There was no magic in what he did. The snow made it easy to track the footprints. So long as it did not snow again before nightfall, he would find his prey.
The creek had not frozen over yet, the bubbling water still trickled through the land on it’s journey to join the mighty Yukon. The running water was the only sound apart from the crunch of his steps.
He followed the paw prints away from the creek, up into the bare trees of the surrounding forest. The sun had begun to drop behind the branches. Soon he would have to find shelter for the night.
A flurry of wings broke the serene atmosphere, a loud squawk and a dusting of snow fell on him, knocked from a branch above. He looked up and saw the Raven. Unlike his Hän ancestors, he could not take seriously the mystical stories handed…
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