Big Salmon Lake valleys formed where the wolf had lain

@Hydra

Most of the sweet treats that summer and early fall produced were gone — eaten by birds, by deer, by bears and by rodents, by coyotes and by other wolves. Skwol searched anyway, managing to find the odd berry here and there that still clung to the frost-tipped branches. Once, he had even found a small apple buried beneath the snow. Incisor imprints from a deer told him he had not been the first to find it but he would be the one to finish it. One crunch and he understood why the deer had abandoned it. Bitter. The wolf swallowed anyway and then shook his head, smacking his tongue and making faces.

He broke the treeline just as the sun was really starting to shine. So early in the morning the forest was cold and damp; he welcomed the day that dawned with open skies and the warmth that seeped past his guard hairs and warmed his skin. In the dead of winter, days like these were a rare gift. The white wolf tipped his nose up to capture the sun's rays on his muzzle as he made for the lake in the distance. He longed for spring and summer, for a smooth basking stone by a river's edge, but he would take the gift offered to him and enjoy it while he could. Skwol knew there were trials ahead.

Nearing the lake, the white wolf picked up on a scent beneath the snow and started to dig, his massive paws flinging great clumps of snow behind him. He hit the hard stuff soon — the compacted snow and ice — but he scratched and scratched, and then took to widening to hole by digging at the softer banks. He had dug so far that his head and shoulders disappeared, and all that remained visible was his rump and a joyfully wagging tail, accompanied by the sounds of scratching, and digging, and snuffling and snorting.