Consequences Read Free Page A

meeting place, a
beautiful meadow nestled deep in the trees, far from human
observers.
    They don’t worry about other predators;
together they are the top of the food chain … except for the all
too clever, two-legged predators that leave out poison and set
traps. Humans don’t mind the hierarchy; they don’t understand the
primeval code that dictates honesty in nature. Brutal … there is no
room for kindness in the natural world, but sneaky manipulation is
an entirely human trait.
    The pack has memories that are shared,
passing down mental pictures, filling their minds like reoccurring
dreams. Visions, which are always accessible to their fellow
wolves, remind them of their all-important history. Records of
times past, shared, momentous such as how to hunt as one, never
leave one of the pack behind, and never forget the significance in
the order of things … in nature or in the pack. Ursa shares these
insights with me, a lowly human; and the philosophy I am learning
from her is making me stronger by understanding my true
insignificant place in the world.
    “Okay Ursa, I know you miss them. Are they
close?” Living vicariously through Ursa’s familial obsessions has
saved me from my loneliness. I have never felt such a connection to
anyone -- except for Ellie. Ursa has given me the endowment of
belonging to something more substantial than simple human
companionship. I’m afraid that after she leaves, and the connection
is broken, I won’t be human enough to ever return to normal
life.
    Inside the image projected by her thoughts, I
can tell the pack is only about a ten-minute hike away. “Michael
probably won’t answer me back for an hour at least … I guess we
could go for a short visit.”
    Just as if they were reading my thoughts,
Lune and Ursa sit waiting at the front door. I pull on a
long-sleeved tee and a hoody, finally slip into my Carhartt jacket,
and slide my Sorrels back on. We are out the door before anything
can interrupt us from our mission to visit the pack.
     

Chapter 2
Michael

*Michael*
    “Coffee, I need coffee … Michael, who in the
hell are you talking to?” Groggy, I shake the cobwebs from my
slushy brain. I’m starting to sound like that damn kid … talking to
myself all the time. I need to stop falling asleep in that chair;
you’d think I’d have learned after the first twenty or so kinks in
my neck … that is not a bed.
    The taste of whiskey is still burning the
back of my throat as I try to brush my teeth. I think my tongue has
grown a coat that the coldest wind couldn’t blow through, much less
the bristles of my toothbrush. Grabbing hold of the doorframe, I
start pulling myself up, releasing and then up again. I'm hoping
that doing pull-ups until my arms feel like Jell-o will sweat out
the last dredges of anxiety, and subsequent alcohol, that was
brought on by my dreams of Lilly. The thoughts that have plagued me
for the past six years are still edgy, dulling a bit, but still
edgy … then Christopher had to come along and sharpen the
blade.
    Ever since that kid showed up, everything has
become prickly, with clarified images. Once upon a time, I had
daydreams, just simple fantasies about enchanted things, but now
everything has an answer, everything is grounded … real, with
serrated edges that have cut my beliefs into shreds. I thought I
had only one belief … trust empirical evidence. Only in the minds
of men, do you actually find fantasy searching for form. I loved
the mythology of the local tribes, even doing research as far north
as the Inuit … it wasn’t real, just folklore… a fantastic story to
follow. I was letting my mind drift along like watching TV,
thinking 'what if', but nothing more.
    Then Christopher appeared, cold and withdrawn
for the first month. I kept checking on him, something didn’t feel
right about someone so young, buying that cabin. When I did some
digging and found that he paid cash for the property; I knew
something was out of the ordinary.