The north remembers

A dark form lounged upon the summer tundra, the dark coat blending well enough with the silver-gray lichens as to excite no concerns in the caribou browsing upon them. Even if his coat had been remarkable enough to draw attention to himself, the male had been near this herd for so long that they had come to view him as a constant in their environment, no different than a stone or tree. The reindeer herder had been much more hands off with this herd than he was used to - culling a sick or injured animal humanely was difficult if not impossible for a single wolf alone. But he had been able to guide and nurture the beasts as his family had done for long generations. Calving had been good for the herd this year, though nature still took her toll, and he was able to sustain himself readily enough on the herd's losses. Injured or sickly calves, or those stillborn, and the few elders who could not recover from the winter were enough to easily feed even a wolf of his stature without needing to actively hunt them, interspersed as his meals were with smaller game more suitable to a loner.

While the herd was occupied in their grazing, the nomad stood, stretched, and made his way to the little pond that served as their current water source. He drank his fill, then struck out into the relatively shallow water for a swim. Even here in the north it was fairly warm, and the black flies had been more of a nuisance than usual. Swimming kept them off, though undoubtedly the irritating things would swarm him again the moment he was out of the water. The shadow of the broken wall that loomed over the caribou certainly didn't help with the flies, though the shade was pleasantly cool if you could tolerate the insects.