The scent of blood from the fox must have drawn a wild Wolf Pack, which harassed the hillside throughout the night.
Feng Shan slept soundly through it all, but the two little ones weren't nearly as brave. They spent the entire night on edge, unable to sleep. By morning, they were so exhausted they didn't even touch their breakfast.
He packed up his gear, buried the campfire with sand and dirt, and once he was sure no embers remained, he shouldered his pack and hit the road.
Coca-Cola and Prince were in no mood to play, simply curling up in his hood to catch up on their sleep.
He followed the stream until he came to a wooden post. A metal plate was fastened to it with wire. On the plate, words were written in faded red paint: CROWN TERRITORY, NO ENTRY.
'That kind of thing only scares off the gullible.'
'What Hunter who dares to be on the Tundra would care about a metal plate?'
The sky grew overcast, and a light snow began to fall again. The snowfall grew heavier as the temperature plummeted. Ice pellets mixed in with the snow, and soon a hazy white fog rose over the Tundra, cutting visibility down to just over ten meters.
Feng Shan wanted to find shelter from the snow, but as he scanned his surroundings, he saw nothing but meadows and low-lying willow thickets. It was hard to find a single tree large enough to offer any cover.
In the end, he had no choice but to pull out his waterproof tarp. Draping it over himself, he advanced cautiously through the curtain of snow, using a branch to probe the ground before him.
The Far North Tundra is home not only to vast expanses of permafrost but also to numerous streams, lakes, and marshes.
Even in summer and autumn, only the surface layer of the Tundra's soil thaws. Beneath it lies thick permafrost. This permafrost prevents precipitation from seeping deep into the ground, leading to large areas of standing water. As a result, much of the Tundra becomes marshy, dotted with a series of swampy ponds.
Frank had specifically warned him about this. The greenhouse effect was causing the permafrost to melt, creating treacherous sinkhole-like bogs.
Streams, lakes, and ponds were one thing; you were safe as long as you could see them.
The real danger was the sinkhole bogs. They froze solid during the spring and winter, making them invisible. But in summer and autumn, they thawed out. These hidden bogs became insidious traps, silently waiting for prey to step into them.
These sinkhole bogs were like hidden maws, their surfaces covered by a layer of seemingly solid vegetation. They appeared calm, but they concealed a deadly peril.
Step into one, and the viscous mire could instantly grip you tight. The more you struggled, the faster and more violently you would sink. Your struggles would also cause the bog to release methane gas.
Just a moment ago, Feng Shan had discovered one such sinkhole bog, spotting a rotting deer's head submerged in the water amidst the vegetation.
He had instantly broken out in a cold sweat.
'Even a rifle is useless against something like that!'
The snow fell harder and harder, and visibility worsened. An icy shell had formed on the waterproof tarp he wore, and freezing water was trickling from its edges onto his fur coat.
For safety's sake, Feng Shan decided to make camp and wait for the snowstorm to pass before pressing on.
After pushing on for a few more kilometers, he finally found a patch of solid, sloped ground. He cut some dead branches from a willow thicket, fashioned them into a triangular frame, and draped the waterproof tarp over it to create a makeshift tent.
Sheltering inside the tent, he found it offered some meager protection from the wind and snow.
The sudden drop in temperature and the icy water had soaked his fur coat. The long fur on the outside was frozen into stiff, icy clumps. Although the moisture hadn't soaked through to the inner layer, his body temperature was still beginning to drop dangerously.
Hypothermia was a serious threat in this environment; one careless mistake could cost him his life.
Feng Shan broke the remaining dead branches, gathered them together, and lit a campfire.
As the fire grew, the temperature inside the tent gradually rose. The icy clumps on his fur coat began to melt, and Feng Shan let out a sigh of relief.
He set his small pot over the fire, added some water, and then cut the smoked bear meat he'd brought into small chunks and dropped them in.
The soup of minced bear meat came to a boil, releasing a savory aroma. He added salt and chili peppers, and soon, a pot of piping hot, spicy bear-meat soup was ready.
