Prompt: “Write a story about someone who shouldn't have made it out… but did.”

Toward Home - North of 80

Polar sunshine drank the chill of the day and spat warmth into Aputsiak’s thick fur. It had been a long winter of stealing from polar bear kills and leaping into lemming tunnels when the little arctic fox’s primary food source thundered through the snow under her. Still, she was hungry and prey to anything that could outrun her. She was determined that none should.

She trudged along the icy path across the channel to where her mate, Nuka, and their family would gather soon enough in their summer warren. She felt him in her bones. It was almost time to call him, but not yet. All she had to do was ford the ice-covered river and then cross the strait and make the final run for home.

Perpetual darkness had left the skies now. Instead, the sun and faint foxfire aurora were bright enough to see no dangers ahead. Every animal in her path seemed to feed just fine on the riches under the water and the leftovers from kills left behind on the ice.

Tired, Aputsiak curled up on newly uncovered grassy patches set back from the river and slept.

***

The rumble of the first crack shook her awake. She sniffed the air and smelled Nuka nearby. She yipped happily, and he returned the call. Her body wanted to yield to its urges, but not now. The crack that woke her was the ice on the river breaking up, and she–no, they–had a day’s run to their array of tunnels in their den across the strait.

Nuka arrived at a full run and dashed around her, sniffing and nudging, knocking her over to come play with him. She licked his nose and then nudged him away from her grassy patch and onto a path he had already made next to the river. She was surprised that he was already mostly brown. He must have spent the winter further south. He wore the full belly and face of rich feeding grounds, and his yip sounded eager for her touch. They nuzzled, but another crack of ice urged them to run.

He leaped the river first, with Aputsiak not far behind. The two of them cleared the spread of melting river water easily, but by the time they got to where it joined the channel, rafts of ice were all that waited. This would not be easy.

This time, he nudged her to leap first. She wasn’t sure why but made it across four floes before she looked back.

Nuka slid off a floe into the water close to a young polar bear that slipped and struggled for better cover. Aputsiak called out, turned to go back, and spotted the mother bear, now swimming toward her cub.

“Run,” she yipped. “The mother comes!”

Nuka looked around and scrambled onto a new floe, just before the mother bear flipped it, too. Nuka flew high and far, landing on the floe next to Aputsiak with a soft thud. With the ice teetering, Aputsiak grabbed his neck in her jaw and pulled him securely next to her so they could run toward the edge and leap to an isolated island smelling of humans.

The mother’s head lifted and sniffed and caught the fox’ scent. Roaring, she swam closer, intending to land on the island, too and chase down the trapped foxes. But she must have caught the human stink that covered the island, because she roared again, turned and steered her cub toward the other side of the floes, away from Aputsiak and Nuka’s path home. Aputsiak yipped her own moment of pleasure at not being the bear’s meal. Not everyone underestimated the small foxes. Most who would have a meal of Aputsiak and Nuka were faced with a race under snow and through narrow passageways. Those that tried and lost went hungry and heard that little fox yip of victory.

Satisfied and tired, the pair wrapped themselves around human-smelling bottles just standing there waiting for no one and curled up on the bare island. They didn’t mind getting some of the human smell on themselves if it kept any other bears away. The foxfire shone bright enough to light the night sky. The day was long enough for them to warm themselves and enjoy the fire in the sky without craving a tunnel to climb into too much. Another day of travel and they would be home.

***

After months of no light, the sun, still low in the sky, crawled across their entwined backs to awaken them with warmth. Nuka nuzzled Aputsiak and purred at the weight of her against him. She breathed a muted woof, walked over to the bottles in the center of the rock, peed on them to leave her own scent, then watched ice lazily wander past the edge of the island. Nuka sniffed her and nipped an ear. With enough human stink still on her fur, she pushed him away, rolled onto a flat iceberg, and set off running across it toward the smell of home. Nuka followed, yipping, and raced around her on the ice. She pushed him into a shallow pool of melted water on the iceberg and yipped back.

For the rest of the wan sunlight, they took advantage of the warmth and hopped from iceberg to floe until there was real tundra with melted snow a leap away. Nuka jumped first and waited for Aputsiak to join him. She obliged, but continued running toward the smell of their den, empty now, but soon to be filled by them and their kits. For she knew now that their first kits of the season would come before her fur was completely brown. Tomorrow, they would clear out the den, get food stocks, and see if anything nearby had changed while they were gone.

Tonight, though, they would rest, snuggling together at home. Tomorrow was time enough for updating their scent everywhere as they prepared for the chaos of kits to play with, teach, and feed.