Finding oddities along one of the many trails going through Purgatory National Park was a daily occurrence for you, but you always found a way to blame the natural things - like, bears got a hold of it, or that was just the wind that touched your shoulder - no big deal - or those darn idiot campers sure got rowdy last night haha they got you good, or your so-called friends are just pulling a prank on you when they're supposed to be stationed at least 50 klicks in the opposite direction, logic be damned (basically things that could be easily explained away just so you could sleep soundly at night and the other being inside you would be able to rest easy just as well, which was a rarity nowadays because she constantly seemed to be on high alert, literally 24/7) - then you would be on your merry way and everything would be back to normal. Or as normal as it could be in a place called Purgatory.

It was currently mid-December, a sort of off-season if you will (no one in their right mind chose to go camping in the midst of winter in Canada) and everything had been oddly serene for the better part of the month and you didn't like it. It was too children's storybook for your liking, you were half expecting to stumble across a cabin made of gingerbread any day now and the uneasy feeling in the middle of your chest gradually grew the longer the calm lasted, uneventful, yet terrifying. You tried to stifle the rising panic of your canine counterpart, but your attempts were futile at best. She was too wound up and intensely coiled, ready to strike, claws first, at anything that moved, at a moments notice. The human in you felt it too, in the way the goosebumps on your skin formed or how the hair at the nape of your neck bristled as you ventured further along the new route you chose to patrol that morning.

There was a pretty decent amount of snow that managed to build up over the frozen ground the night before; a winter storm that lasted nearly 12 hours ripped through Calgary like a knife through butter. It didn't bother you, practically being your own space heater and all. You only wore the standard winter wear so you didn't look suspicious if you happened to come across any civilians. But you briefly wondered how your human companions held up through the night with their roaring fireplaces and blanket overkill, but then again, the ranger cabins weren't heated, so you couldn't blame them. You made a mental note to check in with Wynonna and Eliza to make sure you didn't need to go thaw them out. Unless Dolls already handled that. You wouldn't be surprised. He had a tendency to make sure at least Wynonna was thoroughly warmed. You made the mistake of trekking out to her cabin after a particularly chilling discovery kept you from wanting to be anywhere near your own cabin, and caught Dolls just as he was leaving. The three of you didn't mention it again after you watched him take off through the woods on his ATV.

You were caught up in your head space and too distracted by what was probably the only time you've ever seen Dolls blush to notice the wolf's unease surpass her usual heightened alertness. You only noticed when she practically started vibrating with anxious anticipation and finally got your attention by releasing a small yelp, followed by a low cursory growl that ripped from your throat without warning. You had to physically cover your mouth and bite your tongue to muffle another one from escaping. Normally, you wouldn't be so stifling, but there could be campers nearby and you didn't need to explain that to a few teenagers trying to "rough it" in the Canadian backcountry.

But then you smelled it, the wolf noticeably on edge, forcing you to pay attention and use your heightened senses. Your hands immediately went from resting gently on your utility belt, to one hand on your firearm, the other on your radio attached to your shoulder. What you smelled wasn't natural. At least, not anymore. There was something else there, something under the smell of death and...something else. You paused along the trail and listened. Trying to hear any sign of birds wings flapping, flying overhead or twigs snapping under a paw or hoof, or critters running through the snow, or even a howl of some sort.

You didn't hear anything other than your own heartbeat and labored breathing.

"Earp, Dolls, Shapiro, 10-12. I'm just inside the North border of the GRT. Something up here doesn't seem right. Over."

"Haught, if you radioed in every time something 'didn't seem right' we'd be running all over the damn forest like pixies. You got any specifics? Over."

