limps past, his fur soaked with sweat, and sucks in air through his nose in a huge, nostril flaring sniff. He lets rip with a yowl and nods his head up and down.
Missing wolves it is then.
Glistening eyes glance up at me as he parks nose to the dirt and trots along, holding the scent, a little pile of snow gathering on top of his snout. Bears and wolves follow slowly behind, staying clear of the tracks by keeping to my right, most likely grateful for the reduction in headlong speed.
Can eagles sigh? It certainly sounds like one as Wings scrapes up the guide rope in his claws. I settle back on the clothes as my pilot takes to the air with a whoosh, sailing above the limping guide. Once we’re underway, I lean over the side of the cart, spotting the odd paw print as we glide past. It doesn’t take long for the bear tracks to fade back into gathering snow, wolf prints not far behind.
When they disappear completely, it’s left to Curt and his snout to trace the path taken by the wolves and whether they’re following the bears’ earlier route down the mountain. Shivering from the chill, I settle back into the pile of clothes, worries about the stink forgotten in the need for warmth. I stop short of wrapping trousers around my neck, but I admit to the addition of another coat to bulk up mine.
All this swaying and swishing feels rather soothing and my eyelids close of their own accord. Wake up, I tell myself, but a yawn betrays me. Snow, fur and wings fade into...
I must have nodded off for a moment, waking with a start when my chin drops down, wrenching my neck. I’m about to give up and lay back on the heap of clothes for a nice kip, when Curt cuts loose with a howl that could wake the dead, let alone me.
“What?” I screech, hanging over the side as the cart slides to a halt.
Up ahead, Curt’s running in an ever-widening circle, the bear and wolf mob staring at him as he loops around. His head comes up as he delivers a plaintive yowl and scrapes all his paws in the snow. Oh, I get it; he’s lost the scent. He limps back, heading straight for the cart.
The dog eared grey wolf runs alongside me and a naked guy, grey hair plastered to his face, pops up in his place. Alpha, Dulcis, Ursid and Adamo all shudder as a prelude to change and I divert my gaze skyward, looking straight up into a low diving eagle beak. Wings misses my face by millimetres as he almost lands on top of me. Strangely he doesn’t change, instead rustling about in the snow, beady eyes clamped on Curt.
“Have you lost their scent?” says the ginger prince, asking the bleeding obvious.
“There’s nothing,” Curt replies, leaning against the cart. “They were right here, then, nothing.”
“The tracks have gone?” rumbles Ursid.
“The tracks faded a long way back,” Curt replies. “I’ve been following the scent, but it suddenly stops.” Curt draws a circle in the air with his index finger. “I’ve circled around, but it’s gone.”
“Why would their scent just disappear?” asks Dulcis.
“If they were taken prisoner in a cart?” I suggest.
Curt leans towards me. “Even if they were locked in a box, I’d still catch their scent.”
“Dead?” mutters Alpha, under his breath.
“Maybe, but not here,” Curt insists.
Ursid sniffs the air. “No heavy smell of blood.”
“Right.”
“They can’t have just disappeared into thin air,” Adamo says.
“Oh, but they can.”
As every set of eyes swivel in my direction, I point straight up. All heads look up in tandem and it’s so comical I stifle a laugh.
“You’re saying eagles took them?” Adamo asks.
Yes of course that’s what I’m saying, idiot. I nod.
A shed load of bears, wolves, a prince, a general, an Alpha and his sprog, and finally a mangy old bloke all stare at the one eagle present. Wings ignores every glare, shuffle, muttering growl and snarl, his beady eyed gaze swapping between Curt and Alpha. I’m no zookeeper or bird watching twitcher, but I’d say he looks livid to me, claws stamping about, clenching at the snow.
“Erm, I wasn’t actually accusing Wings,” I feel honour bound to add.
He turns and squawks right in my face with such venom my ears pop. I lean backwards, out of range of that beak, post-haste.
Curt limps towards the furious bird. “Wings, you should change, so we can talk.”
A manic flappage of wings is the response, flinging snow and dirt in all directions as he squawks like he’s being plucked at Christmas. (Yes, I know that’s a turkey – go with me here.)
“Calm down, old man,” Alpha tries, holding out his hands, palms first, whilst Curt and I duck flying plumage. “We only want to talk to you.”
“Uncle Wings,” Dulcis pleads, in her most velvety tone, “please stop. Daddy doesn’t believe that you...”
A nerve shredding screech drowns out what Daddy doesn’t believe. With a thumping flurry of feathers, Wings takes to the air, rising higher and higher until his shadow melts into the night sky.
My pronouncement is suitably eloquent.
“Bugger.”
