WHAT COMES AROUND

1

Larry was a strange one. There were methods for surviving in the wilderness during the winter, and his tactics were more animal-like than human. Granger watched as Larry buried the hindquarters of a small deer carcass in the ground, using his rough, abused hands to cover it up with dirt, branches and rocks.

"Sure don't know if'n these creatures out here'll get to this," Larry said, shoving dirt onto the nicely concealed mound with his hide-covered right foot, "But I might as well try." He snorted, squinting up to face Granger's frame silhouetted in the early morning winter sun.

Larry often buried perfectly good meat, clothes and other supplies into the ground at various spots throughout the wilderness, feeling he would certainly have the need for them if he ever he returned to those spots.

"But what if you don't return here?" Granger asked.

Larry continued to squint, then smiled a near toothless grin.

"Then you might have a use for it. You know, I wouldn't mind if a creature such as yourself got hold o' this stuff either. Your place is just upstream about half a mile, eh?" Larry snorted a cackle, mucous spraying from his mouth, some of it catching in the frost of his thick gray moustache. Granger laughed along with him. He was sad to see Larry go. It wasn't often he met another human being out here in this part of the country. Larry, odd though he may be, was a sight for sore eyes.

Earlier in the day, Granger had been setting traps for beaver, smelled fire, and walked to the source. He found Larry, gorging himself on roasted deer meat, sitting in the snow by a large fire. The scene was just twenty feet from the shore of Bend River, and Granger greeted the man. The two had only met twice before, but upon further conversation, Granger discovered that Larry came this way often. He said he might return soon, thus explaining the survival needs buried in the frozen ground by the shore.

Larry left and once again Granger was to himself. Granger, though he didn't consider himself as much a loner as Larry, sure felt like one. After the death of his wife four years ago, he began spending his time in the wilderness, returning to civilization every few months to sell the hides and furs he obtained. The lonely life in the wilderness helped him deal with the depression of the loss of his wife, Susan, the only family or relative of any kind that he had. She had died the agonizing death of pneumonia, and Granger had still not recovered mentally from the gap that Susan's death had left in his life. The wilderness was where he found solace, human contact no longer interesting him. He didn't know what Larry's story was, and he didn't care.

In another month's time, he figured he would be ready to travel to the town to trade his hides and furs for supplies or sell them for money. Besides that and Larry, Granger saw nobody. And he preferred it that way.

2

The young eagle circled the frozen landscape, its body numb with cold, its mind delirious. It could not remember the encounter with the owls, the great horned ones that had nearly killed it when it had threatened their nest in a starving frenzy for food, but recalling that would not have helped anyway. The battle with the owls was a blur, the memory only instinctive now, not detailed or defined. For whatever reason, the eagle was left and allowed to fly away, presumed critically wounded and taught an important lesson, or simply not worth the final attack to assure its demise. That had been twenty minutes ago and, surprisingly, the eagle still flew. But its mind, its will, and its instincts, were gone. Just feeling the act of flight was its main focal point, but the eagle was not flying well. Its strength drained, it fell from the sky and splashed into the lake. Within a few seconds it realized it was in water and therefore, struggled for air. But it was too late.

Granger, his back turned to the lake as he chopped wood to add to his dwindling supply, heard the splash and turned suddenly. The sound made him jump. He held his ax in his hands as if ready to swing it in defense, but then he realized that he had just heard something fall in the lake. Perhaps it is late season trout, he thought, but he peered and saw small ripples cascading from a small object floating on the surface, fifty feet from shore. Half submerged, he couldn't tell what it was, but he felt it was an animal of some sort. Absent-mindedly he looked at the sky, as if this would give him a clue as to what it was that bobbed gently in the lake.

"What is that?" he said under his breath, "A bird or something?"

Within twenty seconds he had overturned his canoe, which had been propped on the left side of his well-constructed but small cabin. Pulling at its frozen frame with numb, gloved hands, Granger led the canoe to the shore of the lake, pushed it into the water, and hopped in. Quickly afloat and skimming the surface of the glassy water, he thought he had forgotten the only oar he had. Then he saw it frozen to the crude frame by his feet as he sat. He pried the paddle loose, an oak-made implement, then stroked towards the animal in the water. It had nearly submerged and when Granger finally reached it and realized it was an eagle, he was sure it was dead. He plucked it from the water, amazed at his find, then grasped the animal with his right hand, staring at it. He had never seen an eagle up close, but he could tell this was a young bird, small and probably enduring its first winter away from its nest and parents. The bird's eyes were shut, its head limp, its feathers near frozen against its frail body, its life apparently gone. Granger shrugged, thinking of having the eagle stuffed. Larry knew how to do such things but Granger was sure he would probably not see that wild man for a while.

