Beneath a relentless arctic wind, a short figure braced, and continued dogged steps across the flat expanse of scrub plains. Ahead of the figure, standing like snow-capped sentinels, rose the cragged peaks of the Brooks Range Mountains. Though the sun shone clear and unadulterated high in sky, the chill of the wind stole any soothing rays of heat from the air, and would force any ordinary man to consider a journey across the open plains true folly.

The figure that bent his face to the wind, as if in challenge to nature herself, was no ordinary man. Dressed in quality mountain gear from head to toe, and sporting a pack across his back that seemed to dwarf him, he trudged on across the flat, hard ground. Thick goggles and a black balaclava hid his face, and made his appearance almost otherworldly amidst the bright light of midday. Hours passed in this manner, with the man pressed against the wind, unfettered and tireless, the mountains beyond drawing nearer with every exhaustive step.

By the time the man at last reached the root of the mountains, it was nearing midnight. The sun yet shone however, still strong and bright upon his shoulders, until it was lost to sight behind a nearby mountain peak as the man traveled ever deeper into the range. Now amongst the crags and crevices of the rock, the wind’s fury lost some of its bite. The man stopped, pulling a GPS device from beneath his thick coat.

For several moments the man regarded the digital display before orienting himself to a point several degrees to the west of his original path. Stuffing the GPS away, the man set out once again, his pace quickening in anticipation. Two more hours passed, and the low plains behind him had long since vanished with the press of the mountainous walls surrounding him. Atop a low shoulder of rock that jutted sharply from the base of one of the mountains, the man now stopped. 

Though the man appeared unsure of where to proceed, he did not withdrawal his GPS. Instead he brought a gloved hand to his face, and pulled the balaclava from his nose. The face that was revealed beneath it was weathered and wrinkled, but mostly hidden by a thick, white beard. He turned to the direction of the now gentle breeze, and breathed in deeply through his nostrils. Several minutes were spent in this manner, until the man abruptly stopped, and turned up to look towards the sloping wall of the mountain beside him. 

With almost reckless abandon he began to ascend. Loose rocks and dust fell and skittered from beneath his hands and feet as he climbed, his grip sometimes perilously close to faltering upon the smooth granite. For several hundred feet he moved in this way, his speed and stamina belying his small stature and aged features. As he crested a small shoulder, the man was greeted with the sight of a diamond shaped opening in the rock, not ten yards from where he now clung. 

Slower now, the man ascended up the rock face until his head was level with the base of the opening. As his goggled eyes peered over the edge, and inside, he was met with a dark cavern, apparently very deep. The still bright sun only penetrated a few feet inside the opening, which in reality revealed itself to be several yards tall, and about half as wide. With great care, the man lifted himself quietly into the cavern’s mouth and peered into the darkness beyond.

His eyes searched the gloom, and his ears strained to hear any sound that wafted through the deep. No noise reached his ears from within, and miraculously even the whisper of the wind beyond the cave mouth seemed to have silenced. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness before him, he traced his vision across the top of the cave’s pointed ceiling. He froze as a glimmer of white caught his eye amidst the dull stone. Fixated upon the spot, the man maneuvered along the cave’s walls until the object that commanded his gaze at last became clear.

There, hanging from the living rock was a wolf skull, its surface polished until it seemed to glow in the low-light. Across the skull’s forehead was burned a crescent moon in the style of a Celtic knot. Around the base of the skull were tied a wild arrangement of feathers, beads and animal bones. As he took it all in, the man’s breath caught in his throat, and he slid himself down the wall until he came to rest once more at the base of the cave. With shaking hands, the man brought his hands up to his head, and pulled the goggles and thick hat away, fully revealing his snow-white hair, cool grey eyes, and a face deeply wrinkled from hundreds of years of wind and sun. 

Reginald Hoyle tossed the equipment aside, and with tears welling in the corners of his eyes, he raised his head to peer into the darkness. He opened his mouth to speak, his voice tremulous and deep as words finally passed his cracked lips.

“Sister, I am here.”