The wolves roared after them in an instant, biting aggressively at his heels and tail. In fact, a few tufts of bluish gray fur were ripped out of his once handsome tail by a wolf or two, Balto did not see how many did it to him.

Onwards he pressed, and found the cliff Frostpaw had spoken of. He was terrified of jumping off; gnawing uncertainty waited at the bottom like a visit to the vet, but certain death followed behind. In the end, Balto's newfound, yet ancient, fear and reverence for the wolves won over his dread of whatever awaited them below.

‘I hope you know what you're talking about…!’ The brave husky thought of his fox friend as his dark back-paws lifted off the ledge and his body fell downward, pulled by gravity.

A horrible feeling welled up in Balto as he fell, like an extreme tickle that became unbearable; this was the feeling of falling from a great height. Screams were emitted from their maws before the two were plunged underwater, through the ice.

The river, unhindered underneath, carried them away from the wolves and saved them in that way, but introduced them to a new, even more pressing danger. Trapped in the freezing prison, sloshed about in the dark chaos of wild rushing water, Frostpaw and Balto struggled to hold their breaths with no escape in sight.

For Balto, the world became darker and darker as he fought the current in a void of confusion. Swallowed up by the chasm, whacked against sharp sticks, blunt rocks, and decaying fallen logs, the husky dog was hopelessly disoriented. He did not know if Frostpaw was still with him, having dropped him out of his mouth.

His body was in pain from various wounds acquired from the depths of the foreboding River, as well as his leg wound from the big wolf.

Balto was almost out of breath, almost unable to keep himself from instinctively drawing the water around him into his lungs, when suddenly a bright light shone down on him from above.

It gave him lift!

His consciousness fading, it was hard to tell exactly what was happening, but he felt himself moving upward until warmth enveloped his body, and he was laid down on his side among what felt like soft summer grass.

Sweet sleep took Balto with heavy eyelids, as he laid among vibrant green clovers and lush grass blades. He was at home on his farmland in Ohio.

Stolen story; please report.

A warm cloth was pressed against Balto’s wounds. He groaned and opened his eyes to find himself in a rough, makeshift shelter made of birch branches. The walls were white, flaky with birch paper, and had dark stripes dashing across each branch. It created a cozy area to rest in.

A human was taking care of him and his beaten body. This one looked different than the rest; he had a somewhat darker complexion than the humans he was used to his whole life.

Balto watched further as the kind man did his best to heal him; his eyes were dark and shaped at more of a slant, and his facial structure was more round. The man's eyelids were more smooth, and had a far less noticeable crease. His hair was made up of thin, straight strands, and was black in color.

The half-drowned husky trembled, the cold from outside seeping in and chilling him to his very bones. Alaska was an unforgiving place, and he had learned that the hard way; finding warmth was almost impossible, and when he did it greatly risked being stolen at threat of death. There was hardly a sure escape from the elements, not for the animals anyway.

Something was missing, though.

Pain gripped Balto's heart when he remembered his arctic fox friend.

‘Frostpaw… oh, I'm so sorry… I’m so sorry.’

A strange smelling plant mixture was rubbed into Balto's raw wounds, stinging him. He winced and let out a weak whine, distracted momentarily from his heart-shattering grief.

Why did he have to spread himself in submission to the wolves? What had he hoped to gain? Balto felt stupid for having followed his ‘dumb’ instincts, bearing a broken leg to show for it.

Balto’s mind forced him through countless reiterations of the attack, and countless avenues of possibilities; what if he could have done something to save Frostpaw? What if listening to his friend’s command wasn’t the right choice?

As his front leg was bandaged up, causing discomfort, the disheveled smoky blue husky accepted his fate, and let all of his spirit’s strength flow out of him. The agony of regret took hold of his core.

He was grateful to the human for saving his life, but he couldn't brave the wilderness alone, not without his friend; it was simply too dangerous, and it wasn't something a dog was cut out for. On top of that, he had no idea where to find the ships that would bring him back home to southern lands.

He could not ask the humans, nor would any other dogs around be likely to aid him in his endeavor. Perhaps this was his destiny, his lot in life. Maybe it held a meaning deeper than he understood now, maybe he’d find out why all the bad things had happened to him or maybe not.

The future ahead was shrouded in mystery, and Balto had no idea what awaited him. One thing was certain for him, though, in these quaint moments in the cold shelter; he would never again see his owner, or his farm, or Frostpaw.