The Silver Wolf’s Linda

Linda’s arms ached. Dust gritted against her lips. She looked toward the blocked trail, then toward the ravine on her right. The winter village lay beyond it. The only crossing was an old rope bridge stretched between two cliffs, narrow but usually strong enough for a traveler and a wolf.

Usually.

She forced herself forward. The wolf followed, though he kept close enough that his shoulder brushed her hip. The trail curved around the rockslide, rising toward the bridge. With every step, the light weakened. The sun had already slipped behind the western ridge, leaving a pale stripe above the peaks.

“Just across,” Linda murmured. “Then we find shelter.”

The bridge appeared through the drifting snow.

Its ropes sagged lower than she remembered. Several wooden planks were missing, leaving dark gaps above the ravine. The main support rope drooped toward the center as if something heavy had pulled it down.

Linda stopped at the edge.

The wolf gave a low growl.

She crouched and pressed her glove against the nearest rope. The fibers were stiff with ice, but beneath the frozen surface they felt loose. Strands had been cut - not broken by weather, not worn thin by years. Cut cleanly, then rubbed with snow to hide the damage.

Linda’s gaze moved along the bridge. A little beyond the first post, a strip of blue cloth fluttered from a splintered peg.

She knew that cloth.

Her stepsister wore a blue scarf whenever she wanted to be noticed.

Linda reached for the strip, but a gust tore it free. It vanished into the ravine.

The wolf pressed his muzzle against her shoulder.

“No,” Linda whispered. “This isn’t an accident.”

The mountain answered with another crack.

She looked back. The rockslide had sealed the trail behind them. Ahead, the bridge swayed over a ravine so deep that the bottom had disappeared into blue shadow. Night was coming fast, and the temperature had begun to fall.

The wolf could not stay exposed on this side. His paws were already bleeding where ice had cut the pads. Linda had wrapped them twice since leaving home, but the cloth was darkening again.

She pulled the lead shorter. “We cross together.”

The wolf planted himself.

Linda turned toward him. “I know it’s dangerous.”

His pale eyes fixed on hers.

“I know,” she repeated, softer. “But the cold will kill us before morning.”

She stepped onto the first plank.

The bridge dipped sharply. Rope groaned beneath her weight. Linda bent her knees and spread her arms, keeping the lead wrapped around her wrist while leaving enough slack for the wolf to balance.

“Slowly.”

The wolf placed one paw on the plank. It creaked. He drew back.

Linda glanced at the far cliff. It seemed impossibly distant. Snow blew sideways through the gap, stinging her cheeks. Somewhere above, loose stones clicked against the mountain.

She took another step.

The wolf followed.

They reached the first missing plank. Linda lowered herself, testing the ropes with one hand. The gap was wide enough for her boot to slip through. Below, wind roared up from the ravine.

“Wait here,” she said.

The wolf growled at the command.

Linda moved one foot onto the lower rope, then the other, gripping the upper rope with both hands. She crossed the gap sideways, her coat catching against rough fibers. The bridge swung beneath her, and the lead snapped tight.

“Don’t pull!”

The wolf had stepped onto the plank behind her. It tilted under his weight. He scrambled, claws scraping wood.

Linda swung back, seized his collar, and hauled him toward the center. The wolf’s body struck her chest with enough force to drive her to one knee. For a moment, they hung together over the ravine, held only by the ropes and Linda’s grip.

Her fingers burned.

“Look at me,” she gasped.

The wolf’s breath steamed against her face.

“Not down. At me.”

His eyes steadied. Linda shifted her weight, inch by inch, until her knee found the plank again. She dragged the wolf forward and pulled him onto the next solid board.

The bridge shuddered.

A section of rope snapped behind them.

The sound cut through the pass like a whip.

Linda twisted around. Three planks had fallen away. The break widened as the bridge sagged, strands peeling loose from the post on the near side.

Someone had weakened the anchor.

Her stepsister had not merely tried to frighten her. She had meant to leave Linda trapped in Frostgate Pass.

