inhaled deeply and sighed before answering. “This is really hard to explain, Balto,” she replied eventually. “but I think it was meant to be. I think it was my destiny to do that. How your sister’s future intertwines with ours, I don’t know, but I can be sure that it will someday.”

Balto was silent for a moment. “You won’t leave me, will you, Mom?”

Aniu rubbed her muzzle against her son’s cheek. “Not that I can see coming up,” she said, chuckling. “Get to bed, Balto,” she continued a moment later. “We’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

“Okay, Mom,” Balto replied, heading over to his own small den. “Night,” he told her, calling over his shoulder.

“Good night, Balto,” Aniu repeated. Then she covered her head with soft snow, placed her head on her forepaws and curled her tail around to sit over her muzzle, and fell asleep.

The next morning, the shallow sun rose on the small group, bathing the clearing in a soft, red light. Aniu was silent as she awoke and slowly woke Balto and Lyrie. “C’mon,” she reminded them, “it’s going to be another long day.”

After a small breakfast, they continued their journey northward, still not saying a word. Aniu tried to focus on the beauty of their surroundings so as not to think of Ara and Galena.

Here, as when they had been south of Kolkrines, hundreds of coniferous trees filled the landscape, stretching as far as the eye could see. The sky above was clear; no clouds could be seen in the pale expanse. A cool breeze ruffled her fur as she walked, and she heard the trickle of a nearby stream. The air was cold but fresh, and each breath brought a new wave of relief to her lungs.

Soon they came to a place where snow no longer covered the soft ground. The cool dirt of the Arctic forest floor seeped between Aniu’s paw pads, and she felt the occasional twig or needle on the ground. Aniu checked over her shoulder every few minutes to be sure Balto and Lyrie were following, and they were always there, expressions of hope and determination frozen on their faces.

Every week or so, they passed another town, but they encountered no difficulties as they passed the small cities. The possibility of a hunter was always in the back of Aniu’s mind, and so she was constantly on alert for them, but none appeared to her, and she walked.

They had stopped one night, and Aniu noticed Lyrie looked depressed. She approached her daughter. “What’s wrong, Lyrie?”

Lyrie was slow to respond. “Mom,” she began, “why is all this happening? Why did Anok and Shiraea attack us? Why did Dad and Ara die? Why did Galena leave?” She buried her head in Aniu’s fur as tears filled her eyes. “Why is everything going wrong?”

Aniu placed a forepaw on Lyrie’s shoulder. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I feel like it was meant to happen.”

Lyrie still would not be consoled. “But…why?”

Aniu was silent for a moment before responding. “Certain things just happen,” she told her daughter. “No one knows why they happen, but everything will work out eventually.”

Lyrie looked up at her mother and sniffed. “I…I guess you’re right. Night, Mom.”

She pulled away from he mother and began to settle into her den.

The wolf was chasing her—that was all Lyrie knew. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, desperate to get away from those devious yellow eyes, from that maw of teeth. She felt the soft earth give slightly under her pounding paws, saw the flashes of brown and gray shadows on the tree-covered mountainside, heard little but her own heavy panting and the snarls of her pursuer.

Many disconnected thoughts flashed through her mind as she fled: Who was chasing her? Where was she? Where was her family? How would she get home? How would she survive?

Without knowing why, Lyrie tried to steal a glance over her shoulder at the massive wolf. Another huge wave of fear crashed over her as she recognized the wolf as Anok—the wolf who had killed her sister, the wolf that had wanted to murder them all.

Yet even as she looked behind her, Lyrie tripped over a stone that protruded from the ground. She crashed into the ground, bruising her left shoulder, and gasped as she saw Anok throw himself at her.

Lyrie braced herself for the inevitable pain as she saw Anok launch himself off the ground, his eyes wild with rage, his great maw open, his tongue glistening with saliva. She shut her eyes tightly as Anok approached, and suddenly her head was filled with a burning, fiery, excruciating pain.

