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Harriet has always been a light sleeper. It helps her pursue her passion for documenting animal behavior. When even just the tiniest flutter of a wing can wake you, it feels like a waste to not use that gift to help further the understanding of animals that were so incredibly shy they would only come out at night.
And, ultimately, it also helps her not to get brutally murdered in her sleep.
A woman alone out on the frontier is an incredibly easy target after all. Especially one as far removed from civilization as possible as Harriet is. But Harriet isn’t helpless. She has the stubbornness of an ox, the patience of an owl, and the fierceness of a tiger. And a revolver. She has a revolver. One that she always keeps close by her side.
So when she gets woken in the middle of the night by a noise she can’t immediately identify, the reach for the revolver beside her bed is instinctual. Her father taught her how to shoot. Which doesn’t mean she has ever actually shot anyone. But she is ready nonetheless. Even if the revolver trembles slightly in her hand as she carefully gets out of bed and creeps towards the tent opening. She left the small lantern outside the tent burning to ward off any curious coyotes. As much as she loves the critters, she really doesn’t need them rummaging through her supplies again.
A shadow moves outside her tent, illuminated by her lantern. A hand reaches for the tent flap and Harriet jerks her arms up, both hands tightly wrapped around the handle of the revolver. She has clear enough of a mind to pull the hammer back, although her finger slips on the first try. Her finger is frozen on the trigger, even when the tent flap is pushed open and it takes her mind a whole moment to catch up with what her eyes are seeing.
Maybe it’s for the best that her panic caused her to freeze. Scratch that. It definitely is.
Morrison eyes the revolver in Harriet’s hands critically before glancing up at her. "Ah thought yer a pacifist," she drawls. She raises her hands carefully though to show Harriet she’s unarmed. Not that Harriet expected the woman to mean her any harm. She just hasn’t expected her to show up in her tent in the middle of the night.
"I don't shoot animals," Harriet tells her and tries to stop her hands from shaking too noticeably when she lowers the revolver. "Never said anything about humans. And besides, being unarmed is practically a death sentence out here."
"There you're right," Morrison says. The barrels of her longarms shine in the low light of Harriet's lantern. Harriet moves aside to let her into the tent but Morrison doesn’t take it as the invitation it is. Her hands have lowered again and are now holding up the tent flap again, slightly inside, mostly outside.
"To what do I owe this very-" Harriet tries to subtly check her pocket watch, "late visit, Miss Morrison?"
There’s a moment of silence before Morrison answers.
"I need your help."
Harriet feels her mouth drop open. People don’t usually come to her for help. She has to go out and find people willing enough to help her instead. "With what?" she asks, hesitantly. She can’t think of anything a woman like Morrison could need her help for.
Morrison shrugs. "It's about an animal. That's yer thing, innit?"
That is an understatement. Harriet is after all a trained zoologist, the leading expert in the studies of animal behavior for a fact. Animals sure are her thing, if that's how one would like to call it.
She grabs her coat and shrugs into it, reaching for her bag of supplies as she goes. She juts out her chin at Morrison. "Lead the way." She drops the revolver back into its spot. In Morrison’s company she won’t be needing it.
Morrison nods again and leads her out of the tent over to two grazing horses. Harriet can't say what breed they are, she doesn't know horses very well, preferring the wild animals to their domesticated brethren. They're pretty though, she can tell that much even in the dark. One a smaller white horse with black patterns and the taller one midnight black, white fringes of mane falling into its face. The black one is the one Morrison leads her to. It's a standard riding saddle so Harriet gathers her skirt up and lets Morrison help her onto the tall horse.
"He's a darling," Morrison tells her as she mounts her own horse. "Just give him the reins and he'll follow Selkie here." She clicks her horse into a trot before Harriet even has time to nod and the horse underneath her does indeed immediately move to follow his white friend ahead of him. His gait is smooth and gliding and so unlike the young Morgan's her father had given her to make the journey out here. She turned the horse loose first chance she got, letting him run with the wild horses she sees roaming around the plains nearby. She holds onto the horn instead of the reins and the horse canters along underneath her, out into the night, always right behind Morrison and - Selkie, she assumes is the horse in front of her.
