the ice had broken beneath his paws. agloolik had willed it so, though jorma had stepped upon that plain countless times before. some sudden warmth, perhaps, or a twist of fate.

one moment, secure; the next, submerged and frozen.

flailing, sputtering. . .

and gone, with barely time to pray to the gods before his heart stopped.


with a dramatic gasp, jorma surfaced, his broad white head breaking the surface of the waves, forelegs churning in panic. his limbs carried him to the shore, where he dragged his sodden self upon a frigid beach, trembling and cursing.

the mist was thick and swirled around him, half-masking the dark cliffs that rose in the near distance. he hadn't the strength to stand, and so he lay sprawled upon wet sand, eyes flashing 'round for any sign of the familiar.

he did not find it.

is it a dream? he wondered. but he did not think dreams came with the burning in his lungs and ache in his bones that he felt now. not even the most vivid of visions. . .

jorma groaned, and attempted to move to a sitting position. he did not succeed.