King and Lionheart

Rock Martin is a geologist from Indiana, Pennsylvania who explores the human spirit through his writing. A Penn State graduate, he depicts life’s challenges where the main struggle lies within. Rock enjoys fitness, camping, and hiking with his wife and young son, finding inspiration in nature and resilience.

Dad always called it the wild.

I never really understood why. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t much about him I understood, and he probably felt the same about me.

“Justin, I know fourteen is a tough age. I’ve been there. Not sure where you belong, how you fit in.” Dad’s words carried on the morning Vermont breeze, mingling with the familiar wintergreen scent of budding birch trees surrounding the trailhead parking area. My eyes rolled.

“You don’t need it.” His features wrinkled in disapproval as he caught me reaching for the small video game I had stashed in the glove compartment.

“I.. I just want to take it, in case I get bored,” I muttered.

“It will be here when we get back. How can you get bored out here?” His voice deepened. “And stand up straight.”

I sighed. “How long is this one again?”

“About nine miles. The trail system is about fifty miles, but we’ll connect along a few different trails to make a loop.” He grinned, his voice suddenly light and mellow again. “The weather looks great all day. Could be a storm coming later, but we’ll be home by then.”

At Dad’s feet, Ridge sat at attention, his ears forward.

I kicked around some gravel as my mind wandered.

“You ready?”

I stiffened, his glare burning through me, just as the buzzing of a bumblebee sent Ridge into a scramble. He raced behind Dad’s legs, his tail firmly tucked.

Dad buried his face in his palm. “You two make a pair, I’ll tell you.”

My head dropped. I knew he was only half kidding.

Ridge settled after a few moments and Dad started off, his adventure beginning.

As much as I missed the video game, I couldn’t hold back a smile as the sweet scent of maple tickled my nose and the soft melodies of Blue Jays and Thrush lifted my spirits.

Dad grinned and handed me the leash. “Want to take Ridge for a while?”

“Yeah”. Ridge was truly at home on the trail. He scampered from side to side, burning his way through the forest, his paws touching every inch of the rocky, beaten path, his wagging tail following close behind.

Dad’s shoes pounded the trail as he led us over hills, around bends, in and out of shade, over rocks, and through streams. I’d gotten used to his ravenous pace through the years; by now I just put my head down and marched. But then he stopped, doubled over, and rested his hands on his knees. Ridge’s ears went up, and my face wrinkled.

“You OK, Dad?”

“Uh, yeah. Just…  Need a…  A break,” he stuttered between quick breaths. After a moment, he straightened and smiled. “OK, let’s go.”

He leapt back into his fiery pace.

Ridge jerked and pulled, a tremble in his step. Dad’s gate was also off, as if he was barely avoiding a stumble with each stride. Soon he stopped again and leaned against a tree, breathing heavily. “I don’t know … I just need a break, I think.”

“Let’s take some time here. Maybe we should turn back.”

“No. No. I’ll be fine. I just need…”

He glared past me into the distance, his face expressionless. His eyes slowly shifted to me, his pupils expanded, and then he dropped to the ground.

“Dad! Dad!” I fell to the ground beside him and tried shaking his limp body.

Nothing.

The only noise was Ridge’s whimpers and cries. My heart raced as my hands hovered over Dad’s body like dragonflies, unsure which way to go.

Clenching my jaw shut, I held back the tidal wave growing within me. But it rose quickly up my throat and poured out.

Tears of frustration streamed down my face.

“Dad …” I whispered. “I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry. Tell me what to do. Please!”

I slumped against him, my chest heaving. Wrapping my fingers in his hand, still as warm as always, I begged him to wake up.

Seconds turned to minutes.

I breathed harder and harder as the weight in my chest became unbearable. Slowly, the world faded to black.

Soft nudging at my back woke me. I pulled my eyelids open, my dried tears causing them to stick together, then pushed myself up to my knees and looked down at Dad’s lifeless body in front of me. He looked fine, not even a scratch on him, like he could just get up any minute. I turned and there was Ridge, his eyes fixated on me, sitting firmly at attention with his ears stiff and forward.

