Two Wolves

The lake had frozen overnight, and it stretched out wide and white like a blank page waiting for a story.

Stone stood at the edge, his gray fur thick with frost, his old bones creaking like the branches above him. He had crossed this lake many times. He had crossed it in rain and in moonlight and in the deep blue dark of winter mornings just like this one.

Arrow stood beside him, bouncing on his paws.

"Can we go? Can we go now? Is it ready? Can we go?"

Stone sniffed the ice. He pressed one heavy paw down and listened.

"Now we can go," he said.

Arrow shot forward like—well, like an arrow. His paws skidded and scrambled and slipped, and within three seconds he was flat on his belly, sliding sideways with a look of great surprise on his face.

Stone walked slowly onto the ice. His paws moved carefully, one and then the next and then the next and then the next.

"How do you DO that?" Arrow asked from the ground, where he was trying to stand up but kept falling down again.

"Slowly," said Stone.

Arrow got up. He fell down. He got up again. He took one step and his back legs went one way and his front legs went the other way, and for a moment he looked like two different wolves having an argument.

"This ice is broken!" Arrow announced.

"The ice is fine," said Stone, still walking, steady as a heartbeat. "Come. Walk with me. Small steps."

Arrow took a small step. Then another. Then—because he was Arrow—a big step, and down he went again.

"SMALL steps," said Stone.

"Those WERE small steps."

"The last one wasn't."

Arrow grumbled, but he got up and tried again. Small step. Small step. Small step. And this time, he stayed standing.

"Ha!" he said. "I'm doing it!"

"You're doing it," Stone agreed.

They walked together across the wide white ice. The sun was just coming up behind the pine trees, turning everything pink and gold. Their breath made little clouds that floated away like tiny ghosts.

"Stone?" said Arrow.

"Hmm."

"How thick is the ice?"

"Thick enough."

"But what if it cracks?"

"It won't crack."

"But what if it DOES?"

Stone stopped walking and looked at Arrow. His old yellow eyes were calm, like two lanterns in the cold.

"Do you hear any cracking?" he asked.

Arrow listened. All he heard was the wind brushing snow across the surface, making a soft shushing sound.

"No," he admitted.

"Then walk."

They walked.

A crow flew overhead, and Arrow's head snapped up to watch it. His paws kept going without him paying attention, and he veered off to the left in a long, curving drift.

"You're going the wrong way," Stone said.

"I'm watching that crow!"

"You can watch the crow and walk straight."

"I can NOT watch the crow and walk straight. I can only do one thing at a time."

"Then walk straight."

Arrow watched the crow fly away into the pink sky. Then he sighed and walked straight.

After a while, they came to the middle of the lake. Arrow could see the far shore—a dark line of trees wearing snow on their branches like white scarves. He could see the shore behind them too, getting farther away.

"Stone?" said Arrow.

"Hmm."

"How many times have you crossed this lake?"

Stone thought about it. "More times than you have teeth."

Arrow tried to count his teeth with his tongue. He lost count at eleven.

"That's a lot of times," Arrow said.

"It is."

"Was it scary the first time?"

Stone kept walking, his big paws pressing down softly, one after another. "Yes," he said.

Arrow looked up at him. "Really?"

"Really. My legs were shaking so much I thought I'd shake a crack right into the ice."

Arrow couldn't imagine Stone shaking. Stone was the steadiest wolf he'd ever known. Stone was the kind of wolf that even the wind seemed to walk around.

"What did you do?" Arrow asked.

"I kept walking."

"That's IT?"

"That's everything."

Arrow thought about this. He was still thinking about it when his left paw hit a rough patch of ice and he stumbled, catching himself just before he fell.

"Nice catch," said Stone.

"I MEANT to do that," Arrow said, though of course he hadn't.

The wind picked up, blowing snow into their faces. Arrow squinted and tucked his nose down. The cold bit at his ears. He moved closer to Stone, and their fur brushed together as they walked.

"Stone?" Arrow said, his voice half lost in the wind.

"Hmm."

"Why do we have to cross the lake? Why can't we go around it?"

"We could go around. It would take until nightfall."

"I don't mind the dark!"

"I know you don't. But the deer will be gone by nightfall."

Arrow's stomach growled at the word deer, and he stopped complaining about the lake.

They were past the middle now. The far shore was getting closer. Arrow could see the shapes of individual trees—a tall one, a bent one, two that leaned together like they were sharing a secret.

"Stone?" said Arrow.

"Hmm."

"Do you ever get tired of me asking questions?"

Stone made a sound. It might have been a cough. It might have been a laugh. With Stone, you could never quite tell.

"No," he said.

"Really? Because my mother says I ask too many questions."

"Your mother is tired. You have seven brothers and sisters."

"Eight."

"Eight." Stone shook his heavy head. "No wonder she's tired."

Arrow grinned, his tongue poking out between his teeth.

They walked on. The ice made strange, deep sounds beneath them—long, low moans that echoed from one side of the lake to the other. Arrow stopped.

"WHAT was that?"

"The ice is settling."

"It sounds like it's GROWLING."

"Lots of things growl. Not all of them are dangerous."

"Name one growling thing that isn't dangerous."

"Your stomach, five seconds ago."

Arrow opened his mouth to argue. Then he closed it. Stone had a point.

The sounds came again—a deep, singing groan that traveled beneath their paws. Arrow shivered, but he didn't stop walking this time. He just moved a little closer to Stone.

They were almost there now. The shore was right ahead—rocky and real and solid. Arrow could see dirt between the patches of snow. Dirt! Beautiful, grippy, non-slippery dirt!

He wanted to run. Every muscle in his body wanted to run. He could feel the urge building in his legs like a sneeze builds in your nose.

"Don't," said Stone, who wasn't even looking at him.

"I wasn't going to!"

"You were about to."

"...Maybe a little."

"Small steps. All the way."

Arrow took a deep breath. Small step. Small step. Small step. The shore got closer and closer and closer and—

His paws touched rock.

Arrow LEAPED. He jumped and spun and rolled in the snow and kicked his legs in the air and bit a stick and shook it and dropped it and jumped again.

"I DID IT! I CROSSED THE LAKE! I CROSSED THE WHOLE LAKE!"

Stone stepped off the ice calmly, like stepping out of a nap. He shook the frost from his fur and watched Arrow celebrate.

"You did," Stone said.

Arrow bounded back to him, panting, his eyes bright as sparks.

"Can we cross it again tomorrow?"

"We'll see what tomorrow needs."

"I want to cross it every day! I'll be like you! I'll cross it more times than I have teeth!"

Stone looked back at the lake. The sun was higher now, and the ice was blazing white and gold, and their paw prints made two lines across it—one steady and straight, and one that wobbled and curved and zigzagged but got there just the same.

"Come on," Stone said, and turned toward the trees. "Let's go find those deer."

Arrow followed him into the forest, still bouncing, still talking, still asking questions. And Stone walked ahead, steady as a heartbeat, listening to every one.