On the icy tundra, three White Wolves moved with lithe agility at the head of the party.
From time to time, they would run off, whimpering at patches of hollow-sounding snow to warn of danger.
Once Feng Shan and the others had circumvented the hazard, the White Wolves would run back to the front of the line.
If they ran too far ahead, they would obediently wait in place, their gazes fixed on Feng Shan, their eyes filled with patience and anticipation.
When Feng Shan drew near, they would gently shake the snowflakes from their fur and continue running forward, as if they knew their mission was to both lead the way and not leave him behind.
The party crossed a stretch of tundra and arrived at a mountain range.
The White Wolves seemed to have discovered something and charged into a sparse wood of short trees, letting out a series of warning barks.
Feng Shan and Nash approached the woods.
