Whitefish River Just an old memory

Curiosity drove him from the confines of the territory, trailing along a waterway; it was not the ocean, this water lacking that familiar sting of salt, but he didn’t mind. He had no intention of disturbing its surface, fully aware of what shock awaited him with the river’s chilling grasp. But he was interested to see where it might take him, and so he followed along the bank, eyes ahead and searching—seeking out an end, although one seemed loathed to make an appearance. Rather than the river’s pooling point, he spied a mound in the piling snow, which was not entirely unusual. Yet, something about it stood out and roped in his interest, the overall appearance not quite right.

And how right he was to investigate, his increasing nearness to the mass revealing the physique of a wolf.

Aningan did not immediately see the slow rise and fall of the woman’s thinned frame—all he took notice to was how a blanket of snow was slowly coating her, and how her eyes stared ahead, dull and glassy. His body froze up, panic taking hold, then propelled forward. Without hesitation, the bear was upon her, shouting, “UkuKsi!” and, should she remain unmoving, digging at the snow surrounding her.