After nearly fifteen minutes of trudging, doubt began to claw at him. The cold had worked its way through his layers. His calves ached. His face stung. “This is insane,” he muttered into his scarf. “I’m following a walrus through the Arctic. I’m going to freeze or get eaten or… I don’t even know.”
He looked back over his shoulder. Nothing but empty white. He slowed to a stop. Maybe he should just turn around. The cabin wasn’t that far, and he hadn’t left anything behind that couldn’t be replaced. The walrus, for all its strange behavior, might just be disoriented—or worse, territorial.