Nome, Alaska 1923...

Snow had fallen with dutiful appreciation over the small town along the coast of the Bering Sea. Clouds remained in the background, grey and white, as they often did after any sort of eventful thing had come to pass. Of course, eventful things didn't occur every day in Nome.


He was at first a blur of fur; then, a thin, furry animal sped along the curve of the sea.

Nothing else seemed to move until the brown and tan dog bustled towards it. A large flock of geese were sent into a quick retreat as the sable husky charged forward. His orange-red eyes gleamed with excitement as he bit at their feet, missing a few toes by half an inch.

The husky didn't look back, he barreled along the Norton Sound toward a languished-looking man in a fur-trimmed jacket. At the sound of the husky's approach, the fisherman turned his tired brown eyes to look at him. Grinning quite literally ear-to-ear, the husky indicated the pale of food next to his tackle. It was food because the dog sensed it, it was his because it was fated. Whether this human knew the true nature of the beast or valued his life over his lunch, the Native man jumped into the sea.

One bat of the pale with his nose and the husky swallowed individual parts of a ham and cheese sandwich into his mischievous maw. A toothpick with an olive was caught precisely at the end. The husky gave it a small grimace and tossed it back into the air. He saw a small marten licking itself on an exposed root and in a split second ran straight towards it at top speed. The creature flicked up an ear and scurried away by going under the tree root. It wasn't fate that snared and tethered the pursuing husky but a taut fishing line. The dog pulled.

With all his might, he never looked back but strained against the tight bind.

Then, he caught the scent of the brown creature scurrying toward a landlocked boat. The husky wrinkled his dark grey nose before giving the thin line another tug and then bolting like a streak of lightening under the root. He grinned as he gained some air and yet quickly found himself falling backwards. The husky wrinkled his muzzle again and gave a large kick of his back paws against the hard brown earth. With a silent snap, he reclaimed his pursuit.

The husky bypassed a long board propped against the leaning side of the vessel, hopped up on a life preserver with his front paws and then managed to scramble and claw the rest of his way onto the top deck. He gave a little gasp when he saw the brown thing pause to look at him atop the cabin. The dog growled at it - causing it to squeak - before pursuing it again.

With a few short leaps onto a structure connected to the cabin, the husky climbed on top of the roof and noisily pursued his quarry. A sharp, accented, "Hey!" fell on intentionally deaf ears and the husky was gone before the occupant could get a rope out of the compartment.

It had been a long run and the husky finally slowed to a light jog.

Only one thing could do this:

They were dark, tall and foreboding. These giant sitka and fir trees that were as old as time.

Feeling an odd draw, the husky started slowly moving towards the trees in the distance. His paw hit the water and he balked. Gasping, he shot another look forward. Whatever this land of darkness was, it seemed to move and deepen as the sun lowered over the sky behind the drifting clouds. The husky swallowed softly and looked more with longing then fear. He came to the very crook of the coastal line and focused intently on where he hadn't ever ventured.

A small flicker of shadow over by a large snowdrift and the Land of Darkness was forgotten.

The husky chased the marten into a gopher hole... and got his head stuck.

"Togo!" Someone called out.

With a yelp and a bump, the entire snowdrift plopped on top of the husky in a silky cascade.

"Where is that dog?" A blonde-haired young man muttered as he walked by. He clasped his gloved hands to his mouth and yelled. "TOGO?!" There was a muffled grunt. The man gave an exasperated sigh and continued his trek; there was no other huskies available right now.

Togo grunted louder before yanking his head out of the hole, shaking off the snow.

"Ugh..." He jumped off the soft mound and watched the musher leave with dissatisfaction.

The feeling was mutual.


Said-shouted-for-husky shook out his fur and then went charging back the way he'd come.

Off to the side of the snowy ridge, a pair of golden eyes opened.

Something that blended in perfectly with the snow watched the husky as he scouted out a new problem to cause.

To be continued...

A/N: This will be a generation-expanding story and be in Togo's POV. I fully acknowledge Togo was an actual husky who was in Nome in 1925 and who was indeed not part wolf. I've really looked forward to writing this and have done research on the real story, the animated movies and Alaska. So let's have fun with this and don't be afraid to leave a little feedback.

Thank you. :)