They came out of the south late that morning on a black-and-silver Ski-doo LT. The driver had thick eyebrows and a thicker beard and a lush fur ruff around his hood, all rimmed with frost from the moisture of his breath. He was a big man, made larger by parka, down bib overalls, fur mukluks […]
The best thing about being a writer is the ability to live vicariously through your own imagination, with no boundaries as to how you behave on paper. And having a good excuse to read as many books as you like in the name of “research”.