White Wolf in the Whitelands Chapter 3

The Whiteland snow fell peacefully over a vast expance of snow-drifts, which seemed to stretch on and on.1

A lump of snow was small in comparision to the huge snow-drifts around it. It looked out of place in the scenery that went on for miles.2

Suddenly the lump quivered, and snow sprayed everywhere as a white half-grown wolf pup sprang from under the lump, landing on his paws with skill.3

The pup looked around, thinking to himself that one of the worst things about this barren landscape was that there was no cover for a young wolf to hide behind.4

He crouched when a whiff of his worst fear hit his sensitive nose, but he slowly uncoiled after deciding that it was stale.5

The snow slowly coated his whiskers and guard hairs as he began to plod certainly in the same direction he had been traveling in for three days.6

The 'HillRock-place' must indeed be very far, thought the white wolf pup as he shivired from the cold wind. He whished once again that it carried the expected scent of the wavewater. It didn't; the wavewater was no where to be sensed. It was leagues and leagues behind the pup, who was tired and hungry.7

He hadn't had a thing to eat since he'd luckily stumbled upon that dead hawk lying with a broken wing and half covered in snow two days ago.8

It was hardly enough to keep him going. He wished fervently also that he could find whatever fish the foxes had spoken of, but he hadn't scented any water (Besides the snow) for miles, so how could there be fish?9

He had grown used to the constant plodding. Another one of his many wishes was that whatever the 'harwater' was would have a strong scent, but either it didn't or he was still very far from it.10

He gave a loud sigh to the wind as the snow ceased its sprinkling.11

Quickly talking a mouthful of the fresh, cold spotless snow beneath his feet, he sat down for a quick rest.12

He got up a moment later. Hours passed and the land began to become all snow-hill/ snow-drift.13

He mounted one then the next, his nose ever pointing in the same direction that the she-fox had pointed when she told him about the HillRock-place.14

He was exausted, and on an empty stomach! Sitting down again, as he did more and more frequently, the pup remembered his home. Or, what had been his home. He remembered the lingering, comforting scent of his den, which always had a hint of his mother's scent in it.15

He remembered the boulderhidden in snow just outside the den, which smelled strongly of his father. 16

He remembered the polar bear bones, the wavewater, the seals, the many snow-drifts like the ones he was passing through now. 17

He did not miss his life there; it had been as hard as traveling through this terrain endlessly. 18

But still, remembering these things caused him to raise his nose and let out a tired, unhappy howl. It would have included lonesomeness as well, but he had only felt the presence of his mother and father for three months, andso he was used to it and numb to it.19

Suddenly he heard an old, whispy voice. It echoed around the snow-hills.20

It crowed, "Ah, wolf-young, your coat is as white as the snow-drifts!"21

The pup crouched and whined fiercely, startled. He hackled-up. "Wh-who are you? Sh-sh-show yourself!" Actually, the last thing he wanted was for the source of the voice to show itself and possibly attack, but it seemed to come from everywhere! He looked left and right wildly.22

The creaky voice continued, "And, remarkably, you are a 'drifter', as well! Wolf-young, pelt as white as the snow-drifts, a drifter!"23

The pup barked and looked wildly around again. But the only living thing he saw was a single white snow owl flying above him.24

He sighed, shook himself, but crouched a while longer. Who had belonged to the voice? Why had the voice said such mysterious things?25

The pup got up, scented the air, and warily began to continue his journey, hackling-down.26

After a while he began to ponder what the creaking old voice had said. His pelt....drifter....27

The pup sat down suddenly with a bump. He realized, remembering his parents, that his mother had never given him a name.28

But the voice had said that he was as white as the snow drifts, and he was a drifter...29

The pup got up and determindly began to trot again. His name was Drift now. He didn't know if one was supposed to name one's self, but he didn't care, not really anyway. After all, the Voice had given him the idea, so it was almost as if the Voice named him.30

Drift bedded down as the stars came out. He dug with his sore, weary paws into the snow, making the same type of nest he had made every night. By morning he would be buried in snow, free from predator's prying eyes and nose. 31

Drift finally finished, and flopped his weary body into the nest as nighttime snow began to fall, blanketing him.32

***33

The next morning, Drift awoke and sprang out of his nest.34

As the wind greeted him, a new smell was carried with it, one he hadn't noticed late that night. 35

It smelled like a whole heap of ice-burgs. And water.36

Streching, he yawned, hunger panging at him.37

Perhaps with these seemingly 'ice-burgs' prey would come. 38

Drift bounded eagerly toward the scent, happy that it was coming from the same direction as where the she-fox had pointed.39

But he skidded to a halt. What he saw was not a huge field of ice-burgs, as he had suspected from the scent. 40

It was water. Like the wavewater, a vast expance.41

But to Drift's suprise....it was slick.42

It was frozen. Drift had reached the hardwater.