29 December, 2015

Emily sat by the blazing fire, watching out the window at the delicate snowflakes drifting by. Today was the first snow, and yet already the ground was covered with it. The sun reflected off the snow, its sparkling light illuminating the forest. She was halfway through her thriller already, but then again, there wasn't much to do during the heavy winter in Banff, especially not here in the forest. She heard the front door slam open and she jumped, stifling a yelp. Jet was always teasing her that she read too many thrillers. 

"My god! It's freezing out there!" Jet exclaimed.

"What?" Emily called out, "I can't hear you. I'm too warm."

"Ha ha ha," Jet said drily, flopping down on the sofa next to Emily.

Jet was a park ranger, his job letting him roam through the forest, the place he truly felt at home. He was a well-built man in his early 40s. He had chestnut hair with lightning blue eyes, that twinkled with adventure. Jet and Emily (Emily always called her father Jet, never Dad) lived in a log cabin in the forest, something the rather relaxed board that ran the park had had no trouble agreeing with. During winter, when the snow was thick and the temperature was below zero, Jet was one of the few park rangers who were happy to keep working, whereas the others were not so keen as they had to commute from the town every day. Emily was an outdoors girl and it was truly hard to imagine her otherwise. She had the same chestnut hair as her father, and a splattering of freckles that brought out her stormy grey eyes, with a tomboyish grin that let you know she as up to no good. During summer she was out from dawn till dusk, kayaking, walking, climbing, hiking and most commonly, helping Jet patrol the park. He had taught her everything he knew about the great outdoors: how to track animals, build a capable shelter and basic first aid. But during the winter, she loved to read. Thrillers, mainly, but she loved a good detective novel too.

"Well, I reckon we're in for a quiet winter, Em," Jet said. "Not a soul in the park today. I heard them saying something on the radio about heavy snow coming in tonight."

"Mhmm," Emily responded, already buried back in her book.

Jet smiled, ruffling her hair, then got up and went into his room,  probably to log all the rare species of animals he'd seen on his round.                                                                                          

                                                                            ***

Emily stretched her arms and yawned, setting the now completed thriller on the oak coffee table. She got up and went to find Jet. Their log cabin was plenty big for the two of them, with three bedrooms down a hallway and a lounge and kitchen. Jet had a room full of photos of animals he'd seen in the forest, notes scribbled next to each of them. Her father had a book, full of animals and places he'd found in the forest.  She followed the methodical thud, thud  out the back door, and was immediately greeted by a blast of frigid winter air. She hugged herself tightly and made her way to Jet. Thud , went the ax, as Jet chopped another chunk of wood for the fire. He looked up and smiled at her.

"Help me put this stuff in the woodshed, will ya Em?"

"Sure," she said, fetching the wheelbarrow. 

Jet was crazy for firewood, and the woodshed was full of it. His face would light up in excitement whenever he saw a fallen branch that was perfect for the fire. The woodshed was categorized in age, size and even the type of tree it had come from. As Emily wheeled the wheelbarrow full of wood, she glanced over her shoulder to see the sun starting to set. She looked at her watch: 4 pm. The sun set early in winter, giving them less time to do chores outside. Jet was always making those hours count, especially as he was only required to patrol the park four times a week, instead of every day in summer. Banff was a ghost town in winter, and the forest was the last place most people would want to go. Finished moving the wood, Emily headed inside to cook dinner. Ever since she was a little girl, Emily had loved to cook. She always cooked for herself and Jet (who couldn't cook scrambled eggs to save his life) and he always loved her food. She could cook Italian, Chinese, Indian, anything that took her fancy really. She tied her hair up in a ponytail, turned on the stove and the radio and started cooking.

                                                                           ***

"God, Em," Jet commented, "you make a mean carbonara."

Emily smiled and started to mention how she had found the torn out magazine recipe in a bird's nest when she was interrupted by Jet's startled cry.

"Dammit!" Jet yelled, "I left the ax out. It'll rust if it stays out till morning."

He started to get up from his chair but Emily was faster. 

"I'll get it," she said, speaking over his protests. "It's no trouble," she said.

"You ain't afraid of the Hunter then?" Jet said with a grin.

Emily chuckled and headed down the hall. the Hunter was an old wives tale, made to make children behave and not leave the house at night. A mysterious creature wearing a coat and carrying a rifle and a bow and arrow? Something that would hunt you to death?  Please! thought Emily. That was made to scare children, not sixteen-year-olds.

She went outside, grabbing her warmest coat from the coat rack in the hall, grabbed a torch, then went outside. The frosty air whipped at her face, her torch shining into the inky black night. She located the ax and placed it in the shed, then turned and walked back to the house.

Crack, a branch snapped in the forest. Emily yelped and spun around. There was nothing there but the darkness of night. Emily was slightly wary of the forest at night. Bears weren't that uncommon in the park. Still, her curiosity got the better of her, and she wandered over to look. She wouldn't be able to sleep soundly unless she was certain there wasn't a bear right outside her window. She shone her torch on the packed snow. There, lying in the snow was an arrow. It was made of dark wood, with grey feathers making up the fletching at the back. In the hope of feeding her curiosity and putting her paranoia to rest, she had exceeded in amplifying both of them. Someone must have been practicing with their bow and arrow, and simply missed the target. Not everything has to be a bad omen. She shook her head. Jet was right, too many thrillers, she thought to herself. All the same, she hurried back into the house, making sure to lock the door behind her.