PROLOGUE

The Town of Nome, Alaska -- 1926

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Snow...

....but how?

Was it snow? Yes...yes, it had to be. He could see that it was soft, white and--he touched it--and it melts upon touching the warmth of your body. Snow...it was falling all around him. For a moment--and just for a moment--he felt a magical peace like he never felt before. Just how long had it been since he had seen such delights from Nature? Too long, he thought as his heart began to race.

It reminded him of too many things--painful things. He tried to repress the memories but could not. They flooded his consciousness as he sank to his knees in the trampled snowfall. Why was he here? why was he moving? He could feel the icy air biting down upon his bones and each soft wind came a hair-raising chill that reached all the way down to his soul.

Nature hates me, he thought as sigh years of oppressed feelings out into the open air like a maddening Pandora's box. He was so tired--tired of running from it all. When would it stop? Not soon, not anywhere close to it. He had been traveling for so long he had forgotten what rest even was. Oh come oh weary traveler...oh come and to thee merry rest!... It almost sounded like a quote from one of the many books he used to know. Books from a time long past.

There was no comfort to be found in them now. He was on his own. He had been for quite some time now. Abandoned, hunted, terrified, and all alone in a world that shed snow upon him. I must be crazy, he thought. I must be deluding myself believing that I can change my fate. He shuddered at the immense implications that that thought brought about. 

Then... So be it. He clumsily reached into his pocket and retrieved the object of his desire. It was an oval-shaped possession. Satisfied that it was real and not another haunting daydream, the man reached out to the sky with his right hand, letting the soft glow of the blurry aurora borealis and its wonderful iridescent hues catch the shine of the metal object in his hand. The soft hues shone along the lines and grooves of a stamped military-grade dog-tag. The lines and grooves formed stamped letters, bearing a name of endearment. He couldn't help but to smile as he read the name stamped there.

Balto.

And what magical snow was falling during his birthday... His birthday--he had completely forgotten about that. But what use was it to remember it now? It could not be celebrated for he had not the means to do so. He had graver issues to deal with first.

And, as he swallowed back a metallic taste in his mouth, he would not come out of it alive. If he could help it, the secret had to die with him. He clutched the dog-tag close to him as he bowed lower to the snow-trodden ground. It took all his strength not to let a cry of sorrow escape him.

"My poor boy," he muttered again and again. Only flashes of another crossed his mind. Helen's sweet smiling face... Balto sitting with him by the fire.. Balto and his love. The man grinned as he recalled discovering that Balto had become a father and she the mother...

He reached out and let the palm of his hand touch the white snow. Its whiteness was almost like the sheen of the mother's fur--white, innocent, and very wild. How she showed her ferocity when the young pups were attacked not even an hour before...

That evil man had been stopped--but not without an excruciating price. The death of man's best friend shook him to the core. As for the mother, he knew not of her fate. A white wolf retreating into the Alaskan hinterlands was hard to see, it being a white object upon a white landscape.

He had been there until the very end. Cornwall's greed had cost him a dear friend. Not all was lost, though. He had planned for this moment, a moment in which he had prepared a way to find IT. 

A trail of breadcrumbs will lead someone if ravens like Cornwall did not eat away the crumbs. All his hope was now on someone he would never meet to take a quest. They had to be curious enough to do so...

Helen..Mark...Balto...my poor boy...

Mark's innate curiosity, always exploring around corners, over and under..

"M-Mark..." was the stuttered whisper that managed an escape as he uneasily stood up and looked around him. Had it really come to this? Was he really that close to death's door?

No! You must live for a little while longer. There was one more thing that needed to be done and then--and only then!--he could finally rest in peace. There wasn't much time for he distinctly recognize the flow of life ebbing away from him.

But could he trust himself to go through with it? Had he not suffered enough already?...He struggled for only a moment and became more determined than ever to finish what he started.  With this new-found determination, he let the dog-tag dance in the glow of the Aurora Borealis once more, just to see its magical touch before he went.

Balto would have loved seeing this, he thought. His only consolation that his dear faithful dog no longer had to fight but was at peace. After a terrifying ordeal, somehow he managed to get to safety, if nit for a little while. It had been determination on his part, an unbending will to see what he loved.

Balto had gotten to see his only surviving son before dying. The two had nestled against one another, the pup sound asleep in the crook of his father's paw. Even in the midst of pain, Balto had managed a joyful howl as father and son bonded in his last moments.

While the man would never forget the scene, he could also never forget the sight of the pup. It was clearly a hybrid of its parents: half dog...

Somewhere, in the distance, there arose a mournful howl being sent up to the night sky.

...and half wolf.

Now it was time to go. Time to press on. He had to ensure a future. His stiffened fingers and made the tiniest clinking sound as it landed upon a bed of fallen snow.

The past was behind him, the future ahead of him.

And with that thought, Garrett Wainwright made his way down the street, making his way into Nome for the last time.

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CHAPTER I: Call Me Denali

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Come away! Come away! And in sad cypress let me lay!

He heard the voice as he sank deep into the murkiness of a troubled dream.  Come away to what? he thought as he attempted to climb a hill to see where that strange voice was coming from.

The summit of the hill was eluding him as his steps slowed to a paint-drying crawl. Everything was too muddled that he couldn't make  head or tails of it. It can't be that hard to get to the top--so why was everything fighting him all the way? It was just an innocent-looking hill. All he wanted to do was to look, to see whether or not he could be finished with his search.

Not unless there was something there that he shouldn't be seeing, something that he shouldn't know.

Struggling, reaching, running, climbing--almost there--fighting, and losing...

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MORE CHAPTERS COMING SOON!

CH II: Homeward Bound

CH III: Postscript of a Photograph

CH IV: Harbor Day

CH V: Allen Landon

CH VI: A Trail Too Cold to Follow

CH VII: Law of Club and Fang

CH VIII: I Venture into Nome

CH IX: Deep Shadows

CH X: The Dog's Wreckage

CH XI: Saba's Secret

CH XII: Like Mother, Unlike Father

CH XIII: "Try to Understand..."

CH XIV: At the Sign of Polaris

CH XV: Locke & Key

CH XVI: Born by This River!

CH XVII: Like a Lonesome Tundra

CH XVIII: A Walk with Jenna

CH XIX: Rosy's Rescuer

CH XX: Father and Son

CH XXI: All That Glitters

CH XXII: The Clue in the Diary

CH XXIII: Adventure Awaits Us

CH XXIV: Battle of Cornwall

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