Convinced the eagle was dead, Granger pondered of what to do with the body. Then, there was movement. As Granger loosened his grip with his right hand and added his left hand for support, the eagle's eyelids fluttered, nearly opened, then shut. A hint of compassion surged through Granger, which surprised him. Initially he could have cared less about the bird in his hands, but deep inside, compassion tugged at his innards. The more he sat there and stared at the eagle, the more sympathetic he became. Here was something to break the monotony of this life in the woods, something more than tracking, hunting, skinning, eating and sleeping.

He paddled to shore, convinced the eagle was alive although it looked quite the opposite. Once at the shore, Granger ran into his cabin, stoked the never ending fire even more, filling the room with a warm glow. He laid the eagle on a blanket just feet from the fire, now glowing with rich embers and hearty flames. He wiped the eagle's body dry. When the bird opened its eyes and stared up into the face of the man who had saved its life, Granger smiled, almost laughed.

3

Within three weeks the eagle had been nursed back to health. Its one wing which was originally thought to have been broken, was fractured, nothing more. On the fourth week, Granger was trekking back to his cabin, sore and exhausted. He had spent the entire day checking and resetting traps. The toll of a long day was finally catching up with him, making him feel exhausted. During the latter part of this stay in the wilderness, he spent all his time trapping. He only had time to deal with smaller game. However, even if he had chosen to track deer or elk, he was in no condition to do so. He had acquired a cold, a mighty strength-draining virus that hit him with its full force during the middle of the day. It was then that he decided that this would be the last time he would lay his traps. Tomorrow, or whenever he recovered from this cold, he would make his final rounds then head towards town.

The cold was in his lungs, he could tell, and it scared him, thinking of what had happened to Susan. Nevertheless, he was capable of taking care of himself. He always had. He reached his cabin door, pulled open the awkward, heavy frame, then stepped inside. Immediately he spotted the eagle, standing on a pile of furs Granger had accumulated in the corner. This made him smile, forgetting his cold momentarily. The eagle and he had grown quite accustomed to one another and Granger considered keeping the bird as a constant companion. Thinking this calming thought, Granger watched the eagle, when suddenly it launched into the air. It swooped across the room, catching Granger completely off guard. The eagle had only been able to make small jumps before, never an elongated flight of any distance. Quickly the eagle loomed towards Granger and came to rest on the man's shoulder. Granger was surprised, but understood he was not being threatened at all. He looked the eagle straight in the face, his own face awestruck with wonder.

"You...you're on my shoulder..." he said, almost calling the eagle by its name, then realizing he had never given it one. He reached up to touch the bird, but then it was off. Granger coughed, turned around and, to his amazement, the eagle soared away into the crisp winter air. He felt many things; surprise to see the eagle well enough to fly away, satisfaction for having nursed the bird back to health, but most of all, sorrow for having lost a well-liked companion.

Granger was alone once again.

He spent the next day between the warmth of elk skin blankets in front of a warm fire, sipping a brew concocted from roots and animal fat, a mixture that would cure any cold, taught to him by his father. He slept the day away and, awaking in the middle of the next, promptly got up, stretched and dressed to tend to his traps. He didn't know how long he had been asleep but he was never one to procrastinate and felt an urgency to complete his business here. He dressed, still felt the cold in his body, but was sure it was not as bad as it had been. He acquired the necessary attire for the collection of his traps and whatever critters lay in them, then was off.

A mile away, downstream on the same river he had met Larry a month earlier, Granger began to feel quite sick. The cold, he thought, had dwindled but the act of hopping up and tromping out into the snow brought the full force of the virus back with a vengeance. He looked down and saw he was standing ankle deep in the river. Ahead of him was a small but very strong steel-hinged trap, its jaw toothless but rough, perfect for beavers and any other smaller creatures that foraged the river. He felt dizzy and stared at the trap, ten feet away, not a long ways, but the distance was treacherous. Swift currents, knee deep, led to a small half-constructed mound of sticks, where Granger had seen beavers a week before. But now his head swam, and it was then he realized he should turn back around and sleep this flu off. He knew to catch pneumonia out here is certainly the most foolish thing he could do.

"Aw," he said, coughing, sniffing, and looking at the trap, "After I pick this one up I'll go."