Her curiosity is piqued, she can't deny as Morrison leads them off Harriet's small plateau and past the MacFarlane's Ranch. They're heading out towards the Hennigan's plains, that much Harriet can tell. She comes to watch the pronghorn here every now and then and as she turns to gaze out into the night she sees the silhouettes of a herd and their glowing eyes as the tables have turned and Harriet has become the one watched.
The snorting of the horse turns her attention back straight ahead and she can now see the glowing of a campfire ahead. The camp - Morrison's presumably - is nestled between the trees close to the edge of the cliff overlooking Brittlebrush Trawl and the San Luis shore. As they draw nearer, Harriet can see that the campfire has burned down to just glowing embers. Probably to keep the predators away that roamed the area since so close to the desert the fire really isn't needed for warmth.
Morrison draws her horse to a halt and Harriet's horse immediately follows suit even without a prompt. Two more horses are hitched and they raise their heads curiously at the newcomers. Clumsily, Harriet swings herself out of the saddle and her landing is less than graceful. She doesn't make a sound though even as her soles ache and hands the horse's reins over to Morrison who hitches it next to her own and Harriet can hear her mumble a good boy at the stallion as she pats his neck before she motions Harriet to follow her into the camp.
Next to the makeshift hitching post that's really just a fallen log and some hay strawn around it, the camp also features the burned down campfire, a stewpot a bit off to the side, and one big tent that rivals Harriet's own. It explains Morrison's three additional horses though, because that much equipment sure needed a few horses to haul. There are two large, near identical, red huskies lying in front of the tent, guarding it. Siblings, Harriet assumes by their similar fur markings. They jump up as Harriet and Morrison near and one makes a half aborted growling sound at them but both are wagging their tails fiercely.
"Hush," Morrison tells the growling one and he makes a grumbling sound that has Harriet smiling. She pets the other one as she passes them, following Morrison as she beckons her forward impatiently, holding the tent flap up for her to enter. Harriet does and blinks into the dim light of the tent. A lantern is lit in the corner and bathes the tent in warm, flickering light. There's not much to speak of in the tent, a crate with the lamp in one corner, some duffles with supplies and clothes lying in the other, and bedrolls spread out on the floor.
In the middle of the tent though, next to a blanket lump, sits a girl and Harriet blinks in surprise. She had no idea Morrison has a child. She honestly would've never pegged the other woman for the motherly type. But then again, she doesn't know her very well, having only met her a few times, usually with the grumpy marshal at her side to discuss some leads on bounties and poachers. They were definitely not on friendly enough terms to discuss the other woman's daughter.
"Hi," Harriet manages to get out, slightly breathless. "Hello."
The girl, however, stays completely silent, eyes slightly narrowed as they're fixed on Harriet.
"I'm Harriet," she tries and takes a careful step towards her but the girl draws up defensively and only now does Harriet see the hunting knife the girl's holding, ready to lash out at the intruder in her tent.
"This is Harriet," comes Morrison's voice from behind her as the woman steps around her to approach the girl. "She's going to help us, yeah?"
The girl's eyes flick between Harriet and Morrison for a moment before, again without a word, she turns away again and focuses her attention down onto the blanket mound she's kneeling next to. Morrison too bends her knees to crouch down and she pulls back the blanket to reveal a mound of black fur, rising and falling with quick, irregular breaths. Harriet immediately steps closer as well, eager to get close to the animal, another dog she assumes by the mass and shape and the fluffy tail - that is until she's next to Morrison and gets a good look at the animal's head.
The long snout and the sharp ears and the glassy yellow eyes that might pass for a husky - at a distance of 100 yards for someone who is vaguely familiar with the concept of a dog.
