Day fought Night in the dawn and woke Young Wolf from slumber within his tent. He thought, Autmn’s a fickle bitch, while he slipped from his warm bed into the cold Autumn morning. Young Wolf looked for Wise Wolf within the tent but saw that his father’s hunting bow and knife were gone, and the grizzly bear skin on his bed was empty. Young Wolf stood and gathered his pemmican, water flask, deerhide blanket, and bone-handled knife for a scouting mission, then slipped through their tent door into the village.

He walked around the deerskin tents and eager pack dogs of his tribe and called out greeting as he went to the Elder’s Tent. The last days of Summer had faded two moons ago, and been replaced by Autumn’s cooling passions. All the geese had flown south three weeks ago, while the frosty wind promised cold days, signs of Autumn’s waning love. Winter’s first messengers had arrived last night and left snowy proof about the encampment. It was time to move out of the cool northern hills, and into the warm southern riverland. The tribe had prepared for this migration for weeks, as they always did during the fall.

The first snow prompted the tribal elders to send scouts, and Young Wolf was determined to scout this year. He would not allow his fading wound to stop him. He sat down in front of the Elder’s Tent among all the other scouts and waited. All day the elders mumbled, and ruminated over who the scouts should be. All day, the young had trampled upon the white ground until they chilled, and rushed back into the warm embrace of parents, tents, and fires. All day, the old had nodded and spoken about their memories of what was to come this winter for the tribe. All day, the strong had hunted wild game beneath the mountain pines and preserved the meats, nuts, fruits, and hides. All day, in ones and twos the scouts would stand and leave on their missions until only Young Wolf remained. All day, Young Wolf had sat waiting to be told who’s scouting party he was to join, worried that he might be passed over as a cripple.

By midday the elders had finally decided. Young Wolf would scout with Strong Moose and his daughter, Fox Kit a woman of seventeen summers. Strong Moose had burst forth from the elders tent, and stalked over to Young Wolf. “You’re with me, and my daughter. We are scouting the Whitewater River,” Strong Moose stated bluntly, his weathered and scared face unreadable. Fox Kit stood up and gracefully faded into the pine forest. Young Wolf rose to his feet and secured his deerhide blanket over his jerkin, grim determination on his face. Strong Moose studied him and grunted once before he turned and followed Fox Kit into the forest. Young Wolf limped after the scouts, his shoulder aching. They were starting late because of the Elder’s lengthy deliberations, and the sun was half way across the heavens. If the fates were kind, the journey would be easy.

Hours later in the late-afternoon, their breath steamed in the day’s chill. Young Wolf was comforted by the sound of the scout’s moccasins on pine needles, and fresh snow. Fresh autumn snow was a good omen for the hunters. The fresh snow made it easier to hunt migrating game from the north. He thought of his father, the hunter Wise Wolf, and the many things he had taught Young Wolf. He thought of the day six months ago, when he was dragged through the forest by a bear grizzly bear. He trembled at the memory of his father berserk fury in the face of the bear. Faint yipping, the sounds of feasting coyotes, broke his revere. He breathed in deeply, savoring the scent of earth, pine, and frost.

As twilight struck, the sun burned behind the western mountains. The sky faded from ebony to fire. The virgin moon hung low in the south-west. Traveling, they spotted a stream with a beaver dam across it falling into disrepair. Beaver kin dead, or gone. The dam was a motley collection of logs and branches across the deep stream. Strong Moose sauntered across the top of the beaver’s bridge. Young Wolf strained his senses in the twilight. He moved silently across the bridge, as his father had taught him. The sound of breaking wood and splashing water behind him seized his attention; Fox Kit had tripped crossing the dam in the dark, falling into the pond. Spluttering, Fox Kit bobbed to the surface of the pond. Young Wolf set his feet firmly on the dam. Strong Moose came back to help haul Fox Kit out of the pond. As Strong Moose and Young Wolf fished the shivering Fox Kit out of the pond, Young Wolf’s shoulder tormented him with dull weakness and misery. When they reached the shore Strong Moose said, “Stop here.”

