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The story idea:

An international dog sled race is about to begin. Representatives from the United States, Canada, Soviet Union, and Japan are considered the favorites. The American team consists of the best sled dogs in the country, and that would mean that Balto and Steele would have to mush together. Can they work out their differences when a trophy is at stake?
The Russian team has a hometurf advantage as the race is taking place in northeastern Siberia. The Russian lead dog is Kurgan, who was raised in the ways of the native Koryak tribes of Siberia. He is familiar with the land, survival, and the mysticism of the Koryaks.
After taking a disastrous shortcut, the American and Russian dogs fight for survival as they face a foe that was thought only to exist in Koryak folklore.

How does that sound? Should I make it?

Ooo, I think it sounds pretty interesting! I'd say go for it, Gauntlet!

This is a sample or teaser, if you will

There he was on a chilled concrete floor. The light was dim and the air was damp and dusty. He didn't know if he was in the pound or in a cave. The only reminders that he was in the pound was the stench the other dogs gave off and the sound of mocking laughter when his name was mentioned. He spent most of his days resting and pacing, resting and pacing. He never said much of anything anymore. He remembers he was a big talker and other dogs believed in him. He remembers whenever he lifted his paw, dogs would flinch before he ever struck. He remembers whenever he growled, dogs would back away. Then came in that wolfdog. An outcast, a social loser, a nobody, stood up to him and took his crown and instead he became the outcast, the social loser, and the nobody. After that, he had no friends, no comrades, no team or even a master. Yes, his master never forgave him. His master saw that he was a failure and an embarrassment. That's how he wound up here in this pound. For two and a half years he stayed here, eating dry tasteless food, drinking rusty water, and having only cockroaches to talk to. Not even the rats would talk to him, for they heard what happened. To him, this was a hell; to be alone.

But today was a special day. His two and a half years were up and they were going to finally take him home. But this isn't the home you and I think of. To him, home was where he came from; the void. Just as he left the void from being born, he will now return. He had no idea what death would be like, but he was ready. He waited anxiously for those approaching bootsteps and the sound of jingling keys.

Yes! He could hear them now! The steps of those thick rubber soles sounded like a bass drum, booming down the hallway. His cage faced directly down the hallway. He could see that shadowy figure slowly approach. The keys sounded like the bells on a Christmas tree. Everything sounded so nice to him, you could almost see a smile, for his messiah was coming. The cage opened and let out a squeal that echoed through the dark damp hallway. The figure took a breath and sighed,

“Come on Steele. We have to go.” Steele got up steady without hesitation and rose proudly on his feet. The figure put a muzzle around Steel's snout and tightened it until it felt like it was a part of his own skull. Steele walked beside the man, slowly down the hall. Other dogs watched as they saw the once glorious Steele of Nome, being reduced to a statistic to a random pound in Fairbanks. Some jeered him, or laughed at him. But, Steele didn't care, for he was going home.

The Door-of-No-Return was on the opposite end of the hallway. Dogs go into this door and never came back. For two and half years, Steele looked at that door. As the weeks went by, he began to long for that door. If only he could run into it and run away.

There he was. His nose was touching the Door-of-No-Return and it felt warmer for some reason but not in a physical sense. It was a warmth of optimism and promise. He heard those heavenly sounding keys start to unlock. Just before the man opened the Door-of-No-Return, a bellowing voiced boomed through the hallway,

“I want that dog, Mr. Cooper! Bring him too me.” Mr. Cooper turned around and saw a middle-aged fellow in a suit, smoking a long cigar. He he puffed a few rings and continued,

“I've heard of this dog, Steele. He was a big name.” Mr. Cooper shook his head and responded,

“You don't want him. He's an embarrassment and bad luck.” Mr. Cooper looked down at Steele. Steele didn't even to bother to look up at him. The suited man shrugged his shoulders,

“He messed up a delivery in bad weather. So what? I'm not interested in freighting. I'm interested in racing! This dog right here is the dog to have. You can't argue with a Golden Collar and three consecutive winning seasons, sir. Just before the “incident”, it looked like he was going to another. I want him.” Mr. Cooper walked away taking Steele away from his precious door. He whined in frustration and sorrow. He soon was with Mr. Cooper at a counter with the cigar chomping man across from him. The man signed the papers and gave him to Mr. Cooper.

“Okay, he's yours. By the way sir... mind I ask what you do?” The man blew smoke in Mr. Cooper's face. He coughed and his eyes watered. The man grinned with his tobacco stained teeth,

“Frederick Harris. President of the American Competitive Dog Sledding Team.” Right then, he strode away with Steele by his side. Steele walked towards the alien sunlight that he had forgotten. He squinted at the intense light. Soon he found himself outdoors with snow underneath his feat and the cold dry air running through his nose. Each breath, he felt his spirit returning to him. He rolled his powerful shoulders, cricked his neck, and ambled forward with a new sense of purpose. He was Steele of Nome.

I'm finally freakin done. As soon as the mod approves it, it will be displayed in my fanfic gallery. It's PG-13 because the violence is pretty strong. I think the violence is tasteful enough, but that's up to the mods.

Anyway, it's coming!