That, lying in front of her in Morrison's tent, was a wolf. A pitch black wolf.
"Is that the-" Harriet stops and takes a gasping breath. "The Onyx? Is that the Onyx wolf?" She can hear herself how high and excited her voice is but she can't be bothered. This. This. Might be the legendary Onyx wolf. Right in front of her.
"He's beautiful," Harriet breathes out. Her fingers are itching to touch the slick black fur. She's never managed to get very close to wolves, for all that she's tried. The packs are defensive and dangerous and even Harriet has to admit defeat when faced with a pack of growling canines.
"He's hurt."
Morrison's tense voice draws her out of her musings. She looks over at the woman at her side. There's a tense furrow to her brows as Morrison looks down at the wolf.
"If he was human, I'd hand him a bottle of whiskey and sew him up myself but he's a wolf. And ah don't know what to do with him. I cannae just-" Morrison stops and sighs. "You gotta help us."
Harriet nods. "What happened to him?"
"Poachers. Tracked him down, shot him full of holes, and locked him in a cage. Supposed ta go to Saint for a circus or zoo or other."
Harriet's teeth grind together and she reaches out to touch the thick fur. As soon as her hands touch the black hairs, a low growl sounds through the tent and Harriet immediately snatches her hand back. Morrison, however, leans forward and buries her hands in the thick fur.
"Hush," she whispers, "it's me, it's Ash." She pets the wolf and the growling teeters off. "You're safe. I know it hurts but you're safe. We'll fix this."
She turns her dark, steely eyes onto Harriet. "We will, won't we?"
Harriet swallows, captive by the predator's eyes turned on her. "We will," she says with a lot more confidence than she actually feels.
Morrison nods, satisfied, and brushes her fingers through the dark fur again. The wolf stays quiet underneath the administration and Harriet leans forward curiously. "He lets you touch him?" She murmurs. "That's amazing! Unheard of! Are you sure he's feral? Maybe he's a wolf-mix, they are known to-"
"What's his lineage matter?" Morrison snaps and the wolf huffs. Harriet withdraws from them.
"Right. Bullets, you said."
She'd figure out his breeding later, once they stitched him up, and got some sedative into his system. Then she'd see if he was the rumored Onyx. His coloring after all suggested he wasn't a plains wolf. She had no idea how he had ended up here, in Hennigan's Stead when he should be up in the mountains. Didn't matter right now. First she had to get the bullets out.
She draws her bag closer to her and starts digging into it. She brought a pair of scissors, although they're almost too small and fine to trim through a wolf's thick fur. They’ll do for now. Bandages, needle, thread, she has it. Harriet comes prepared. You never know what you’ll run into. Like, apparently the legendary Onyx wolf. She takes another deep breath. Calm, Harriet, calm, she tells herself. Time for that later. She draws the syringe up, filled with enough sedative to keep a fully grown wolf down for at least-
A hand wraps herself around her own and the syringe it's holding.
"No sedative," Morrison growls in a good imitation of the wolf laid out in front of them. Harriet stares at her, flabbergasted.
"Animals feel pain just as intensely as we do, he will rest much more easy with this sedative. Not to mention that he's a wild and dangerous animal that's defensive and in pain," she tells the woman and tries to shake the grip on her but Morrison only tightens it.
"I said. No sedative."
There's a sudden tension in the tent. Morrison stares at her steel eyed. The girl behind her has matched the stare and levels cold eyes on Harriet. And the wolf tries to get to his feet.
The grip on Harriet's hand loosens as Morrison deverts her attention down to the wolf who's trying to get his feet underneath him, the movement accompanied by pained breaths and whimpers.
"Don't let him- shite! Stay down! Lay down, lay down! Sparrow, keep him down! Don't let him get up."
Harriet watches in absolute terror as the petite girl throws herself on top of the wolf and clings to his neck, his snout buried into her thin shoulder. And to her shocked amazement, the wolf actually stills and sinks back down slowly, whining as he goes.
