The snow fell in the morning, drifting over the roads. The wind lifted scarves of snow, twisting them quickly about invisible dancers in the white woods. Steep, shining lawns slanted under the trees, marked by the light feet of birds, brushed by the tails of foxes, punctuated strangely by the furry paws of rabbits. The cold whisper of winter, the soft voice of disaster through beauty, sounded in the forest.
Seppalla, resting one knee on his sled and using his right leg to push with, drove his team along the white miles. His little Siberian...
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