It could probably smell the fish. He took another step back, his heart pounding harder with each inch. Caleb’s breath caught in his throat. The walrus was much closer now—ten meters at most. It sniffed loudly, its whiskers twitching, eyes never leaving him.
The space between them felt thin, fragile. Caleb’s boots shifted slightly in the snow. Should he run? He knew better. You couldn’t outrun a walrus on ice—not at his age, and maybe not even in his prime. They were surprisingly fast for their size. And turning your back could still trigger a chase.