January/February 1985

By Julie Frazier, 14, Licking Heights High School, Pataskala, Ohio Illustrated by Ryan Mills, 10, Santa Cruz, California The day was a cold, crisp spring day, a good day for a picnic. And that’s exactly what Mike and Julie planned to do. They had lived in this Canadian wilderness for almost ten years, so they knew the best spots. They lived in a three-room log cabin, fifty miles from the nearest town, Danville. Mike worked for the Canadian Forest Patrol. His job was to keep watch for forest fires and poachers; generally keep the forest in order. Julie packed a light lunch consisting of four beef jerky sandwiches, a quart of berries, and three pieces of pemmican cake. She knew that once they got out in the woods, they wouldn’t want to take time out to eat lunch. She packed this and a blanket into Mike’s backpack. Mike shouldered the pack with a grunt. They were going to picnic in a spot they had nicknamed “the flowerpot.” It was a meadow full of beautiful wildflowers surrounded by big boulders. It was about five miles from their cabin. The hike through the woods was wonderful. They startled a doe as they walked past a small pond. When they reached the meadow, many spring flowers were already in bloom. It was like something from a fairy tale, it was so beautiful. They spread the blanket out and sat down to eat. They drank the crystal clear water from a stream that bordered the meadow. As they lay basking in the sun, Julie thought she heard something or someone crying. It stopped and she dismissed it as a trick of the imagination. Five minutes later it came again. She decided to ask Mike if he heard it. “Mike, do you hear something?” “I was just about to ask you the same thing. Sounds like someone crying, doesn’t it?” replied Mike. “Yeah. Where’s it coming from?” asked Julie. “Sounds like it’s coming from over yonder,” answered Mike, pointing to a mass of boulders. “Well, what are you sitting there for. Go see what it is.” Mike rose with a sigh and ambled toward the sound. As he approached the boulders, the sound grew louder, then stopped. He walked on and soon had to start climbing, for the boulders had turned into a small mountain. Ten minutes later he stumbled upon a gruesome sight. A large, female timber wolf lay mutilated, almost beyond recognition. Strewn about were parts of her two pups. Mike looked at this scene, his eyes wide with horror. He had just enough time to make it to a clump of weeds before he got sick. As his head cleared, he suddenly realized that the cry had started again. He was glad for the distraction and once again started off toward the sound. A little way off he found the source: a rock. He would have sworn up and down that it was that rock. Examining it closer, he saw that there was a small crevice near the base. Looking in, he saw two yellow eyes staring out at him from the darkness. *          *          * It was about an hour past dawn as Lone Wolf sat among his sleeping brother and sister, awaiting the return of his mother. He had awakened to find his mother gone. This was not unusual; she was probably out hunting. Lone Wolf was the first born of the three little wolves. He was also the biggest and felt like the guardian of the other two when his mother was not there. He took after his father, being strong-boned and muscular. His coat was a fuzzy color but would someday be a coat of pure silver. His mother came trotting down the path, discernible only to the animal eye. She had a rabbit clutched in her jaws. The pups, now all awake, looked on in hungry anticipation as she made her way toward them. She dropped it in the midst of her brood and walked away. Lone Wolf watched as the other two shouldered each other as they ate; both wanted the best. He knew he could have easily taken the whole rabbit, but something was bothering him. His mother’s behavior was quite unusual. Something must be wrong. He was right. The she-wolf was anxiously sniffing the air. She started to whine and pace nervously. She gathered her pups together with a warning bark and placed herself to the west of them. Lone Wolf sniffed at the air. Unlike his mother, he didn’t yet have a catalog of what scents belonged to whom. But he did catch an unfamiliar scent, one that he would not forget for the rest of his life. This scent was very strong, so the source was close by. He figured it was some kind of danger, but what? He couldn’t even guess. He looked at his mother, who was now crouched ready to spring. The she-wolf knew exactly who this scent belonged to: the deadly mountain lion. She was prepared to fight, perhaps to the death, to protect her family. The lion sprang, as though from a cannon, onto her back. She easily shook him off. After that the fight was pretty much one-sided. The she-wolf was no match for a hungry mountain lion. She put up a valiant struggle, one of a desperate mother, but to no avail. As the other two pups sat frozen in terror, Lone Wolf ran. He ran like he had never run before, ran away from the horror he could not understand. He pulled up short, out of breath, and spotted a crevice in which he could hide. He crawled in, the snarls and screams of the fight still audible. A final, piercing scream shattered the air as the mountain lion ended the fight. He went after the two remaining pups which had attracted him in the first place. They were easy prey, and both were gone before they could make a sound. After eating