Young Wolf helped Strong Moose wrap a chilled Fox Kit in their three deerhide blankets. Strong Moose began to gather dead dry wood from the trees. “I should fish in the pond,” Young Wolf said. Strong Moose’s gaze pinned him for a moment before he nodded once in consent. Young Wolf smiled and vanished towards the pond.

Young Wolf stood at the pond and considered for a moment. He went to the deepest waters near the shore and stuck his arms into the pond. The cold slowly soaked into his arm, and lessened the pain in his shoulder. He waited patiently while the fish came, his arms slight shivering drawing them to him. Minutes passed, and he waited. Fallen leaves swirled atop the pond, but still he waited. He began to smell smoke from Strong Moose’s fire and still he waited. Fox Kit, wrapped in a single deerskin blanket, wandered over and sat down next to him, studying him intently, and still he waited. Suddenly, a flash of silver went between his hands. Swiftly, he snatched the fish out of the water and tossed the fish onto the ground. Fox Kit grabbed the silver trout by it’s tail and smashed it onto a rock. While Fox Kit gutted the fish and carried it back to the fire, Young Wolf triumphantly turned back to the pond, and sunk his arms back into the pond. Minutes passed as he gazed into the waters seeking signs of fish, while the sunlight faded even more. He tingled from the cold. The sun no longer warmed his skin. His muscled cooled from the hike. He smelled the savor of fried fish on the wind, but he wanted just one more success. Patience had served him well, but his stomach incessantly reminded him of it’s hunger. The woodsmoke and fish on the wind tempted him. The nearby frost and pond scum burdened him. Finally another fish dared to come by, but darted away before his cold deadened arms could grasp it. He paused and withdrew his arms from the cold pond. He pondered his options. Young Wolf startled at the sound of a hefty splash into the water. Young Wolf looked to the opposite side of the pond, not even a hundred paces away. He was struck by terror at the sight of a black bear yearling joyously splashing about. The bear suddenly smashed his face into the water. Young Wolf saw his hands were steady, but his vision had sharpened. When the bear’s head reemerged, he had a silver trout between his jaws. Young Wolf chuckled silently chiding himself as he admired the feasting black bear. Young Wolf swiftly rose to his feet in the moon light. With his nerves shaken, he left the pond and padded across the snow, leaves, and pine needles back to the campfire. His forearm burned where the grizzly had bit him, and pulled him through the forest. His shoulder screamed at the memory of his weight being dragged by the grizzly.

When Young Wolf returned to the campfire, he saw Fox Kit warming herself by the fire. He sat down across from her and pulled the fish skewer off the fire. He blew shakily on the remaining fish to cool it down and peered through the trees looking for Strong Moose. He did not see Strong Moose. “I saw a bear yearling,” He said to Fox Kit between mouthfuls of fish, “In the pond.” Directly behind him Strong Moose unperturbed stated “Eat quickly, we move.” Leaping to his feet Young Wolf spun around, choking and coughing. “Where were you? I looked for you,” Young Wolf grated. Strong Moose considered him steadily, before stepping aside. He motioned to his own tracks in the snow. Young Wolf knew instantly that Strong Moose had watched Young Wolf fish by the shore, while Strong Moose gathered wood. Young Wolf’s face burned under his tanned skin. Young Wolf hastily ate his fish, while Strong Moose scattered the fire before pulling out the hottest coals. Strong Moose wrapped the coals tightly in bark and stuffed them into his deerskin blanket. Strong Moose then headed off into the moonlight. Fox Kit trailed behind him, a silhouette in the moonlight. Young Wolf slung his deerskin blanket over his leather jerkin and followed the scouts into the aspens and pines.

Hours later, the new moon settled behind the western mountains and the only light that remained came from the Milky Way. Carefully, they pressed on through brush, weeds, and grass; they climbed over rocks, fallen trees, and blackened shapes. The constellation Snake had moved one half of the way across the star studded night skies. Mercifully they finally stopped. The roar of the Whitewater River was now constant in their ears. Young Wolf couldn’t find the will to fish. Instead, he unrolled his deerhide blanket and lay down. Young Wolf’s last memory of that night was of Strong Moose restarted the fire using hot coals.

