Post by account_disabled on Dec 11, 2023 16:55:34 GMT -12
We had been walking for three hours and nothing about the wolves. Sucked up by the mountain, by the snow, disappointed by the fruitless hunt, they were looking for other leads, sniffing the frozen ground. We sat exhausted. “We're getting nowhere.” Braschi spoke to himself. Or silence. "Come on," Mancini urged us, getting up. He was tired, I could see it in his tired face, in his frowning gaze. Marching. We saw them after another hour. They were below us and advancing on the snow.
Too far away to identify them. "Who will they be?" asked Braschi. “I certainly can't ask him,” I replied. Five hikers. And perhaps they too are on the trail of wolves. «Maybe they'll catch them before us, photograph them and make them run away.» I looked down, then Phone Number Data urned back to Braschi. There was something not right. “I don't think they're following the pack,” I said. “Nor that they are hikers.” “Give me the binoculars,” Mancini said and Braschi handed them to him. "They don't have backpacks or snowshoes, nothing," he added after a few seconds. "So what do they do?" Braschi's question remained unanswered.
We stood there watching the five disappear behind a ridge of snow, then continued walking. We met the strangers a few minutes later. Always in the valley, always far away to understand who they were and what they were doing in the snow without equipment. "Maybe it's some shepherd," Braschi guessed. “It could be,” I said. “If so, then there must be a cabin or something not far away, but it's not marked on the map.” "Those are people who can make a mess of you in an instant." Braschi was right. “Come on, let's go,” Mancini encouraged us.
Too far away to identify them. "Who will they be?" asked Braschi. “I certainly can't ask him,” I replied. Five hikers. And perhaps they too are on the trail of wolves. «Maybe they'll catch them before us, photograph them and make them run away.» I looked down, then Phone Number Data urned back to Braschi. There was something not right. “I don't think they're following the pack,” I said. “Nor that they are hikers.” “Give me the binoculars,” Mancini said and Braschi handed them to him. "They don't have backpacks or snowshoes, nothing," he added after a few seconds. "So what do they do?" Braschi's question remained unanswered.
We stood there watching the five disappear behind a ridge of snow, then continued walking. We met the strangers a few minutes later. Always in the valley, always far away to understand who they were and what they were doing in the snow without equipment. "Maybe it's some shepherd," Braschi guessed. “It could be,” I said. “If so, then there must be a cabin or something not far away, but it's not marked on the map.” "Those are people who can make a mess of you in an instant." Braschi was right. “Come on, let's go,” Mancini encouraged us.