The snow beneath her paws grows hard and crusty with icy crystals. Odd smells touch her nose. Tikki lifts her head again to test the air. The smells are faint but harsh and set her nerves to twitching. They begin speaking to her of humans and human machines. The last time she smelled anything of machines was at the start of winter, when Raman, her cub’s sire, rode away on his motorcycle. The cold made him shiver. The promise of snow turned his thoughts constantly to the south. He said he would return here to Maine with the Spring, and Spring is still weeks away.