She was still crying, her breaths huffing out as the plane landed. She threw her hands over her ears, not able to bear her father’s cries, the gurgle of his voice.

Then feet crunching on snow, and a man dropped down in front of her. “Echo! It’s okay. He’s gone. You’re safe.”

She looked up at the man. Wool checkered hat, the furry ears tied up, a lined face—she knew him, maybe.

Safe. Her breaths tumbled over each other. Yes, safe—

The roar lifted her from her body, her bones shaking free, and she looked behind the man.

Not safe.

The grizzly rose behind him, its claws lethal, the stench of the animal feral and casting death over them. Echo screamed.

“Echo!”

She just kept screaming as the man turned, as he fired.

“Echo!” Hands on her shoulders.

The bear fell to all fours, charged.

The man shot again.

“Echo. Wake. Up!”

She opened her eyes to the darkness, the sounds, the smells still a stench in her nose, still hearing the screams echo. Hers. Sheldon Starr’s.

Her father sat on the bed, the night thick around him, his hands on her shoulders. He’d been up for a while—she could smell the clean shower on him, the coffee on his breath.

She closed her eyes, covered her face with her hands. “Sorry.”

“The grizzly attack?”

She nodded. Looked at him. “I haven’t had one of those in years.”

“It’s probably me. Sorry. All this business with Elsa and Idaho.” He took her hand. “Sorry, honey. I try. I just—”

“It’s okay, Dad.” She wore her thermals under her flannel, but the house still felt cold. “Did the heat go out?”

“I don’t know. I was in my office, reading.”

“What time is it?”

“Early. Five, maybe.” He got up. “Go back to sleep. The storm is getting worse.”

She should tuck back in, try and sleep, but the images of so much gore hung in her brain, and after he left, she rose, pulled on a bathrobe and her wool slippers, gathered her hair into a hat, and headed downstairs.

The fire had indeed died out. She poured herself a cup of coffee, gave Granite a pet, and then let him outside.

The world had turned white, the snow thick on the chicken coop, the shaggy pine limbs heavy with frosting. The animals were all huddled in their dens, leaving a thick silence. An ethereal luminance lifted off the snow, turning the ground almost an indigo blue.

Granite bounded out into the dark.

She glanced at the woodshed, dreaded hiking out in the knee-deep snow. She should have filled it before she went to bed. Except, as she glanced at the woodbox, she saw that her father had filled it.

She dragged in an armful of wood and dumped it in the copper box by the fire.