Pink light woke Young Wolf that morning. Wind blew from the south, the last warmth of Autumn, a welcome change. Young Wolf unwound himself from his deerhide blanket and rejoiced at the lack of frost. Branches and leaves had shed their frosty coats, and were standing gayly to greet the sun. Young Wolf stood and stretched his body, but especially his stiffened shoulder. A bit chilled, he wrapped himself in his deerhide and stumbled away from camp. His limbs were stiff from cold and sleep. Young Wolf stopped for a moment and pissed. He was almost finished when he was suddenly mauled from behind. Terror flashed across his mind, thinking of the Grizzly Bear. With a savage growl he sprung to his feet to fight or die. He was stunned by what he saw. Fox Kit was sniggering, face reddening as she held back laughter. “Your face,” Fox Kit said, and wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. Fox Kit pantomimed a look of sleepwalking, terror, then confusion, all the while while she giggled and smiled. Strong Moose stood nearby, unmoved by Fox Kit’s laughter, when he said, “We scout down the river,” and turned away, hiding a wane smile. Young Wolf smiled ruefully at Fox Kit.

The Whitewater River surged down the valley beside their expedition as they searched for a crossing. Strong Moose looked for signs of a good crossing; somewhere the old could manage, and the young would not drown; somewhere the water moved slowly, and the footing was firm. Autumn’s faded glory remained strewn about their path. Gold, green, red, yellow and white festooned the trees, bushes, rocks and puddles they crossed. Fox Kit stopped, finding a smooth stone, and skipped the rock across the river, only to see it devoured in the rapids. They continued along the river through oak, elm, and ash until they reached Red Cliff canyon. The sweeping cliffs dropped steeply into the gorge, and the Whitewater River shot majestically into the canyon depths. Strong Moose leaned against an oak and considered the waterfall and the narrow canyon walls.

“Young Wolf, we must talk,” he said, eyes full of empathy.

“Yes?” Young Wolf said, his mind whirling with possibilities.

“You wanted to scout, after your injury last spring.”

“I can do more, I have not slowed you down,” He said vigorously defending himself.

“You must slow down and see what is around you.”

“I..”

“Autumn only slowly fades into winter.”

“But..”

“Decades ago, when I was a few years older than you, I came here with some other braves. We were young and dared to try and leap across the canyon at it’s narrowest spot.” He pointed a hundred paces away to where a wood and hide bridge now stood. The canyon was at least fifteen paces across where the bridge stood.

“There was no bridge there then, but we did not care. The fastest and craziest of us leapt the gap, while the other braves cheered. I was the third one to jump. I did not make it across. I smashed into the stone wall, broke my nose, blacked out and fell into the canyon. My brother..” His voice cracked and stopped for a moment. “My brother ran along the canyon top, watching me as I floated unconsciously through the rapids. When they pulled me out down river, I was so broken they would have left me except for my brother.”

Strong Moose took a raggedy breath, calming himself.

“I... I could not move my broken bones. My brother carried me for a day to the wiseman. It took me months to stumble out of my bed, and a year and a half before I could walk.”

“Your father is good, so are you. Do not let the aches and injuries hold you down. Do not hide under a rock from them. Few have been dragged away by a Grizzly and lived to tell the tale. You are not a failure for needing his help to stop the bear, and you are not a failure for feeling terror. Everything has a season, and you can only let time and love set what is broken.” Strong Moose looked him in the eyes, and then turned and walked across the bridge.

That evening, Young Wolf tended the campfire. He had seen a rabbit trail not far from the camp above the cliffs, but Fox Kit had sworn she would fish in the canyon. The sun had fallen behind the western mountains, and its rays were barely enough to see by. Young Wolf gathered wood, listened for songbirds in the forests, and considered what Strong Moose had said. He had been struck by the compassion of the stoically taciturn Strong Moose. Hearing laughter, Young Wolf looked back towards the river and saw Strong Moose and Fox Kit fishing. For a time, he felt joy watching them together. He decided then and there to not be defined by his pain and shame. He looked up at the three day old moon high in the sky, and watched Night fight Day in the evening.