With one final, lung-bursting heave, I shattered the last shelf of ice, creating a path to the thicker surface. The lead wolf lunged forward, its claws scratching desperately against the slick incline.
It hauled itself up, followed quickly by the other two, their bodies shaking violently from the onset of hypothermia. They stood just six feet away, three apex predators and one exhausted old man. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, the silence of the Siberian winter pressing in on us. I waited for the growl, for the baring of teeth, for the instinct to hunt to override the moment.
Instead, the largest wolf let out a sharp huff, turned its head once toward the forest, and vanished into the trees. The others followed like ghosts, leaving me alone with my pounding heart.
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