"Good. Alright, good," Morrison whispers as she pets both the wolf and her daughter's dark hair. Almost immediately though she rounds back on Harriet and rips the sedative out of her hand. "No sedative," she repeats. "We have no idea what it would do to him."
Harriet's eyes are still glued to the girl and the wolf and she watches as his rough tongue comes out to lick across the girl's cheek. "It's safer-" she starts lamely. The girl is hugging the wolf and he's grooming her.
"No sedative near my wolf," Morrison repeats once more and it's clear that this discussion is finished.
Her wolf.
Like she knows that wolf intimately. Like it's not a wild animal that should be returned to his natural habitat as soon as his wounds are healed. Like he's a pet.
Morrison glowers at her. "Well, Miss Davenport? Yewr the expert, aintcha?"
Harriet nods shakily. She can freely admit that she's more scared of Morrison than the wolf at this moment. She hands the scissors over to Morrison who immediately snatches them out of her hand. "We need to find the wounds, clean them, stitch them up. Just the same as a human, really. Just need to get through the fur."
Morrison nods and immediately starts trimming away at the fur of his back haunches. The wolf twitches under her hands but doesn't attempt to draw away. The girl is watching her mother's actions, cheek still pressed against the wolf's and slowly carding her hand through the thick ruff.
Harriet reaches for her other pair of scissors, fastened to her belt. They’re even thinner than the pair she handed Morrison but they’ll probably help once they get closer to the wolf’s skin to trim the fine hair in their way. Despite Morrison’s words she doesn’t put the sedative much further away than out of immediate reach. Glancing up, she sees the girl’s attention back on her, eyes narrowed and tracking Harriet’s hand setting down the syringe.
Morrison is meticulously snipping away at the fur, already patchy over the wolf’s thigh. The dark fur comes away in clumps and even in the low light, Harriet can see it shiny wet in Morrison’s hands and turning her skin red.
"Ye with me?" Morrison asks suddenly and Harriet jerks and nods hastily. The wolf lets out a low growl. Morrison nods. "Don't let him fall asleep, Sparrow."
Harriet scooches a little closer to get a better look at the wolf’s hindlegs. The two bullet wounds in his upper thigh are easily spotted, fairly close to each other but distinctly two entry wounds and from their position, no exit wounds. Probably a rifle caliber, trying to down him but not kill him. His leg must've promptly given out underneath him judging by the holes.
"Check his front legs," she tells Morrison. "He must've fallen quite hard." He could've broken a leg in the fall. Then again, if that was the case, the poachers would've been quick to put him down and take his pelt. Harriet shudders. Morrison must've gotten to him in time.
The woman has lifted one front paw and is carefully stroking along his leg, checking for fractures. The girl - Sparrow? Is that her name? - is still watching them, eyes flicking between where Morrison is touching the wolf and Harriet is getting her forceps into position. She's idly playing with the wolf's ear that's twitching under her touch.
"I'm going to-" Harriet starts and swallows. "This is going to hurt him, I'll try to be quick but I can't predict what he's going to do. Maybe you should get-"
"Just do it."
Morrison puts the paw back down again and buries her fingers in the fur. Harriet knows there’s no chance of her actually holding the wolf down when it comes to it, but just having the other woman have her hands on him helped Harriet calm slightly. For some reason. They might all be dead in a few minutes once Harriet dug the forceps in. She takes a deep breath.
The leg under her hands twitches at the first touch of the cold metal against his exposed skin. She wraps her fingers carefully around the knee joint to hold it still and to her surprise, no sound escapes the wolf at the touch. He must be realizing they’re trying to help him.
“Ready?” she says and before Morrison can tense and give the wolf a sign, Harriet digs the forceps into the first wound. The wolf yowls in pain and kicks his leg. It hits Harriet square in the stomach and she gasps for breath. Her hand almost slips on the forceps but she manages to keep her grip and the forceps in the wound. Having to go in a second time might just cause further damage and she’d like to avoid that at all costs. She tightens her grip on both forceps and knee joint and starts digging for the bullet.