Anger steadied Linda where fear could not.

“She wanted me to turn back,” Linda said, staring at the ruined trail. “She wanted me to fail.”

The wolf nudged her hand.

Linda looked down at him. His injured paws trembled, but he was still standing.

“No,” she said. “We’re not giving her that.”

She faced the far side. Only half the bridge remained between them and the cliff. The last stretch climbed steeply, its planks slick with ice. The support rope had twisted, pulling the boards at uneven angles.

Linda removed the lead from her wrist and looped it twice around her forearm instead. If the bridge gave way, she would not lose the wolf.

“Stay behind me.”

She moved.

The first plank held. The second rolled beneath her boot. Linda dropped low, grabbed the side rope, and pulled herself forward. The wolf crawled after her, claws digging into the wood.

Wind slammed into them.

Linda’s shoulder struck the rope. Pain flashed down her arm, but she kept going. A plank cracked beneath the wolf.

He slipped.

The lead jerked hard.

Linda threw herself flat and caught his front leg before he slid between the boards. His weight dragged her toward the ravine. Snow poured over the edge in a white stream.

“Hold on!”

The wolf twisted, claws scraping uselessly against ice. Linda wrapped one arm around the side rope and seized his harness with the other. Her muscles shook. The ravine pulled at both of them, cold and endless.

For one breath, doubt rose in her throat. She was strong, everyone said so. Strong enough to lift a fallen gate. Strong enough to carry a wounded animal home through a storm. But strength did not make the bridge safe. It did not mend cut ropes or hold back a mountain.

The wolf’s paw slipped another inch.

Linda gritted her teeth.

Strength was not the bridge. Strength was the choice to keep hold.

She pulled.

The harness bit into her palm. Her boots slid forward, but she drove one heel into a gap between the planks. Then the other. With a cry that tore from deep in her chest, she hauled the wolf upward.

He landed against her, heavy and shaking.

Linda rolled onto her back, clutching him until the bridge stopped swinging.

For several seconds, neither moved.

Then the wolf pushed his muzzle beneath her chin.

“I’m all right,” Linda whispered, though her hand was bleeding where the rope had cut it. “You’re all right.”

A sharp snap sounded ahead.

Linda sat up.

The far anchor post had begun to lean away from the cliff. Its base was buried in ice, but the rope around it had been sliced almost through. One hard gust would finish the work.

Linda looked at the remaining distance. Ten paces. Maybe twelve.

She shoved herself upright.

“Run when I tell you.”

The wolf stood, trembling.

Linda seized the side rope and started forward. She did not wait for the bridge to settle. Each step landed with purpose. The boards bucked beneath her, but she kept her weight low and her gaze fixed on the far ledge.

“Now!”

She pulled the wolf after her.

They crossed the final stretch together. Linda leaped from the last plank onto stone and turned at once. The wolf landed beside her, sliding on the icy ledge. She caught his harness and dragged him away from the edge.

Behind them, the bridge gave a long, splintering groan.

Linda wrapped both arms around the wolf as the ropes tore free.

The bridge collapsed into the ravine.

Planks and rope vanished into the blue darkness. The broken end struck the cliff below, then disappeared beneath a cloud of snow. The sound rolled through Frostgate Pass long after the last piece had fallen.

Linda remained on her knees, one hand pressed to the wolf’s neck.

Across the ravine, the trail back was gone. The rockslide blocked the other route. Between Linda and home yawned a gulf no one could cross on foot.

The wolf shivered against her.

Linda looked toward the mountainside ahead. A narrow path climbed into the dark, marked by a single frozen lantern hanging from a crooked iron hook. Beyond it, somewhere beyond the ridge, waited the winter village.

She rose, though her legs trembled.

Her stepsister had stranded her. The thought burned hotter than the cold.

Linda tightened her grip on the wolf’s harness and started toward the lantern.

“Come on,” she said. “We’re still going forward.”

Behind them, the last bridge rope slipped over the cliff edge and fell silent.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 9,940 words in the full book.