“The New Year's Elk?” Pamela Archbold asked, dropping her canvas bag full of paint and brushes on the concrete floor of the Art Studio.
Dottie, her best friend, nodded fervently. “Apparently it’s an elk that comes out once a year on New Year’s Eve. Legend says it’s immortal, but the concierge said it’s more likely a family of illusive elk. Its fur is so white, it’s impossible to see in the snow, so you have to hike to the top of the mountain and wait near this hot spring that melts the surrounding snow until it shows up, supposedly at midnight.”
“What’re you guys talking about?” Amethyst asked, plopping down in the seat next to Dottie. A few other artists filed in, grabbing canvases from the back of the room and settling into the circle of easels.
Pamela smiled. “What we’re doing for our winter writing retreat.”
Everyone’s faces lit up.
***
Pamela and Dottie hopped off the charter bus, followed by the rest of their Art Studio group. Snow crunched beneath their feet as they stomped toward an enormous lodge still decorated with holly and garland from Christmas the week before.
They checked in and settled into their rooms, gathering their art supplies for the long night ahead. Dottie and Pamela emptied their bags on the beds in their room, deciding on what to bring for the hike.
“Are you sure that’s enough?” Dottie asked, eyeing Pamela’s handful of paper and single charcoal pencil.
Pamela shrugged. “This is how much I usually bring.”
Dottie stuffed a thick stack of paper and a pencil case filled with charcoal into her hiking backpack. “We’re going to be out there a lot longer than usual.”
“I’m too lazy to carry all the supplies I brought.” Pamela slung her backpack over her shoulder and headed out the door. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
The group gathered in the lobby of the lodge and headed outside. Snow flurried around them as they made their way to the edge of the property, where a worn sign directed them to the trailhead. The hike up the mountain took half an hour, and by the time they made it to the top, moonlight glittered down on them through the snow-dusted evergreen trees.
The artists scattered in the woods around the hot spring to sit and sketch. After a while of quiet waiting, woodland creatures began to emerge. Pamela drew a bright crimson cardinal that landed on a low branch above their heads. Dottie drew a squirrel that scampered in the snow, digging up nuts it had hidden and munching on them, and Amethyst perched at the peak of the mountain and drew a fox skulking through the snow below.
At eleven-thirty, the artists gathered back at the hot spring to settle and wait for the New Year’s Elk to appear in the damp grass. They continued to sketch while they waited, many drawing the trees and moonlight and steam rising from the hot spring into the night.
An hour passed. Everyone’s paper stacks began to dwindle. Pamela was scribbling on her last sheet when Amethyst decided to pipe up. “It’s twelve-thirty, and I’m out of paper. Maybe we should go back.”
“I see it!” Dottie whispered. She was standing near the edge of the cliff, pointing over the edge. “It’s coming up the path this way! But it’s got a little ways to go.”
“Can I borrow some paper?” Pamela asked.
“Us too,” Amethyst chimed in, a few other artists nodding in agreement. It seemed about half the group was out of the paper, and the other half only had small stacks left.
Pamela’s heart sank as Dottie shook her head. “We don’t know how long it will take for the elk to get here. If we give you our paper, we might run out. You guys should run back to the lodge and grab more, or just go back and stay if you don’t want to hike back.”
Pamela and the others groaned, begrudgingly trudging down the mountain. The snow was knee-high by the time they had gathered their supplies and set back out up the mountain. It slowed them down, taking them nearly an hour.
As Pamela and the other underprepared artists rounded the bend to the hot spring, they heard laughter and chatter. They rounded the corner and froze, shocked to see the rest of their friends swimming in the hot spring, their beautiful sketches of the mysterious New Year’s Elk and the rest of their supplies abandoned around the spring’s edge.
“Sorry, you guys missed it,” Dottie called.
Pamela groaned, tossing her heavy backpack in the snow.
“Come swim with us!” she added, beckoning to us. “You did bring swimsuits, right?”
Pamela and the rest of her group shot each other blank stares.
Of course they didn’t.