Rose in a Storm Read Online Free PDF

strength. She had come across this coyote pup, lost and disoriented in the woods. She had stared at him, given him the eye, looked around to see if there was a mother. He had been playful, grabbing sticks, tossing them in the air, growling and running in circles, oblivious to the fact that, away from his pack, he was in danger.
    Rose had seen a fox, watching up on the hill, and she had growled, stared it down, chased it off. She stood still, while the pup had drawn closer, and she had nuzzled him and led him toward the rocks where she knew the den was. It was something she had seen her mother do—to her, and to the other pups.
    When the mother returned to the den, the coyote pup had run to her, then paused and looked back at Rose. That was the moment Rose and the coyote first became known to each other. After that encounter, she and the pup had an understanding. From then on, they’d cross paths in the woods several times a season.
    T HERE HAD BEEN that one night, well before she had found the pup in the woods. It was clear in Rose’s memory, had shaped her consciousness. She remembered it often, still trying to understand it.
    It had been a very different kind of day from this one, hot and sticky, with a bright sun that gave way to a nearly full moon. The moon lit up the sky and the ground, sprinkling the farm and the woods and fields with shadows. There was no breeze, the air was still, and sounds and smells moved freely and far through the night. Like most animals, Rose was always restless when the moon was large. She rarely slept on such nights.
    When the moon was this big, the forest was mad with activity, the coyotes, foxes, owls, and other animals of the night signaling to one another and to the moon, in hoots, barks, and howls. Rose loved this eerie and ancient symphony, and once or twice had looked up at the moon and howled herself.
    She had spent the day running in the heat, with a long tongue, and then sat down in the creek to cool herself. At night, Rose could not get comfortable in the closed-in farmhouse. On hot nights she often went to the porch, where she would hop up onto the cushion on the wicker chair and sleep, occasionally lifting her head, hoping to snare a breeze. This night, when the breeze carried the howls from the far meadows, she was almost lifted off the chair, as if hypnotized.
    She left the porch, jumped over the short front fence, and headed out into the woods to follow the sounds. They were high, playful, and were almost immediately answered by howls, yips, and barks. It seemed this night that they were calling to her, and she set out to find the source.
    Rose would never leave her work: There was nothing beyond the farm that was better or more important. But that night she trotted through the forest, mesmerized by the sounds, cutting through the shadows, the bushes, the moss, unnerving the owls, scattering the mice. She went on to the stream, which was shallow and easy to run across. She had never been so far from the farm without Sam’s company, yet she felt no hesitation or timidity now. It felt almost like running home.
    At the same time, though, the journey made her uneasy. This was not her world.
    At some point, Rose slowed and went into a work crouch, listening, watching, sniffing carefully, aware of every movement and sound and smell around her. She proceeded slowly, almost at a crawl, so softly she could not hear herself. Aware of the light and shadows cast by the bright moon, her ears were back, her tail was down, her eyes were wide as an owl’s. She was alert, ready to fight, freeze, or run. The sounds were near enough now that she knew precisely where they were. She was close.
    She startled some rabbits, who bounded across the brush in front of her. After a little while she came to the edge of a vast, broad meadow, bounded on two sides by a creek. Nestled under a stand of tall trees, she saw what she had come to see. She was transfixed.
    She moved no closer, pressing herself