The White Silence
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The spruce forest frowns on either side of the frozen waterway. The trees, stripped of their white frost by the wind, lean toward each other, black and ominous. A vast silence reigns over the land—the Wild, the savage, frozen-hearted Northland Wild.
Down the frozen river, a string of wolfish dogs pulls a sled. On it lies a long, narrow box—a coffin. Two men, Bill and Henry, toil through the snow. They are tiny specks of life in a lifeless land.
As the pale light of the short day fades, a long, wailing cry soars through the air. Then another. And another.
"They're after us, Bill," Henry says, his voice hoarse.
"Meat is scarce," Bill answers grimly. "I haven't seen a rabbit sign for days."