“What? What do you want me to do?” I whispered, the familiar feeling of uselessness gathering thickly in my throat.

Ridge stomped his front paws, maintaining his stare.

“I don’t…  I don’t know what to do.” I said, as if he could understand.

He took a few steps away and then came back.

I wiped my eyes. “Yeah. You’re right. We need to get out of here.”

I searched through Dad’s pack and found his knife, headlamp, compass, a few crackers, and a fire-starting kit. He always knew to be prepared. The lump in my throat tightened.

Ridge and I shared the crackers.

I hadn’t paid enough attention during the hike to know what direction we came from, and wasn’t familiar with the area, so the compass didn’t do much good. My first instinct was to follow the trail back to the car. After dumping what remained of Dad’s water into my bottle, I sat with him for the last time and said goodbye.

We started back, soon coming to a fork in the trail. I didn’t remember which way we came, so I picked one.

Then another fork, and another guess.

The sky grew darker, and Ridge started to take notice. The first roll of thunder in the distance put him on edge.

We pushed on, and soon the trail disintegrated into open forest. The ball in my throat dropped into my stomach. Ridge began to tremble, his tail tucked firmly between his legs, as the thunder drew closer.

“We should try going back and…”

But the first raindrops fell, sending us scrambling through the forest, searching for cover. We found a bank with an exposed oak root system and crawled under it. Ridge pressed his wet fur tightly against me, his ears pinned back, body shaking. Each crack of thunder caused him to tremble harder. A moment later the skies opened up, and I wrapped my arms around Ridge as he slid his head over my shoulder, soft whimpers floating past my ears.

“It’s OK. We’re gonna be OK. We’re gonna be OK.” My voice broke, but I just let the tears drip down my face and mingle with the cold rain.

The storm passed quickly.

The last glimmers of daylight shimmered through the trees and the fine mist that remained from the storm reflected in the light of my headlamp. It was time to get back to the trail.

“Ridge, let’s …” I stopped and Ridge stiffened as distant howls danced through the forest. Again, my mind raced.

The fire-starting kit. It had a piece of flint and some dryer lint.

Dad had shown me a hundred times how to build a fire. My eyes closed, and I buried my head in my hands, retrieving a thousand images of him nursing a fire to life with his primitive tools.

The beam of my headlamp danced through the dark forest as I scrambled around, searching for a downed tree small enough to handle.

This one.

Following Dad’s instructions in my head, I snapped it open to access the dry wood inside and used the knife to cut thin shavings. Some popped free from the wood, others curled down, clinging to the tree.

The howls came again, closer now.

My fingers sank into the rotting leaves and pine needles littering the forest floor, each breath a thick cloud in the light of my headlamp, searching for something, anything, that was dry.

Beads of cool sweat clung to every part of me as I found a good spot, and carefully, I placed the kindling down.

The yips and howls came again, even closer. Ridge pressed against me, his body quaking, and his soft whine echoing in the moment between us. I unclipped his leash and tucked it into the pack. Taking a deep breath, I focused, pushing away the need to reassure and ignoring the mud on my hands and jacket as my trembling fingers grabbed the jagged edge of the flint in the pack.

I yanked it free and struck it with the steel of my knife. Bright sparks shot into the wood shavings but instantly disappeared in the cold night. I scraped the knife again. More sparks. Still nothing. My strokes turned frantic, and a steady stream of sparks rained onto the nest of shavings. No fire.

The forest echoed with another chorus of howls, closer still. My hand blurred and sparks fell like tiny comets until my eye caught the glint of a small flame.

Ridge shifted further into me, tense. I collected the other wood pieces and nurtured the flame. The small ember, thin as a whisper, grew with each shaving. Soon it caught, its warmth soothing my fingers.

I collected another handful of shavings, relief washing through the tightness of my chest. The corners of my lips began to curl when Ridge lurched hard against me, sending the shavings to the wet forest floor. I looked up and froze in the gaze of the two shining eyes a few yards away.

