It seemed a lifetime ago that those words had grieved me.

The wolves slowed, picking up a scent, and veered away from the lingering presence of the briars and back toward the mountains. I strained my half-closed eyes and muffled ears for sight or sound of what we chased, but all was lost in white.

When the Huntress’s breath caught in her throat, mine followed. There, behind a veil of snow, stood a massive bull elk. His back was to a fall of rock, and lichen hung from his massive antlers like tattered velvet. Frost blended with the white hair beneath his chin, and when he snorted a warning at the boldest of the wolves, his breath steamed in the air.

The only elk I had seen this close had been dead, and I was not prepared for its beauty. He was full of life, eyes luminous and muscles hard as he faced the death written in the golden eyes of the wolves.

“Look closely,” she whispered into the fur of my hood as she leveled the tip of her spear to point.

The animal’s front right leg hung limply, the foreleg swollen and red with frozen blood. He could barely put any weight on it at all, I saw, even when he had to steady himself as a wolf darted in to nip at his heels. I understood, all at once, the brutal compassion in the wolves’ hunger, and the mercy in the Huntress’s spear.

She slid down from the bear’s back without a word, her heavy bearskin cloak nearly vanishing against the snow. Her spear rose taller than she stood. I stared at the tip, stilled by the realization that I was alone on top of the bear. The animal shifted, and once the first bite of fear lost its sting, I let myself feel, for a moment, the power of its muscles ripple through me. This is how the gods must feel, I thought, the snowbound forest far below me. I was convinced that, if I wanted to, I could reach out and peel back the white of the sky to reveal the moon. A gust of wind blew the thought away, bringing cold back with it, and I missed the heat of her body.