You rolled your eyes and chose not to respond. Shapiro was a good ranger, but sometimes her mouth was just as bad as Earps. No wonder they got along so well. Moving closer to the smell now seemingly taking over your nose, you noticed the wolf growing more and more agitated with every step. You're sure the fur on your back would be standing straight up if you were in form. The smell wasn't unpleasant per se, it was just... odd. It was definitely something you wouldn't usually smell in the middle of almost 10000 square kilometers of dense forest, at least 18 klicks from the nearest service drive. It was almost like burning flesh? - But not human. Definitely not human. - And rotting fruit? Peaches, maybe? And that better not be gasoline.

"Shove it Shapiro. Haught, standing by for further information. Over."

"She's not wrong…"

"At least Earp has my back."

You had to turn down your radio to concentrate. The smell was so strong it was making your eyes water and you could tell it was just around the corner. You needed all of your wolves senses working solely on not getting you killed.

You drew your gun as you rounded the bend in the trail and immediately your eyes fell to the source.

And the wolf snarled.

"Will you two shut up? Anything, Haught? Over."

"We'll shut up when you get that giant log out of your ass."

"Took the words right out of my mouth, Shapiro! Virtual high five!"

"You both just high fived the air didn't you?"

"Yes." "Yes."

"God, we work with children. Haught, status update, now. Over."

You immediately surveyed the area, circling in a cautious circle, gun pointed in front of you at nothing but trees and cold air.

In the middle of the trail was a perfectly severed polar bear head.

Which was weird in and of itself, there weren't any polar bears in this region. Like at all. Not one has ever been reported in the Ghost River Triangle, let alone Purgatory National Park. Grizzlies, yeah. Black bears, definitely. But polar bears? Not the fuck in these woods.

It's not entirely impossible though. Maybe it got desperately hungry and needed a new hunting ground.

That could be explained away.

But, there was no blood. Not even a drop. The bear's fur wasn't even stained red. You would've thought it was fake, if not for the damned smell, which now that you thought about it, didn't make much sense either because the head wasn't rotted, like at all. It looked entirely too fresh.

As you stepped closer, gun still drawn in one hand, you got your baton from your belt and inspected the head further, with the other.

At the severance, there was no raggedness, or rough edge usually common with a kill. Everything was perfectly intact.

It was weird because you've come across wolf, bear, coyote, cougar, any and every type of predator kill, even some a hot second after they occurred, throughout your years in the parks system. But this wasn't anything like that. The head was completely uneaten, untouched - eyes, tongue, teeth, nose, snout, everything intact, not a hair out of place on the polar bears head. Even the usual birds hadn't touched it yet. No caching, no scat common with scavengers. Placed right in the middle of the trail, exactly, almost like careful measurements were taken to find the precise spot where the center was.

But again, no blood.

And that seemed to bother you more than anything.

Because even a human doing it made no lick of actual fucking sense. No human would be able to get that close to a polar bear in the first place. Even if they managed to kill it first, the amount of blood that would be left on the ground after decapitating it would be massacre amounts.

"Haught, I swear to every god ever, if you do not answer right now, we are calling this in and sending in the cavalry because if you're dead-"

"Sorry! I'm fine! I'm fine, I just- Sorry, there's a...um a 10-45? Over..."

"A 10-45? Really? Haughtdog are you kidding? You made it sound like you were-"

You were trying not to freak out, but you were freaking the fuck out. You couldn't shake the feeling of there being something that you were very clearly missing.

"It's not just a regular 10-45. It's a...there's a fucking polar bear head in the middle of the trail and there's no blood and the fucking wolf is going absolutely fucking insane right now and I don't know what to do I'm freaking out and the fucking smell, you guys have no-"

"You mean, I can finally call a 10-11?"

"Not now, Earp! Haught you need to calm down, I'm heading back to the cabin now to get the snowmobile and I'll be headed your way. Send me your exact coordinates. Earp, Shapiro, meet me there. Over."

You never heard their responses, of which you were sure were some snarky, sarcasm dripping, remark about how you couldn't handle a fucking animal carcass call. Because as soon as you mentioned the smell, it was almost as if you were drowning in it. The last thing you remembered was the wolf warning you about something before everything went black.