Better check the traps…
He quickly put on a t-shirt and black sweatsuit, covering his slightly damp hair with two thick skull caps. Back on the first floor, he donned his boots, scarf, a light plaid jacket, and his fur-trimmed coat on top. Finishing off with some heavy-duty gloves, night-vision goggles, and his bag to collect any visceral loot, he grabbed his rifle and headed out into the woods. He stepped on Mother Nature’s ice-cold crooked back, feet sinking deep into her snowy flesh as he made his way through her forest hair.
His steps made loud crunching sounds, and the air from his nostrils coiled before him like ram horns. The moon shined bright as he went on, knowing where each trap was, day or night. He approached the first trap and grunted. Empty. He went on to the second trap and rounded up a rabbit. On and on he went, frustration growing due to the small amount of game. He made a pretty penny off these critters. Though he’d amassed some nice savings from all of his years of working and diligently saving and investing, as well as his side gigs for other parks, teaching classes for hunting game and ice fishing, this was one of his favorite activities, and he loved that he could do it on his own land.
I could have sworn I had more in these traps…
He walked a few more steps, then paused upon hearing a low whimpering, as if whatever it was experienced distress while also lacking energy to make a sound. Slinging his bag over one shoulder, he pointed his rifle straight ahead. The moaning continued, and a sad growl followed, now louder.
I know that sound. Shit.
He turned his goggles brighter in the direction of a trap he kept in the thick of the woods. There, with its long, oddly turned foot caught in the gleaming silver teeth of the trap was an Arctic wolf, its dense black fur covered in snow, and glowing golden eyes blazing. The wolf snarled, showing its gums and teeth, then cowered just as quickly. It sloped to the ground, bones giving out, its paw a bloody, mangled mess.
“God… what are you even doing over here? Where’s your pack or are you a disperser?” He drew cautiously closer, and it was clear to him that the poor thing was terrified. Shaking, probably hungry, dehydrated, and ill due to blood loss, Jack looked him over and made a quick decision. He slowly went down on one knee, but not lower than the wolf. Keeping a bit higher, he hoped to establish his dominance. The wolf growled miserably, but soon went back to the pitiful whimpering.
“Look what you’ve gone and done, boy. I’m going to get your foot out of this trap.” He carefully set his rifle down, then reached for the trap and the wolf snarled once again, chomping at the air. “Shhhh! Settle down!”
The beast lay down in the snow, helpless, perhaps sensing the end. Believing this would be the day that the human hunter took his life and put him out of his misery. Jack fought with the trap, trying his damnedest to get the wolf’s foot out with the least damage possible. Without being able to clean the wound and see the condition of the skin and muscle, he was left at a disadvantage, and had to wing it. As soon as he sprung the jaws open, the wolf howled and cried out so loud, the sound echoed through the forest. Jack cautiously got back to his feet while the wolf tried to stand several times, only to hobble a few steps, leaving a blood trail, and then fall.
Images of the knife he’d found at the cabin entered his mind. He quickly shook the thoughts away and howled in the animal’s direction. The wolf turned and faced him, then barked. The beast struggled to keep its head up.
Jack dropped to one knee once again, this time to carry the wolf in his arms. It started to kick, recoil, and cry, but then settled like dead weight in his arms. When he reached his cabin, he placed the wolf down at the entrance of the garage, opened it, and brought him inside. He turned on the garage light, as well as the space heater he used in there on occasion when he was working on various projects or fixing his trucks. The wolf was eerily quiet while Jack turned on the garage sink, got the water warm, and found a clean micro towel he used for work. Grabbing his first aid kit from one of the top shelves, he pulled out the antiseptic, gauze, and a few other things, then began tending to the wolf. The beast tried in vain to offer a watered-down warning, a pathetic growl, followed by a feeble bark or two. Finally, the wolf laid its head against the hard cement floor, admitting defeat.