Chapter One

 

Jameson sprinted through the woods trying to outrun her thoughts. She dodged branches and leapt over roots, with the agility of a cat. Her braids streamed behind her, the winter air made her blush. Her backpack clattered against her back echoing her heartbeat.

Rubek joined her on the narrow path. He loped beside her, nudging her thigh with his muzzle to go faster. She laughed. As if she could outrun a wolf. She burst ahead and left him in a hail of pebbles and dirt.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Jameson glanced back to taunt the wolf. Rubek was gone.

She trotted the rest of the way, letting her muscles cool down as she entered the clearing. The truth was she could outrun a wolf. It was Kai’s gift.

The way the late noon sun angled through the trees made the clearing light up like a stage. She paused and marveled at the beauty of the makeshift graveyard. Jameson noted on her watch the precise hour as time tended to slip when she entered the sacred woods.

She stood above the grave, squinting as the sun dazzled the crude headstone. It shimmered, a dubious diamond in the snow. She stared at it for a while before opening her pack and arranging her paints. She had been considering changing the headstone for something much grander, but time also slipped when she was not in the woods.

The monument was no larger than a human skull, yet it had remained in place tucked beneath Elk’s Pass Bridge for five years. Rooted and grounded above the spot she’d planted her beloved pet, Ripe Berries Moon. She preferred the word planted because it brought about the expectation of rebirth.

Jameson was overjoyed when a stem sprouted above the grave the first year she returned to commune with Berry. By now, that sprig stood hip high and as wide as a cheerleader at her ten-year reunion. She’d be damned if the sapling wasn’t sporting tiny red berries.

She was always reluctant to visit the burial site. Her mother insisted she must walk the medicine wheel. It was part of their tradition. The wheel gave a person a chance to reflect on previous mistakes. It was an opportunity to complete lessons. Jameson wobbled along this part of her life’s wheel five times and each time lost her balance.

If you refuse to change, the world will force change upon you. That was one of her mother, the late great Doctor Joann Jordan favorite wisdomisms. Jameson could believe it, even preach it, but was having a hard time relating it to her life. Especially when accepting death, and, death did chase her. It always had.

As painful as it was for her, Jameson benefited from their passings. The animals she helped cross imbued in her their magic. She was sure-footed as a mountain lion. She was as strong as a bear and as gentle as a fawn. She ran as fast as a wolf and moved with the swiftness of a snake.

Jameson thought of Rubek and smiled. She spread out a blanket and arranged her paints and canvas. She sat with her back to the overpass, allowing herself a broad view of the shadowy woods beyond the clearing. Soon dusk would steal her good working light so she began her ceremony. She put herself into a warrior pose and concentrated on her breath.

It was her favorite time of day, between Shawnodese and Mudjewkeewis, to Jameson a mystical time. She stared at a knot in a tree, ignoring the burning pain in her thighs. She sank deeper into the pose as snowflakes dappled her hair and kissed her freckled face. Her leg muscles began to quiver. She took a deep breath and held it as if she were about to submerge under water for longer than she could bear. She let the memory hit her with both barrels.

Bang the gunshots, the bloody snow, and shrill screams, distant and haunting. She forced herself to embrace the dark ache, to face the anger that cast monstrous shadows in her mind. Jameson gasped and opened her eyes before the monster became her. A snowflake blended with her tears. She felt it roll down her cheek. She moved into mountain pose and thanked the sky.

A rabbit bounded into the clearing.

Jameson sat on the snow and beckoned the rabbit. She rubbed her hands together to gather the necessary heat.

The rabbit hopped into Jameson’s lap and snuggled against her, passive and peaceful. It was obvious he hadn’t come to die. As she stroked the rabbit, she listened to his wisdom.

Do not cry, my sister, you do not have time for self-pity. You must realize that is the nature of your grief. You, as one of the chosen humans should understand this. The past is a story. You must live in the moment.

The rabbit scampered for the woods casting furtive glances, knowing and ever conscious he was prey.

“Thank you, my brother,” she whispered. “Be careful this is a dangerous world for you.”

We are all prey to something. The rabbit nodded before he disappeared into the darkening woods.

“That’s true.” Jameson blinked back her tears, accepting the implication of the rabbit. He represented action and growth. He would not tolerate depression, defeatism, or self-pity.

If the rabbit thought her worthy of his medicine, the least she could do was accept it. Jameson set up her canvas and began selecting her bold colors. It was time to make a change. This year she would accept her pain.

“Thank you, Brother Rabbit,” she hollered. She grinned as her voice echoed back. Liberation was at hand. She felt free and giddy.

She shaded her eyes as her raven descended from the bridge railing above. It landed on Jameson’s backpack and fixed her with its black eyes.

“Have you been up there the whole time?” Jameson asked.

The bird ignored her and groomed its wing.

Jameson smirked. “Keep your secrets, it’s what you do. I, however, am free. Free as a bird. I am bursting with energy and light. I have a good feeling about the upcoming year. I found the missing ingredient in my mother’s secret recipe.”

The raven squawked and settled on top of Jameson’s winter hat. Jameson grinned at it as the bird peered over her forehead.

“I’m thinking about getting another dog, too.”

On the overpass above, a reckless car careened across the icy bridge. Jameson knew the squeal of tires overhead signaled another out-of-towner cutting through to Salt Lake City. The locals were skilled drivers on the ice and snow. They knew how to accelerate into the slide resisting the urge to smash on the brakes.

She ignored the traffic, adjusted her bird hat, and set about her task. It was her tradition to paint the landscape at this time, each a visual journal as she charted the subtle changes in the land. The raven relocated to Jameson’s knee and preened one of her braids.

As she mixed the colors, images of Berry filled her mind. Jameson sensed the puff of Berry’s excited breath. She imagined hearing the distinctive howl intrinsic to the wild breed. Jameson promised herself she would not cry. How long could a person mourn a dog? The truth was Berry hadn’t been an ordinary dog. She had been her best friend, her constant companion and saw Jameson through the disturbing and sudden passing of her mother. Dogs the quality of Ripe Berries Moon didn’t just fall from the sky.

She put down her brush to rub her eyes. The raven hopped to her opposite knee. A shriek from above made them both jump.

Jameson peered up at the bridge some seventy yards above. “Get off the brakes, you weekender.”

The SUV above careened along the metal railing, screeching like Snow White’s wicked queen. The vehicle fishtailed causing the rear bumper to smack the railing with enough force to eject its contents from the rear-seat passenger window. The object tumbled out and fell like a bird tossed from its nest. The raven did flee, and Jameson ducked for cover but wasn’t fast enough. The flailing object slammed on top of her and pinned her to the ground. She gasped for breath trapped beneath a blanket of fur, bones, and teeth.

Jameson remained still, to a degree because she couldn’t move but mainly because she didn’t know what the animal was. She struggled to breathe under its weight. She was aware of its ragged breath on her neck. The animal moaned and tried to raise its head but collapsed against her. Jameson’s skin crawled when the animal howled in despair. She wrapped her arms around the creature that had fallen from the sky and whispered words of comfort.

“You are whole. You are healed, and you are safe.”

When her hands were hot, Jameson caressed the animal’s soft coat, white and wet as the falling snow.

“Be still, my sister.”

Jameson shivered, chilled by the family resemblance. She glanced over at the tree that stood atop the grave where she had planted her precious pet. This wolf hybrid had not fallen from sky. It had come home.