Delta Islands, Willow, Alaska, February, 1924.

Snow came down lightly from the gray sky. The frozen river stretched out before them, a pristine sheet of ice shimmering under the winter sun. Balto's paws skated gracefully over the surface, his smoky blue fur blending with the white landscape.

Frostpaw raced alongside him, his coat a blur of motion as they chased each other in playful circles.

Something about playing with that fox never got old. His energy never emptied, it just kept going and going; something Balto related to on a deep level as a husky.

They had traveled a long while along the big river; Frostpaw said it would lead them to the sea, and that they’d find ships there. He had slept beside his friend, keeping each other warm on the freezing winter nights.

It was a treacherous journey but worth it if he made it back home to his farm in the end.

“Come on, Balto!” yowled Frostpaw playfully. “Try this!”

Balto lifted his head and watched as his arctic fox companion ran for a short distance and then leaped up in the air. He came down onto the ice, skidding forward faster than ever, using his previous momentum to send him flying.

Frostpaw’s claws clicked and scraped the river ice. “It’s fun!” he shouted, giggling.

Balto smiled and rushed after the small white canine, gaining a decent speed then leaping upward and coming down. Just like with Frostpaw, this made the smoky blue husky go very fast over the ice.

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Very fast, in fact.

“Look out!” Balto yelled.

Frostpaw noticed too late that his dog friend was advancing fast on him; right as he looked behind, Balto barreled into him. They both skidded over the frozen river together, Frostpaw’s back against Balto’s belly.

The arctic fox yipped in thrill, and Balto let out a nervous yelp. “I can’t stop!” he howled, trying his best to halt to no avail.

Closer and closer to the edge of the river bank they got, until they tumbled over some snow-covered rocks and logs straight into the forest. Their furry bodies disappeared into a pile of fresh powder snow, save for a tail or a leg sticking out.

Balto poked his head out, his mouth packed full of snow. Then up came Frostpaw who saw it and laughed, falling over onto his back. The smoky blue dog spat out the snow and smiled at his friend.

They really had become close in the last few weeks. A dull pain had begun to sprout up deep within him at the thought of leaving Frostpaw behind when he found a ship home.

They had shared food, slept in the same makeshift nest together, and learned many things from each other that they had not realized they never knew. A whole world had opened up, and Balto had barely scratched the surface of it yet was leaving before he’d truly gotten started.

The wilderness of Alaska was very beautiful, open and delightfully wild. It spoke to Balto in a way he had never felt before, as the domestic dog he was.

Of course, it had its hardships; like finding food in such a difficult climate. The winter was brutal, and most prey did not often venture out where predators could find them.

Frostpaw had taught him how to hunt for little lemmings in their dens under the snow, and it had taken Balto a while to get the hang of it. When he did, though, he scooped up lemming after lemming, hungry to fill his grumbling belly.

Eating meat from an animal he had killed himself was new to him, but it satisfied a primal instinct within him. Something that spoke to him through his very blood; his wolf blood, that is.

While Balto was a purebred husky, all dogs had descended from wolf ancestry. Their genetic make-up was not all that different.