So, they were just herding.
In that case, there was no problem.
Upon learning that the Bear Tribe was only responsible for herding in the Crown Territory, the faces of the immensely proud Inuit chiefs cleared as if the sun had broken through the clouds, and smiles reappeared.
In their minds, herding was a menial job, something the Inuit would never deign to do.
At the exit of the Melting Ice River Valley.
A biting cold wind howled past. Two veterans on snowmobiles brought Old Li and three middle-aged men to a slope at the edge of the Tundra.
Snow swirled through the air. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but a vast, hazy white. The entire world seemed to have been frozen solid.
A middle-aged man with a scholarly air slowly crouched down, pulled a map from inside his coat, and gently placed it on the snow.
Shining a flashlight on it, he extended a finger and slowly traced a line. He then looked up at Old Li, his expression one of surprise.
