I shrug. “Hours, days, weeks?” I reply. “I’m not sure, but we’ll know it when we see it. At least, one can only hope that’s true.” I take one step at a time as I leave paw prints in the chilled sand. I gaze upwards at the full, harvest moon. When will we finally be free?
I sit in the frozen cave just miles north of the prisoner’s location. I gnaw the remaining scraps of caribou and hare from my meal. I stand up, stuffed and content. I pace in circles as I plot my next move. I’ve got my prisoners. Now what to do with them until the big day? I ponder for a while. Finally, I think up a sufficient plan. They’ll be miserable for sure. I’ll just have to spoil them enough, so they’ll cooperate. Yes, that’s splendid. I’ll go throw in lots of raw meat and fruit in the morning. Perhaps I’ll find out whatever it is the peculiar ones like. My prisoners will worship me. Yes. By the time of the ceremony, they’ll never want to leave. I chuckle once more at the master plan. Then I settle down for the night in the ice-coated den, dreaming of the day my life will change forever.