A few weeks later, you gallop out of Anchorage and steal across the snowy tundra. You’re sick of city life, and you’ll do almost anything to get back to quiet, simple Nome. The wind blows colder and colder, and your paws slog through the snow slower and slower. You can see Nome in your mind’s eye, glowing…and you collapse, the image lost to whiteness. From somewhere you hear a tiny whimper. You raise your head weakly, and then heave yourself to your feet and investigate. Three abandoned wolf pups huddle under a snowy ridge. Two are dead, and the survivor is shivering, barely breathing. Instinct kicks in. You curl around the living pup, facing the ridge so your back shields the pup from the wind. The pup whines again, and squirms up against you to warm itself with your body heat and thick fur. You lick its tiny head, and then you feel the wind steal your breath away. Your body grows cold, and the pup is left to huddle next to a corpse, crying. THE END.