Slowly, the figure emerged into the beam of my headlamp, each calculated step revealing more of its form. Two stiff ears pointed forward like daggers over bright gold eyes and long canines beneath a snarl. Its fur bristled in streaks of ash and smoke, its long limbs drawn tense and ready.

A crack and three more sets of eyes appeared.

The heat of the flame had vanished, but I didn’t dare shift my gaze away.

My chest tightened as I watched the first coyote creep closer, crouched low in its approach. Ridge had stopped whining, and instead a guttural rumbling began, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand at attention. Glancing quickly, Ridge was now next to me, rigid as iron, a menacing sound rolling through him.

The coyote took another step. Suddenly, Ridge leapt and was nose to nose with it. My eyes widened. Ridge’s fur stood on end, his body coiled in raw defiance, his lips curled around his jagged teeth. The coyote hesitated.

So did I.

Short, ragged breaths burst from my mouth as I wiped the damp from my eyes. My gaze locked on Ridge as he inched forward, muscles taut, driving the lead coyote back with deliberate steps. My eyes widened, and a chill prickled up my neck. I looked down at the kindling and struck the flint again. And again. Sparks flared, dancing over the lint and dry wood. I struck again. A flicker. Then a flame, faint as twilight. I cupped it, shielding it from the cold, coaxing it to life.

Ridge snarled. My head snapped up. The two were now only inches apart, their teeth bared, breaths steaming in the dark. Shadows shifted as the other coyotes circled in.

I fed the fire, tossing in twigs, bark, anything dry. The flame licked higher, growing from a fragile glow to a steady light. It pulsed against the dark, knee-high now, bright enough to draw weary glances from the pack.

My shaking hand wrapped tightly around a stick jutting from the fire. Its tip glowed orange, embers drifting into the night air like fireflies. Ridge snapped again at the coyote, inciting another to lunge at him.

This time, I didn’t hesitate.

The coyote shrieked as the searing end of the stick met its neck. It recoiled, snapping at the air, tongue darting out to soothe the scorched flesh. The pack fractured. Two peeled off, low and deliberate, their eyes now locked on me. Ridge was left with just one.

I threw more sticks on the fire. Flames surged higher, sparks spitting in all directions. My other hand found the end of a branch, its end catching light. I raised it, the fire’s glow dancing across my face. The knot inside me, the weight of my failures and Dad’s disappointment, tightened like dried leather. Then it tore free.

A scream ripped from my chest, long and raw, cutting through the trees like a blade. The coyotes flinched.

Ridge lunged. His jaws clamped around the coyote’s neck, dragging it to the ground. It thrashed, claws scraping the soft forest floor. Its legs kicked wildly until it slipped from Ridge’s grasp and vanished into the shadows. The rest scattered, their eyes still visible beyond the reach of the flame.

I turned back to the fire, feeding it, my hands steadier now. Ridge paced a tight line just beyond the fire’s reach, his ears swiveling toward every whisper in the trees. Eyes danced in the distance throughout the night, but they never mounted another attack. The night stretched on, thick and endless. Then, slowly, the black night began to bleed blue. The pale light crested the ridgeline and spilled into the valley.

The soft rays rested on Ridge’s firm shoulders, and for the first time I saw him for what he truly was. Beneath the chaos and growl, under all the restless energy, was something fierce and wild, but also steady, and reliable when it counted.

He turned his piercing eyes to me, casting a gaze that he’d only ever reserved for my father. Maybe he saw something in me that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had been., and it just took a night like this to burn it into view.

Shortly after the sunrise, the faint calls of the search party carried on the mountain breeze. We followed and were soon found, the rescuer looking on in astonishment.

“You’re almost as young as my boy. How did you survive all night out here in the wild?”

I smiled through my tear-streaked face. “My Dad taught me.”

“I’m sorry, son. We found him last night.”

Ridge pressed against my leg and let out a soft whimper. The rescuer studied us for a moment. “You two sure do make a pair.”

You’re damn right we do.