Helen sat looking mostly at the spot where the wolf had disappeared into the forest. It took a while, but her nerves settled, finally. What was this, she asked herself, what was happening here really? The other human footprints? She had no clue. How long could a footprint last undisturbed there on the beach in that sheltered place? From one good rainfall to the next, she supposed, and she didn't know when the last one had occurred. Must have been someone just stopping by, she thought. The cove was nowhere near the fields.
Her thoughts turned to the wolf. She found a lot of confusing thoughts there, and got up to head for the kitchen. She made a cup of tea, and sat trying to think it through rationally. This had to be done, she told herself, because she needed to come to a decision now. Was this wolf -- this animal - a threat to her? Well he sure was built for it, she thought, but really, was he? She admitted to herself that he'd scared the hell out of her with his appearance there on the beach, but he hadn't harmed her in the least. If anything, he'd tried to be friendly in a way. Well, as friendly as something like that could be. What about the bear- fighting thing? Was he protecting her? He sure seemed to be, but why would he? Why would something as clearly wild as that do anyone a favor? And a human at that? It didn't make much sense, but it had clearly happened.
She still discounted the tale that she'd been told right out of hand, now that she was clear-minded. True, he was huge for a wolf, and she had no explanation for that. She'd also never heard or read of a wolf that had been coal black with no other coloring. She wasn't an expert, but knew that timber wolves do not usually have that coloring, so there was another inexplicable detail.
Usually.
Well, he sure wasn't usual, she thought, so there. Wolves don't usually try to make one's acquaintance either, do they? But he was obviously a wolf, and a black one at that. Back to the fighting, there had been blood on his paws both times, but she hadn't seen how that had happened, so who the hell knew? The blood down his front was self-explanatory. She also hadn't seen exactly how or why she'd been able to see that he appeared to stand up twice briefly. It had been far too dark to see anything definitively, and the fight had occurred on the far side of a small rise of ground. Maybe he was on a stump that she couldn't see from her vantage point.
Coming back to that, why would a wolf take on a bear single-handedly? Helen figured that wolves and bears would be competitors for much the same food, so it was natural that they'd be enemies, but she couldn't see a wolf behaving that way and actively attacking a bear alone. Her next thought made her smile. Well, she thought, this wolf was big enough to handle it, quite obviously. Unless she now began to see a whole pack of these Superwolves leaping around, it would be safe to assume that he's on his own here. A boy like that, she reasoned, wouldn't have much to fear from bears. Based on what she'd seen, it was obviously the other way around.
Her next thought was a bit disconcerting. What would a wolf like that eat? She looked at her own arm, the one that she'd extended to him. Well, he could eat people, though she could see that sooner or later that would have to end badly for him, or... her eyes opened wide at the thought. There were no cattle on the island. Perhaps the bears on this island were food? Her thoughts were heading farther away from what was really on her mind.
She looked at her hands holding the tea cup. Did she still want this island now? Anybody in their right mind, she thought, would do the only logical thing that was to be done. They'd get up tomorrow, pack their stuff -- maybe not even that -- and just get the hell away from this place. She smirked to herself. And that's if they slept the rest of the night at all and didn't just sit in the corner cowering in fright. She smirked again at her next thought. She herself didn't feel threatened in the least right here. She knew that right after she finished her cup of tea, she had every intention of going right back upstairs and going back to sleep. What was the matter with her, she thought? Hell, she felt like having another cup of tea!
Alright, there was still the issue to deal with. She didn't want a wolf for a pet, but could they just be neighbors? She wouldn't mind him hanging around once she got used to him if he had the side-benefit of keeping the bears away. But she couldn't base her purchase of the place on that assumption, she decided. Not without further indication from him that they might be able to coexist on the island. And that was one huge assumption in any regard, she realized. Well, she had a couple more days to decide before her meeting with Beamish. She stood up to turn on the kettle.
One of the floorboards creaked out on the porch, and even before she snapped her head around, she knew what -- or who - she'd see out there. It still came as a shock to see the size of him there looking back at her through the window. The yellow eyes regarded her with a bit more interest and a lot more curiosity now. She smiled at the animal, and waved her hand slightly. His response was that nutty head-tilt of his, and then his tongue appeared as he panted a little. Helen had a thought, and remembered that the porch was open at both ends as well as the middle. He could just back away if he felt he needed to, so she did about the least logical thing that could be done, but it made sense to her in an odd sort of way.
She got out a large pot and filled it with water.
Carrying it to the door and fumbling for a second, she got the door open and cautiously walked out, talking to him the whole time in a low calm voice. He backed up, and almost turned to leave.
"Aw, come on," she said a bit sadly, "I don't have anything for you here. I'm trying the only thing I can think of, Buddy."
The head tilted again, but he stood still and, she noted, he didn't tense. A big plus in her favor as far as survival was concerned, she thought, though that could change at any time. She walked forward and set the pot down, backing carefully away a step. He regarded her for a few moments, and then stepped forward to sniff at the pot. The mosquitoes were having a field day with her. She felt them, but didn't dare try to swat one right then. She felt the edge of one of the chairs against the side of her leg and very slowly sat down. It wouldn't matter much, but she wanted him to see her relaxed and not as a threat -- not that she could ever manage to be that to him. After what seemed like twenty minutes, he began to drink, experimentally at first, and then more quickly. His eyes never left her the whole time, so she began to speak to him again.