The reindeer had already stopped struggling by the time Alexei reached the blood in the snow. The animal lay on its side, throat opened in a single long tear. Steam rose from the wound. The tracks around it were not the neat prints of a wolf. They were longer, broader, and one of them showed the clear outline of a heel. Alexei followed them because the herd still needed counting. The village had lost three animals in the last week.
The wind cut across the open ground and drove fine snow into the folds of his coat. The tracks turned toward the low ridge where the larch thinned into bare rock. He kept the rifle across his body and watched the line of the slope. Halfway up, the smell changed. It was not the clean cold of the taiga. Something warm and sour hung under it, like meat left too long in a sealed space. The tracks deepened where the snow had been packed by weight.
Alexei slowed, his breath left him in short white bursts that the wind tore apart at once. He saw the skin first, a strip of reindeer hide, still wet along one edge, hung from a low branch. It had been pulled rather than cut. The edges were ragged. Beyond it the ground dropped into a shallow fold between two outcrops. Alexei stepped to the rim and looked down. The thing was crouched over what remained of another reindeer.
Its back was broad, the shoulders thick under a patched coat of mismatched hides. Long dark hair fell past the collar and stuck to the wet fur at the wrists. One forearm showed a pale patch against the darker hair. The head turned, the brow was heavy, the eyes sat deep under it and fixed on him without blinking. The mouth worked once, open and closed, and a low whistle left it, thin and steady. Alexei raised the rifle.
The movement was slow because his hands had gone stiff inside the gloves. The creature rose. It did not stand fully upright. The arms hung past the knees. The hides showed the curve of the chest beneath. It took one step up the slope. Snow slid under its feet and did not slow it. The first shot struck the upper arm, the hide tore, blood ran dark against the pale fur and then onto the snow. The creature made no sound.
It kept coming. The second shot hit lower, into the side, and still it closed the distance. One long arm swung and struck the barrel. The rifle spun away and landed out of reach. Alexei turned to run, the slope was steep, his boots broke through the crust and he went down on one knee, the hand closed around his ankle and pulled, he slid, the weight of the thing came down across his back. He felt the cold of the snow against his face and then the heat of breath against his neck.
Teeth closed on the shoulder of his coat and tore through. Pain flared sharp and then dull as the bite held. He tried to push upward, the forearm with the pale patch pressed across the back of his head and forced his face into the snow. He could not draw a full breath. The whistle continued, close to his ear now, unbroken. Blood from his shoulder ran down into the white and froze in thin lines. The pressure increased, the sound in his ears narrowed to the wet work of the mouth and the slow settling of the weight above him. The ridge stayed empty. The wind kept moving.
