Dodge pinpointed his landing and set the plane down heavy, bouncing a couple times—not pretty, thanks to the icy weight—but a landing without injury to plane or people was a successful landing.

Then, Dodge simply sat on the runway and let himself breathe, listening to the tharrump of his heartbeat.

He finally taxied over to the hangar, got out, and surveyed the damage.

The ice lay an inch thick on the airframe. A little more ice and he could have been in serious trouble.

Oh, who was he kidding?

He tied down the plane, grabbed the thermos, then closed the hangar door and headed inside the office. He recorded his flight time, his fuel used, and the sighting of the bear. Then he brought the thermos into the kitchen.

“There’s lasagna in the oven. It’ll be ready soon.”

His father sat in his recliner in front of the fireplace, a hardback book on his lap. Probably taken from his Louis L’Amour collection.

Dodge unscrewed the lid of his thermos and dumped the coffee into the sink. Washed it out and set it on the rack to dry.

“How was the flight?” his dad asked.

Dodge stood in the kitchen a moment, also staring at the fire, how it licked around the logs, turning them a glowing red, ashy at the edges, eating away at their once-undiminished strength.

“It was fine.” He took a breath. “Farleys have a rogue bear near their place. We chased it off, but we’ll need to call Hank.”

He turned the light on in the oven. The lasagna bubbled away, the smells of tomato, basil, and oregano rich in the air.

He picked up his jacket and headed out into the cold again.

The night was brisk, sharp, the kind that had a man rethinking his commitment to the north, the storm still rolling in from the east. But above the bright mountain peaks to the north, a swirl of magenta and violet made him stand up, made him take in a breath. The aurora borealis. Glorious. A reminder of the harsh beauty of this life. His breath formed in a crisp fog, spiraled out to join the night.

Then he dropped to his knees, caught himself on one hand, and emptied out his stomach onto the frozen, unforgiving earth.

The howl started low, like a moan, then moved up in pitch, turning deafening as it shattered the darkness. Throaty and deep, it was joined by others, a feral music that serenaded the darkness with the call of the wilderness.

Echo stood in her thermals, a fleece jacket, and her mukluks at the doorway of the ranger cabin. She was holding a cup of hot cocoa, blowing on the steam.

The sounds died into the wind, but they could make the flesh of her skin prickle if she wasn’t safely harbored inside four sturdy walls tonight. All that vast darkness, frigid and lethal.