The wolf yowls and whines and bucks underneath her. She has to put more of her weight onto the kicking legs to not get dislodged. She can see Morrison in a similar position, most of her weight on the large animal to keep him from rolling out of their grip. Harriet can’t see the wolf’s head where it's buried under a mess of dark hair as Sparrow has buried her face in the fur of his cheek.
Harriet hopes the sound of the wounded wolf doesn't draw a pack of hungry coyotes near.
Her forceps scrape over metal and Harriet pulls. The wolf lets out another cry of pain before going limp beneath them.
“You got it?” Morrison’s voice is rough.
Harriet holds up the bloodied piece of lead for Morrison to see. “One down,” she says. One to go. Morrison closes her eyes briefly but nods and leans her weight back onto the wolf. There’s a growl that Morrison quickly hushes.
The second bullet is both easier and more difficult. She avoids the reflexive kick at the feeling of the forceps digging into his skin but this bullet sits deeper and she has to dig further. The wolf’s cries become louder, but his struggles are slowly weakening which isn’t the best sign although it makes Harriet’s job easier.
The two dogs outside the tent start in on the yowling after a while, their loud howling almost drowning out the wolf himself. That might actually help to keep the coyotes away, Harriet muses and finally manages to pull out the second bullet.
She sinks back with a sigh, letting the bullet drop onto the crate next to her where it lands with a dissatisfying clack.
That's the hard part done really. Sewing the wounds up only takes minutes, especially now that the wolf lies still, completely spent. He's still awake, Harriet can tell by his snuffling breath in Sparrow's hair. He stays quiet through Harriet's ministrations, only ever a short twitch as the needle sinks into his flesh. Morrison has moved back over to Harriet's side, observing her stitching with focused intensity.
There's a collective breath of relief as Harriet snips the last thread.
"We should be getting you back now," Morrison says.
Harriet looks up at her, dumbfounded. She clambers to her feet, gesturing at the woman. "We should stay with him! God knows, he needs time to recover and it would probably be best if someone stayed with him to-"
"Sparrow will stay with him." Morrison holds the flap open.
Harriet glances down at the girl who doesn't even lift her head from the fur and nods.
"No disrespect to you or your-" Harriet starts but Morrison immediately interrupts her.
"He would never hurt her," she says. "And she'll watch over him. Now, Miss Davenport." She gestures to the dark outside. Her tone doesn’t leave any room for argument and Harriet has no choice but to follow her order. Morrison leads her back over to the horses, helping her into the saddle and clicking them into a canter. It takes them barely any time to return to Harriet’s tent it seems but everything seems to pass Harriet in a blurr. Morrison draws the horses to a halt and offers her a hand to get out of the saddle. Harriet takes the offered help and this time her landing is much softer on her soles.
Morrison follows her the few steps up to her tent and her hand on Harriet’s elbow stops her before she can go inside. Morrison holds a stack of crumpled bills out towards her.
"Oh," Harriet says. "Oh no."
"Yes,” Morrison says, voice resolute. “We owe you for your services."
"No, that's quite alright," Harriet waves her off. "You know me, an animal in need. But if you'd really like to reward me, I'd love to take another look at him, during daylight maybe, or when he's returning to his pack, if you'd let me know so I could get my camera ou-"
Morrison grabs her hand, almost gently, and presses the bills into her hand.
"Thank you, Miss Davenport," Morrison says, oddly formal, and her tone sounds final.
Harriet swallows and closes her hand around the bills. "No problem," she says and Morrison nods. She grabs the reins of the black stallion whose name Harriet hadn't even learned and swings herself back into the saddle of her horse. She trots away without another look back and Harriet's left to look after her. A songbird starts the first tunes off the day close to Harriet's tent and she glances out east where the sun is still hiding behind Tall Trees but will soon make its way over the horizon.