Grüg hunched his back against the howling northern wind. He stabbed at his meager fire with a blackened stick. Spring may be rising, but the lake stretching across the brightening northern vista knew nothing but cold. His morning meal of raw lake trout lay finished but for the bones. Grüg sighed and picked at the desiccated rib cage. He set to braiding the finest of the bones into a fresh set of hooks, his calloused fingers deft despite the frigid morning air.