Caribou the starving wolf had chased half-heartedly obtained a blind crevasse took stock and turned. A male dragged his chandelier of antlers through the snow to demarcate the ground he’d stand. The wolf had burnt her entire winterstock of fat already, next to go would be the layer round her heart. She’d cycled through her tactics and her fallback tactics. She had no clue what she’d do. Above them, on the red-eye, someone dreamt they were the only passenger awake and woke to find it true, or true depending on how deep sleep has to be before you call it sleep.

66 On the Red-eye