Spirit of Winter Prologue: The hunt

>White pristine snow blankets the ground all around you.
>You take a handful of snow and place it in your mouth.
>The cold water runs down your throat, cooling your esophagus, your breath can no longer be seen.
>Slowly and steadily level your Mosin Nagant and line up your sight with a caribou two hundred some yards away, in the middle of  the clearing in front of you.
>This will be a balsy shot to take with a Soviet war era rifle.
>But this is how your ancestors did it, Ural Shepherds with an empty stomach and an illegal rifle.

>The difference is, is that you are in Alaska and you are protected by the law.
>Out of the blue your hear a loud crack and the groan of a tree toppling to the ground.
>This sends the small herd into flight mode they bolt into the dark timber a few feet away.
>You stand up and sling your rifle over you shoulder.

Fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuck.
>There’s no point in following the herd now, they have gotten the out of dodge.
>You decide to head back to you camp at least several miles south of where you are currently at and call it a day.
>Your trek through the deep snow is fairly easy with your snow shoes and after about two hours you are making good time; you expect to be back to camp in about an hour.
>Everything is going well.
>But you hear another crack and groan.
>This time it’s right fucking next to you.
>To your left you see a giant ass pine falling towards you.
>You try to dive forward to avoid it, but you are not quick enough.