There was nothing in the trap but even if there had been, it wouldn't have mattered. Three feet from the trap his right foot slipped on a slick rock on the river bottom, and Granger fell into the water. He tried to shout out in surprise but the freezing water swallowed his voice. He managed to keep his head above water, but he could feel the traps and other supplies he carried on his back weigh him down. His head was dreamy, he himself not even sure what was really happening, but he did have the instinct to strip the belongings from his body. Down the river he went. The water was freezing, forming solid clumps at the banks. In this intense time, Granger wondered crazily if this meant that he would now get pneumonia, and die like Susan had. His mind told him that he would drown in this icy water first.

Standing back from where he had fatefully plunged in, the river did not look as strong and wild as it felt to Granger now. He could feel the power of the current as it pulled him along and the water seemed so deep. He kicked but his legs felt nothing, or if they did, were too numb to relay the message. He managed to think rationally finally, after twenty seconds of shock, but by then it was too late. He saw the top of a waterfall, one hundred feet ahead, approaching quick. Previous travels this way told him that the fall was a sixty foot drop. He tried to spit out "I'm going to die" but the water froze his nerves and he cold only think it.

But then, he slowed and came upon a mound just below the surface of the river. He did not see it but the presence of it created a calmness in the midst of the raging river. Granger, now nearly spent of strength, managed to prop his legs well enough to stop his progress. For a minute he half stood, half knelt in the river, his mind still able to perform sane, calm thoughts. Twenty feet away, on a rocky shore just below a tangle of barren elm and oak trees, was a smoldering fire.

Larry! he thought. The idea of Larry being nearby gave him new found strength and he managed to stand, fight his way through the thigh-high twenty foot stretch of river, and make it to shore. He fell to his knees, tried to shout Larry's name, but could not. He was shivering uncontrollably and could feel the clothes on his back begin to stiffen from the cold. To move was hell but Granger searched the ground around the fire. He was rewarded when he found an area of upturned earth, a sign that something was buried there.

If Larry had food, thought Granger, or anything, then I just might survive.

Digging with his hands, feeling the brutal sting of freezing skin, his mind was still fresh. Granger knew simply that his life depended on whether or not Larry had buried anything here. If not, then he would die. He could not make it back to the cabin - not a mile away upstream, being drenched to the bone in the frozen winter air. As he thought these sobering ideas, his hand came upon something just below the surface of the ground. At first Granger thought it was an animal, its hide buried for later eating. Although it was an animal, it was not its meat but rather, its skin. It was just what Granger needed. Two skins, that of an elk and that of a small bear, were folded and placed in the three foot deep hole. Granger, now even more determined to survive, tore his half-frozen clothes from him, then wrapped himself completely inside the two skins. Five minutes later he poked out his head and his right hand, and began stoking the fire. It looked as if Larry had been here perhaps an hour earlier, but Granger wasn't counting on him coming back. With the help of a modest pile of gathered twigs and logs, Granger managed to produce a big, warm fire.

He huddled, was still freezing, and could once again feel his flu. It soon occurred to him that sitting here by the river getting warmed by this fortunate fire wasn't enough for survival. He felt weak and needed food. He searched the hole the animal skins came from, but there was no food this time. This filled Granger with dread. He was certain he would not be able to make the journey back to his cabin in this condition. The thought of rabbit roasting over a blazing fire made his stomach growl, his mind twist. Then he heard a noise. He looked up and there was the eagle, sitting on a branch of one of the oak trees, fifteen feet above his head. Granger was shocked. The eagle added to this surprise by suddenly swooping down to Granger's head, talons extended. Granger managed to spit out a muffled grunt as he lowered his head into the skins again. There was the sound of a scuffle behind him so he decided to take a look. The eagle was not attacking him but rather, a snowshoe rabbit that rummaged in the light brush ten feet behind Granger. The eagle tore at the rabbit and killed it, swiftly and efficiently. Granger was in awe, but was even more amazed when the bird flew over his head and dropped the rabbit almost in his lap. Granger looked up and saw that the eagle was once again crouching on the same branch in the oak tree. It stared at the man before it, as if waiting for the next move. The next move to Granger was obvious. He prepared the rabbit with his bare hands, cooked it, and ate it. During the meal the eagle hopped down from the tree and stood just feet from him. Granger tossed it a generous chunk, and together two good friends shared a meal. After another rabbit, Granger found the strength to trek back to his cabin. He survived, too.

THE END

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