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Isabelle s breath as she leaned in to her for that first kiss. Isabelle s eyes widening as she realized Ren s
intention. And that slight lift of her chin as she accepted. Ren s skin still goose-bumped as she recalled the
thrill that had run through her on that first kiss. She had at last found her mate, but that was no excuse. No
amount of isolation and loneliness could absolve what had happened.
Ren left the bunkhouse and its glum interior and made her way home. Explanations were due, and soon she
would have to provide them no matter what the consequences.
Ren was greeted by the smell of home cooking. She found Isabelle at the kitchen table, gazing off into the
distance.
 Hungry? Ren nodded at the half-eaten steak in a pool of bloody gravy.
Isabelle snapped out of her reverie.  I didn t hear you come in. You move like a cat.
 You were daydreaming. Ren took the seat opposite. Isabelle looked over at her puzzled.
 I just realized something. She looked mournfully at her bloody plate.  I m a vegetarian. I even asked Jenna
for greens.
 Oh? Ren was unsure how to tackle this. It was an opportune segue, but she hesitated to grab it.
 Yes, Isabelle said.  And suddenly I love meat? Rare meat? Really, really rare meat. The taste is& is
fantastic. She cut another mouthful.  I don t know what s come over me.
 Maybe your body needs the protein. It did, lots of it. Ren was pleased with Isabelle s robust physiology. She
was coping well.
 I cooked you one.
 Thank you. Ren grinned, pleased at the cozy domesticity and thoughtfulness.
 This is it. Isabelle pointed at her plate and its oozing contents.  I was so hungry I ate them both. Isabelle
stared at her dolefully.  I don t understand it.
 Your body s expending a lot of energy to heal. It needs a ton of calories and proper nourishment. Ren
shrugged, making light of it.  It s nature s way. You re an animal after all.
 Jenna said you work for the fisheries here. Isabelle s conversation changed direction. Ren smiled. Isabelle
never missed an opportunity to ferret out some new information.
 Yeah. We re a satellite station for the Creeker hatchery. They have dozens of sites all over this area.
 A satellite station?
 Yup. I m heading down there now with the boys. Come along and I ll show you.
 Is that why you all live here in the middle of nowhere? You work for the hatchery?
 The hatchery contract is only part-time. It brings in some extra money, but my main income is from my
veterinary practice. I keep a summer surgery in the valley.
 And the young people working for you, Ren? Where do they come from?
 They just drift in, mostly from Vancouver and a hundred other places in between. If there s enough work,
then I offer them a bunk and a wage. She could tell by Isabelle s frown her story was not as easily swallowed
as the last of the steak.
 What about Mouse? What happened to her parents?
 I was a friend of her mother s. I never knew her father. He was long gone before Mouse was born. Mouse
stayed with me when her mother became& became ill. We& lost her, and Mouse lives with me now. I m her
legal guardian. The words were curt and pain-filled, though she tried to hide it.
 Isn t she lonely way out here? What about school, or friends of her own age?
 She gets home schooling and she has plenty of company.
 But she s so young 
 Enough. Ren rose to her feet.  It s the way it is. This is the best place for her. It s her home. She realized
she sounded sharp and tried to soften her words.  Are you ready to head down to the river?
She was relieved when, after a moment s thought, Isabelle nodded and gracefully accepted.
Ren s truck bounced over a mud track that was barely wider than the cab. They were hard on the tail of
Patrick and Noah s truck. A steep incline of tight hairpin curves drove them deeper into the forest. Isabelle
imagined they were being swallowed, sliding down an intestinal tract into the murky belly of the valley.
 What s the name of this valley? she asked.
 The Singing Valley. And the river s called the Tearfell. It s a salmon race, and it s in the center of a
conservation bioregion.
 The names sound so beautiful& and sad. I ve often wondered how places got their names. There must be a
sad story behind this place.
Ren looked sideways at her.  Local legend has it the ghosts of wolves gather here, and at night the valley is
filled with their singing.
 That s spooky. What about the Tearfell?
 Someone must have thought it was salty. Ren shrugged, disinterested.
 Filled with tears, Isabelle mused. The deeper they descended, the gloomier the surrounding forest became.
It was a woebegone, claustrophobic place. The weak winter sun barely penetrated the tree canopy. The light
that did manage to creep through was marbled gray, consumed by the shadows before it reached the forest
floor.
They swerved around another wild bend and the track began to level out. Over the rattle of the engine Isabelle
thought she could make out the splash of the nearby river.
 We re nearly there, Ren said.  The valley s about three miles wide and the Tearfell cuts from the northeast
down to the coast. The water runs slower in this particular spot, so it s easier to collect the fish eggs and milk.
Today it s running faster because of the thaw.
 Milk is the fish sperm, isn t it? I m not going to ask how you collect that.
 Later, after the eggs hatch, they re brought back up here and we nurse the fry. That s what the channel is for.
We rear pink salmon fry until they re big enough to head downstream.
 Does it hurt them? Collecting the eggs and milk?
 The fish come here to breed, then die. We leave most to do it the natural way and collect from a few, just to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]