Lyrie was aware of the force of Anok’s strike, and she felt the wolf’s teeth tear into the side of her face, scratching across her cheekbone. She grimaced at the enormous amount of pain that shot through her body and struggled to stay conscious as a spasm ran through her body.

She gasped with relief as Anok then decided to ignore her and continue his maniacal charge to somewhere behind her, but that relief was suddenly changed to fear as a figure caught her eye at the corner of her vision. For she recognized the shape as that of her father.

“Dad!” she called desperately. “Dad!”

But Sango seemed oblivious to his daughter’s panicked cries. His head was turned away from her; he was talking to Aniu—

“Mom!” Lyrie cried. But no one answered. No one reacted. Anok reached the pair, claws outstretched. At the last second, Sango turned and saw the wolf nearing them. He dove in front of Aniu—

XXII

Lyrie awoke suddenly, panting heavily. “Dad! Mom!” she called quietly but desperately. Then she realized it all had been a dream. “Everything’s okay,” she reassured herself. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

She dug herself out of her den and looked around to make sure Aniu and Balto were still there. Then, satisfied that nothing had happened, she lay back down and tried to go back to sleep.

But sleep would not come, for she could not help but remember her nightmare: Anok, that pain, the suffering….

Finally, she decided to simply gaze upward at the stars. The tiny white dots littered the black sky, forming the outlines of countless constellations. In an instant, Lyrie nearly lost herself in the beauty of the night sky; and the vast expanse seemed inviting, longing for her to rise and join the stars in their positions miles above the earth. Then the darkness seemed to flow forward, engulfing her, and she was once again overcome by sleep.

She was trapped in an empty, shapeless, intangible void; the only solid surface was the invisible ground beneath her paws. She took a step or two forward, turning her head to look around, but she saw nothing. Then she looked upward and then downward. The blankness seemed to extend forever—no sky hovered above her, nothing could be seen beneath her.

It was only a few minutes before she began to panic. “Help!” she called. “Somebody help me!”

There was no response.

“Is anyone here?” she called again.

Again, she heard nothing.

Suddenly she heard a snarl behind her, and she whirled around to face the threat. But nothing was there. Then a second snarl split the air, followed by a yelp of pain that could be none other than Sango.

“Dad?” she asked anxiously, leaping toward the noise. Her paws swiped empty air. Then she heard a growl somewhere to her right, and her mother cried in pain, a muffled whimper.

“Mom? Mom, are you okay?” Lyrie called into the emptiness, but still she heard nothing.

She tried to approach the place where she knew Aniu could be dying at this very moment, but no something seemed to be holding her back.

She began to struggle against this unseen force, but her actions were in vain: she could not move.

She heard a strained voice behind her: “Lyrie, help me! I—I’m…I’m d-dying!”

She recognized the voice instantly as that of Balto, and she longed to help him. No sooner did she do so than a cacophony of snarls, yelps, and whimpers erupted and filled the air. She heard everyone call her name many times, increasing desperation filling their pained cries.

Without warning, Anok leapt up from behind her and sunk his teeth and claws into the back of her neck.

It was morning when Lyrie next awoke. The sky was dark, but the occasional bird would flutter from tree to tree, its song drifting through the air. The moon cast its soft light over her, illuminating the forest.

Then Lyrie stood and glanced around the clearing. She was the only one awake. A pang of hunger clawed at her stomach, but she ignored it.

Her thoughts suddenly turned to her dream from the night before. She only realized now how much she missed her father and sisters. The image of Sango’s death replayed itself in her mind: his head caught between the wall of the den and Shiraea’s ruthless attack, the lifeless slump of his body as his skull was nearly crushed by the force of the impact. Aniu’s words from the previous evening had been no consolation—there was no excuse for death, no reason for the loss and grief that gripped her heart. Why did they have to die?

She jumped, startled, as she felt a nudge on her shoulder. Turning, she saw it was Balto. “Oh, hi, Balto,” she said.

“Morning, Lyrie,” Balto said. “What are you doing?”

“I—I had a weird dream last night.” She paused before