With nothing to lose, he followed. The raven would fly ahead just a short way, perch, caw, and wait. It wasn’t erratic, like most wild birds—it moved with purpose. The skier, now driven more by instinct than logic, kept going. Each time he considered turning back, the raven seemed to beckon him forward.
For over an hour, the bird led him through dense woods, across a frozen creek, and down a gradual slope. Eventually, the trees began to thin, and in the distance, the skier saw the outline of a utility shed near a service road—an unmistakable sign of civilization. As he stepped out of the woods and onto the plowed path, he turned back to look for the raven. It was gone.