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A figure, camouflaged in white and grey, treads through the frosted forest amongst the quiet calls of nature, their soft footfalls muted by snow.
"Fisher!", the figure's feminine voice hollers into the surrounding arctic taiga, her torchlight piercing through the trees looking for Fisher while she mutters to herself, "How could I have been so stupid, splitting up so we could cover our patrol route more quickly?". A stick snaps further in front of her. She pauses, then runs towards the sharp sound hoping to find her friend. She reaches the area, finds the broken stick; there is no Fisher, no friend, no sign of human life. She suddenly feels quite vulnerable, in view of any and all creatures lingering where her torchlight cannot reach. She wishes that she and Fisher had not separated.
Hearing a wolf howl through the dark night she chooses to continue moving through the forest in the hope of finding her friend. Fresh snow has fallen overnight concealing any signs of movement and life. The challenge she faces suddenly dawns on her and any sense of direction have become lost in the maze of pine trees and the absence of roads and fences. There is no civilisation. She is alone, subject to the elements, and prey to the environment.
She hugs herself for warmth then continues through the snow in the hope of finding her missing friend, despite the memory of Fisher's final radio message about a creature in the forest. His words were chilling, "The Roar was huge, Brain Rattling, really", a memory that filled her with dread despite the exuberance expressed in the radio call. Looking at her wrist she sees her watch flash the time 23:00, eleven o'clock - three hours since Fisher's last radio contact. Just the thought of any possible contact pulls the radio to her. She feels a desperate urge, despite the futility, to try and contact Fisher once again. "Fisher come in, this is Ashley. Over". She remains motionless, frightened that any movement might disrupt contact. All she can hear is the distinctive hooting of owls and the muffled thumps and squeals of predatory birds falling upon their unsuspecting prey, like phantoms in the night. Sighing in defeat, she slumps against a nearby oak tree and manages to hit her head."Get it together," she mutters aloud, in an attempt to reinvigorate her spirit and dismiss any thoughts of defeat.
She notices two different paths; a crudely paved footpath covered in deep snow and the other, a track covered by a thin sheet of black ice separated by a frosted spruce grove. In the silence of the forest, she inwardly questions which way Fisher may have gone. "What would have helped make up his mind? Was he attracted by a sound or by movement?" A wolf's howl echoes in the distance which prompts her to decide - she treks between the paths into the virgin white grove. Entering cautiously, she encounters slight resistance from grasping branches that poke into her jacket, restricting her from continuing. Once free, she pats herself reassuringly and continues to navigate the untrodden path.
Through the trees she arrives at a clearing, which provides a brief respite, then follows an imaginary pathway by pursuing the shallower drifts of snow, based on the knowledge that the lighter sections may provide clearer evidence of human traffic. As she treads quietly, she is conscious of the wolf, convinced that he is close by. Her mind drifts back to the "Missing Person" flyers pinned up at her outpost. She pictures the pile of "Presumed Dead" thought to be the victims of animal attacks or environmental incidents. A shiver travels up her spine as she pulls her jacket around her, seeking comfort in the security of a tight fit, much like a hug. Her watch announces that it has been twenty minutes since she last checked the time. Her decision to search for, "Just another ten minutes before she starts to return back," is based on the fact that both Fisher's radio and her own will run out of charge. What good will she be if she is also out of contact? The faint sound of a wolf snarl behind her and the consequential squeal of a trapped hare, further convince her to make her way back in the next ten minutes.
At this point she cannot help but feel that her search is useless; in this vast wilderness, trying to find a lost person is much like trying to uncover a pine needle in the snow. The environment has the upper hand - the food chain is at work around her and she is conscious that she could become a part of it at any moment. She turns quickly at the sounds of growls and howls close by. Frozen to the spot, she looks around to see piercing eyes, golden and shining in the night like a pair of car headlights. Despite telling herself to try and stay calm, to allow her logical brain to overcome her human fear, she can't help but panic, her heart pounding as if it will leave her chest. She steps back gingerly trying not to make any deliberate movement that may incite the attack. A quick decision sees her turn and leap in the direction of a clump of bushes; a few metres could make the difference between victim and survivor. She is concealed from view, but a wolf's sense of smell is powerful enough to sniff out its prey. She fears the worst.
The stillness returns and for a moment there is no sound – no breathing, no animal noises to reveal their presence. As she turns her head, she notices she is at the beginning of a cave. Standing up, she becomes aware of a twisted ankle but in the scheme of things, this was surely nothing to be worried about. She stands and tentatively places weight on the injury; there is pain but there is something much more concerning – a pack of hungry wolves close by. A sudden bark forces her to quickly limp to the start of the ice cavern where she notices a towering monstrous shadow, a wolf illuminated by a flickering flame. She cannot help but fear the worst as the wolf stalks around the corner. A strange boy with a ghost-like complexion is holding a torch. The boy suddenly gasps at the sight of her and rushes over to help; she breathes more easily until she notices the wolf bear its canines at her with a deep growl.
The last thing that she hears before she passes out with pain is the boy sternly telling the wolf, "No, you've already eaten tonight."
The following morning, she awakes at the outpost with other the patrols busying themselves around her, as if nothing has happened.
"Where is Fisher? Is he ok?" the first words that come to her.
"Who's Fisher?" No-one answers. There is dead silence.
Her final thought is of the boy who said, "You've already eaten tonight."