Crunch. Like cold, broken glass. We trod after one another, taking turns in the lead for two miles, gazes cast into the snow a few feet in front of us, following a coyote's trail. The coyote meets with others, they trot along side each other, cross paths, stop, dig under a log. I try to picture how they were moving in the early, pre-dawn light. Noses to the wind, following that insatiable call of hunger that rules all the beings of this frozen land.

Photos by Reverend Blue Sky (Noel Tendick).