Chapter Eighteen
When they reached the stream bed at the bottom of the valley, the mature spruce gave way to baby trees barely poking their tops above the snowpack. No trails had been broken down here. No human had ventured this far, at least recently. Virgin snow glistened on the branches of the spruce. A raven croaked overhead, its glossy black wings startling against the snow-heavy sky.
Zander called out, “Whoa,” and they came to a stop and the dogs sat down in the snow, panting and bright-eyed. Gretel gazed around at the low slopes rising on each side of the valley, everything coated with a meringue of snow.
“Ready to go fast?” Zander grinned down at her. Frost clung to the scruff covering his jaw. His hood kept falling back, but he didn’t seem to mind. His eyes shone bright, wild
