She looked back at the boat and let out the loudest sound yet—a deep, echoing wail that cut through the roar of approaching wind. “There,” Elias said, pointing. At first, Henrik saw only shadows and ice. Then, tucked in a shallow dip between two ridges, something moved.
Tiny. Furred. Barely visible. A cub. Its front paw twitched against the ice, and its small body shifted, but it didn’t rise. It was stuck—wedged into a crevasse no larger than a fishing crate. One leg bent wrong. Its mouth opened and closed, no sound reaching them over the wind.