Ice Moon

    In the time of the Ice Moon, Grandmother Wolf fled the pack. She knew it was the way of the pack for the Akila Wolf Father to destroy the old ones before they became a burden, and it had always been so for all packs in all times, for as far back as the Great Memory stretched. 
Grandmother Wolf found that when her time approached, she was no longer so willing to follow the Ways of the Great Memory as she had been when teaching young pups of her own.
    Grandmother Wolf was the oldest wolf in the Pack, nearly forty summers, and could barely crawl along fast enough to keep up with the cubs when the Pack traveled, and on this morning it was all she could do to keep moving. I may be slow, she thought to herself, and my sense of smell may be gone, and my heart may beat loud enough to scare away the prey, but I’m still wise enough to outwit that pup Akila, even if he sends the whole Pack. Grandmother Wolf had saved her energy the night before, and when the young Hunters had found prey, instead of crowding in to get a choice morsel as everyone else had, she had slunk off into the dark. By the time the Pack had slept off the sleepiness of a full stomach she would have a strong lead. Of course, they would waste some time wondering at her temerity — flying in the face of the Great Memory!
    Now Grandmother Wolf found herself facing the broad, frozen expanse of the Big Water River, showing black in places where the glaring white snow had drifted away to show the clear ice beneath. As Grandmother Wolf contemplated the river she was startled by a sharp crack that sounded almost by her ear. Silly, she chided herself, to jump like a pup at the ice noise. Bracing herself against the winds that blew mightily down the river, unshielded as it was in comparison to the woods she just left, Grandmother Wolf set out to cross the ice.
    The ice continued to groan and creak as she crossed it, but she had enough experience with ice to know it meant nothing but that the ice was warming up in the sun. She was midway in her laborious trek across the river when she heard another crack, this time not so near, and a sound like a long sigh. The crack sounded again, nearer, and, nearer still, she heard a sound like a low moan. My, the river is noisy today, she thought to herself, and continued. 
    Again the river cracked, and this time she could hear running water close at hand. That’s not good, she thought, and tried to hurry. Her aged crawl had only brought her a little past the center of the river, though, and when the ice snapped again, a rent like pale lightning formed in the ice at the back edge of her shadow, making her yelp in fright. As she watched, the snow near the edges of the new crack melted as the water welled up in a puddle of slush. Got to move faster, she thought. Ice is breaking up.
    The next crack came in front of her, and before she knew what was happening, she saw a stretch of open water in front of her that was big enough to fall into. Now she could feel the river rushing beneath her feet, and the vibration of cracking ice directly behind her. Truly panicked now, she made a desperate leap for the solid ice in front of her and went sprawling on the slick surface, winding up with a face full of snow and a new pain in her hip.
    Again she heard a crack near at hand, and found that this ice was no safer than the patch she had just escaped from. With a sickening tilt the ice she lay sprawled on tipped first to one side, then the other as she scrabbled frantically for purchase. Then, as slow as the vapor of her breath languorously drifting skyward, the ice cracked in half between her feet, and she was in the water before she could draw another breath. 
    Fire crazed through her veins as the cold of the water clutched at her heart. The shock of the plunge into the icy river froze her in mid breath, in mid heartbeat, and for what seemed an eternity she sank beneath the current. Spots of inky void filled her now-calm eyes as the river tried to steal her consciousness. Fight, an inner voice said. Swim, for your very life depends on it. If you give up now, you might as well have stayed behind to be torn to shreds by Akila and the Hunters. Swim, or it is all a waste! 
    Mother? Crazily, she associated the voice with that of her own mother, now many summers gone, and because she wanted to make Mother proud, she swam for the surface. Watch me swim, Mamma!
    As her muzzle broke the surface she took in a great, ragged gasp of air, fighting to stay afloat, to survive, to reach the shore, because her mother told her to. As she paddled there in the freezing water, panting and wheezing, she saw a great slab of ice flow toward her. She watched as, with the inexorable motion of a thunderhead driven before a gale wind, the ice came toward her, and just as impersonally as any force of nature pushed her back under the water, scraping across her back as it continued its way downstream.
    Blood flowed sluggishly into the current from the fresh wounds in her hide, and many heartbeats later the ice had passed, and she bobbed to the surface like a dead tree branch. Crazy, she thought, my mother’s been dead for years. Dead and gone like I should be, like all Grandmothers are, have been, have been, have been. Steadily, not realizing she was doing it, Grandmother Wolf swam for the far shore. It seemed closer now, and there was no ice in the water to block her view of it. Have been, will be, must be, she babbled to herself, swimming with stronger strokes for the shore.
    Hot, so hot, she thought, my blood is burning. Quicker than she could have walked it, the distance halved, and halved again, and finally when she kicked her paws out in front of her she felt earth, good solid earth, and she was clutching the bank of the river.
    If she had thought that reaching the shore was the end of her ordeal she was wrong, for much to her dismay she discovered that she had used all her energy in the swim, and had none left to drag her old bones out of the water. She hung there, panting, not letting go of the riverbank, feeling the heat in her blood grow.
    Let go, the voice in her head commanded. Cease your struggles and remember.
    No, she thought, No, I won’t let go, I won’t. But I remember. As she hung there, her head and front paws resting on the bank, the rest of her half-floating out behind her into the water, she remembered the last time she had seen her mother. It was summer, and she was learning to hunt. All the world was full of smells, tantalizing smells, earth, rabbits, the Pack. Her heart swelled as she remembered how much she loved the grey Wolf Mother that was her own. As she remembered, the water began to feel warmer, and her limbs younger, until suddenly, with a pup-like yelp of pure joy, she burst forth from the water and stood on the bank, shaking droplets of water in a fine spray that covered the ground and dewed the grass nearby like a spring rain. There’s some life in me yet, she gloated to herself. What is that I smell? What is that? It almost smells like... it is... it’s RABBIT! And with an exuberant leap she yelped again and took off in child-like pursuit of a smell that an older, wiser head would have known for long-cold. Her ordeal forgotten, the young wolf bounded happily across the grass in the bright summer sun after the fading trail...
    ...and the body of Grandmother Wolf ceased to clutch the earth and slipped quietly, bonelessly into the icy depths. 

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