Feng Shan scooped up a spoonful of soup and drank it down. A fiery heat burned its way from his mouth to his stomach, and a wave of warmth spread through his body, driving out the chill.
"Ah, that hits the spot! So good!"
WOOF WOOF!
MEOW!
Coca-Cola and Prince stared with wide, clear eyes, looking up at their master with a gaze that clearly said, 'I want some!'
"It's a little spicy. You two can't eat spicy food." From his backpack, Feng Shan took out the two little guys' bowls, then ladled a small amount of the spicy soup and bear meat onto the ground for them.
Feng Shan knew cats and dogs shouldn't eat spicy food, but he couldn't resist the pitiful looks from his two little companions.
To his surprise, however, Coca-Cola and Prince merely sniffed at the food before digging in, gobbling it down as if the spice didn't affect them at all.
'That's strange.'
After devouring the soup in their bowls in just a few gulps, the two little ones started begging for more.
"You two, take it easy, or you'll be spewing it all back up." Feng Shan filled their bowls with more bear-meat soup. The little ones continued to gorge themselves, eating faster and faster.
'Fine, do what you want.'
'Maybe it's the effect of the Beast Taming Technique. As long as they're okay, it's fine.'
Watching the two little ones eat made Feng Shan hungry himself, so he picked up the stew pot and began to eat as well.
Suddenly, Prince lifted his head and let out a low growl toward the tent's entrance.
'Something's out there?'
Feng Shan put down his pot, grabbed his rifle, and carefully lifted a corner of the tarp with the barrel. Outside the tent, a dozen or so reindeer were gathered.
There are two types of deer in the Arctic Circle's Tundra: reindeer and moose. It's easy to tell them apart by their size and antlers. Reindeer are smaller and have many-branched antlers, while moose are enormous, with antlers shaped like shovels.
The herd of reindeer wasn't afraid of the makeshift tent. They were simply taking shelter from the snowstorm, occasionally lowering their heads to paw through the snow and nibble at the mossy vegetation underneath.
"You're all in luck."
Feng Shan lowered his rifle. Now wasn't the time for hunting. He had a solid supply of brown bear meat, so he wasn't short on food for the time being. Besides, even if he shot one, processing it would be a hassle.
Moreover, the herd before him was composed of female reindeer and their fawns. According to his great-uncle's diary, one should avoid hunting females unless food was desperately scarce.
Feng Shan took out some salt and sprinkled it on the snow.
A young reindeer curiously approached and gently licked the salt-laced snow. It immediately let out a happy bleat. Hearing the call, the other reindeer came over, lowered their heads, and crowded around the patch of salty snow.
Feng Shan had learned about sprinkling salt from a story in his great-uncle's diary. It was about the Inuit during winter, and how everyone—men, women, old, and young—had to relieve themselves out in the open snow.
This was because the reindeer kept by the Inuit needed to consume enough salt during the winter to maintain their health and normal bodily functions. In the spring and summer, reindeer would seek out brine springs and rock salt to get the salt they needed.
In winter, however, these salt sources were buried under heavy snow. To solve this, the Inuit would provide salt to their reindeer with their urine. They wouldn't even pee all in one spot, but would do a little here and a little there to ensure every reindeer could get some.
'Those poor reindeer are so damn miserable,' Feng Shan thought. 'It's pitiful enough just trying to survive in the Arctic Circle, but to have to eat piss in the middle of winter...'
'As for whether they eat shit, his great-uncle's diary didn't say. Probably not.'
The two groups, man and beast, sheltered from the snowstorm together on the slope, coexisting peacefully.
The mischievous Prince ran toward the salt-licking reindeer, planning to scare the fawns. He never expected that the herd would scare him instead, sending him fleeing with his tail between his legs, yelping as he scurried about.
The weather in the Arctic Circle is like a girlfriend's mood: unpredictable, and it comes and goes like the wind.
No sooner had the blinding snowstorm ended than sunlight pierced through the clouds, falling upon the Tundra as the temperature began to rise again.
After burying the fire with dirt and dismantling the tent, Feng Shan packed up his gear. He bid the reindeer herd a farewell in the friendly atmosphere and continued on his patrol.
...