The first real snow came mid-November, blanketing the ridges in white and turning the forest into a muffled, glittering world. School went on, but weekends belonged to the woods now. Sierra texted Kai Thursday night: *Legal doe season opens Saturday. Early start—want to come? No pressure to shoot, just track and see the land.* He'd said yes before finishing the message.
Saturday dawned clear and biting cold, stars still out when Sierra's Jeep crunched into the driveway at 5 a.m. Marcus saw him off with a nod and a thermos of coffee—"Stay sharp, listen to her, don't do anything stupid."
Sierra waited in the driver's seat, bundled in a camo puffy jacket over layered thermals, black beanie pulled low over her ponytail. Her rifle case lay in the back seat beside Kai's pack. She grinned when he climbed in.
"Morning, city boy. Ready to freeze your ass off?"
"Born ready."
They drove west toward the reservation border, windows cracked despite the cold so they could smell the air. Sierra explained the plan: still-hunting along an old logging road, glassing meadows for does, everything ethical and tagged. Her family had permission on private land adjacent to public—quiet, rarely hunted.
An hour later they parked at a locked gate, shouldered packs, and started hiking. Snow crunched under boots; breath plumed white. Sierra moved like she belonged—silent steps, eyes scanning constantly.
She wore fitted black base layers under camo pants that hugged her athletic legs, the jacket zipped high but doing nothing to hide her shape when she bent to check tracks. Kai followed, content to watch her lead.
They found fresh sign early: doe and fawn tracks crossing the road, headed uphill into a stand of aspens. Sierra knelt, brushing snow aside.
"Last night," she murmured. "Heading to browse."
They followed, slow and quiet. Sun rose pale gold, light filtering through bare branches. The world felt huge and empty except for them.
At a ridge overlook they paused. Below, a small meadow opened—steam rising from a creek, snow sparkling. Sierra pulled binoculars, scanned slow.
"There," she whispered, handing them over.
Kai glassed: two does and a yearling, feeding at the far edge, ears flicking.
"Beautiful," he said.
She nodded. "We'll wait. See if they bed down."
They settled against a fallen log, backs to the wind. Sierra unpacked coffee and breakfast burritos her mom had made—eggs, chorizo, green chile wrapped in foil. They ate in silence, shoulders touching for warmth.
After a while she spoke low. "I've been coming out here since I was little. Dad taught me tracking before I could read. It's… home, you know?"
Kai nodded. "I get it. Different from Chicago concrete, but yeah."
She glanced at him. "You ever hunt back there?"
"No. Dad took me to ranges, but this is new."
"You move good. Quiet." She bumped his knee with hers. "Natural."
They watched the deer an hour—no shot taken, no need. The animals eventually drifted into thick timber. Sierra lowered her binos.
"Enough for today. Let's loop back a different way—show you something."
The alternate trail wound down through darker pines, snow deeper here. She pointed out old sign: elk rubs on saplings, a bear den long abandoned. At a frozen creek she stopped, crouched.
"Fresh," she said, pointing to boot prints overlaying deer tracks—large, aggressive tread, not local pattern.
Kai knelt beside her. "Deep. Heavy guys."
"And recent—snow hasn't filled them yet." Her voice tightened. "Same direction as those tire tracks you saw."
They followed cautiously, rifles still cased but ready. The prints led to a small clearing where someone had cut boughs for a blind—illegal during season, sloppy work.
"Poachers," Sierra said quietly. "They're baiting or waiting for elk. Out of season, no tags."
Kai scanned the area. Drag marks in snow, old blood frozen dark. "They've taken something already."
She pulled her phone—no signal. "We need to report this. But evidence first."
They photographed everything—prints, blind, blood—then backed out careful not to disturb more.
Tension rode with them the hike back. Halfway to the Jeep, Sierra stopped suddenly, hand on his arm.
"Listen."
Engine noise—distant but growing. An ATV, maybe.
They moved off trail into cover. Minutes later a camouflaged side-by-side rumbled past on the logging road below—two men, same build as the garage visitors, rifles across their laps, an untagged doe strapped in back.
Sierra's jaw clenched. "Bastards."
Kai memorized details: Montana plates, mud-covered but partial numbers visible. They waited till the sound faded, then hurried to the Jeep.
On the drive out she called it in—state game warden hotline, clear report with photos and location. The warden thanked her, said they'd investigate.
Back at the cabin by early afternoon, Marcus listened to the story without interrupting, face grim.
"Good work documenting," he said finally. "These types escalate if no one pushes back. Keep your head on a swivel."
Sierra stayed for coffee, thawing by the fire. When Marcus stepped out to the garage, she turned to Kai.
"Today was supposed to be fun," she said, voice soft. "Sorry it turned heavy."
He took her hand. "It was still good. Being out there with you."
She smiled, leaned in. Their kiss started gentle—thanks, reassurance—but deepened fast, cold lips warming. Her hands slid under his jacket; his found the curve of her waist. When they broke, foreheads touching, her green eyes were dark.
"I've never brought anyone out there before," she admitted. "Not like this."
"Glad you did."
She kissed him once more, quick and fierce. "Next time—no poachers. Just us."
Evening brought texts from the others.
Lila: *Heard about today. You both okay?*
Em: *Poachers are trash. Be careful. Call if you need anything.*
Jazz: *Want me to come up? Or you come here? Not liking you out there alone.*
He replied to all: *We're good. Evidence turned in. Staying alert.*
Marcus cooked venison steaks from last year's legal hunt—ironic timing. They ate in silence, then trained hard in the yard: pad work until muscles burned and snow steamed off their bodies.
Later, lying in bed, Kai listened to wind in the pines.
The woods felt smaller now, watched.
But he had people in it with him.
And that made all the difference.