But staying still didn’t feel much better. His heart thumped hard against his chest as he took a careful step back. Then another. His foot hit something solid—his gear bag. He tried to recover, but the angle was off.
He stumbled, arms flailing, and landed hard on his side. The impact knocked over the bag, spilling some of the dried fish he’d set aside earlier. The scent hit the air. The walrus reacted instantly.
It let out a deep, guttural snort and surged forward—faster than Caleb thought possible. As it closed the distance, Caleb noticed a long scar running down the side of its right eye, a pale ridge against thick, wrinkled skin. The mark made the animal seem even more battle-worn—like this wasn’t the first time it had fought for something.
Its bulk scraped loudly across the ice as it lunged, tusks forward, headed straight for him. Caleb rolled onto his back, bracing for impact, sure this was it. But the walrus barreled right past him. It slid toward the spilled fish and dropped its head low, scooping up the pieces with wet, snuffling urgency.