"It's terrible my friends, just terrible," an elderly Saint Bernard mused to a group of his peers which had gathered inside of the town's boiler room, "Steele and his team… are lost."

The news hit the group hard, evoking gasps and outcries of denial then later brought about concerned questions from all who listened, including silent questions from the uninvited guest up in the loft window looking down upon them all. It discomforted him, for he knew that the team was running out of time. Already the children were beginning to fall into the coma stage of the virus, most of the afflicted patients spending the majority of their time in deep, yet restless slumber.

"They missed their second check point," the elder dog continued, moving his tired eyes up to a heavier, tan male of whom sat upon a ledge against the wall, "they're off the trail."

The afore mentioned dog, a well-trained sled dog himself, turned his worried gaze down to Doc's.

"Bu- can't they send another team?" he asked desperately, but this only saddened the elder further.

"I- it's too dangerous for us, and our men," he answered reasonably.

The tan male did not like this answer at all, for his greatest concern rested with the children as well.

"But… what about them little ones?" he begged desperately.

The Saint Bernard had been dreading these words, but they all needed to know so they could get their final goodbyes in before the inevitable fatalities.

"The medicine won't be here in time," he answered, hanging his large head in disdain, "we're going to lose them."

Silence, absolute silence befell the boiler room as each and every canine inside hung their heads in remorse for the children. It was at this moment that nearly all hope had been lost and all thoughts now circulated around what the future would bring.

Outside of the loft window, Balto still stood, his forepaws rested on the windowsill. The news had hit him hard and he had to take a moment to let it all sink in before he could fully comprehend what was happening. He drew his head away, folding his ears back, and after a few moments was he able to regain his composure. He turned away from the window, his muzzle pointed in the general direction of the hospital, and whispered Rosie's name before he pressed himself off of the window and scaled his way down to the ground. What he had just heard continued to oscillate over and over in his mind, those five cutting words playing and then replaying time after time that tormented him to the depths of his very soul. So there really was no hope now? Rosy and dozens of other children were going to die. He was not consciously aware that these thoughts had been driving him further into town, at least not until he was finally able to shake himself fee from such thoughts and found himself to be rounding the corner to the backside of the hospital.

He cared not to contemplate how it was that he had gotten there without realizing, so he simply carried himself further until he arrived at the pile of firewood stacked beneath the windowsill of Rosie's room. For a moment, all he could do was stare at the afflicted child, watching her frail body jerking with each meek cough that she sputtered from her fatigued throat. Standing before her and conversing quietly amongst themselves, was Mr. Brown and Doctor Cheever. Though Balto could not make out what it was that they were saying, he could only assume that they were speaking of Rosy. The brevity of this conversation was quite discerning for the hybrid, but his apprehensions were relinquished when he saw Mr. Brown approach the door and slowly pull it open. Standing in the immediate vicinity of the door frame, waiting to be granted entrance, was Mrs. Brown; and in her arms, cradled gently in their grasp, was Jenna. Balto watched the two enter the room and after Mrs. Brown had taken a few steps forward, she allowed Jenna to slide easily to the floor. With determination, she padded to Rosie's bedside and propped her forepaws up beside the little girl; and for a brief moment, she stared at her. Rosy felt the weight suddenly shift on her bed and this brought her curious eyes open for the first time in over three hours, immediately settling upon her loyal canine companion; and despite her condition, she allowed a meager grin to slowly take life across her lips.

"Jenna?" she asked weakly, flinching her eyes closed as she felt Jenna's tongue gently caress the side of her face.

This in turn caused a felicitous smile to brighten upon her otherwise morbid face; but this smile quickly faded as her little girl's consciousness did and she returned once again to her previous moroseness. With a dejected sigh, she gently laid her head across Rosie's body and closed her eyes, much too tired to allow tears to flow. Watching this all from outside, was Balto, but his attention was quite suddenly drawn away from such a scene when the distant pounding of a hammer sounded in his ears. He pulled his head away from the window, casting a quick glance back to the family gathered inside before he turned his head toward the source of the sound, for it was quite curious that the carpenter should be working at this time of night. He pressed himself down onto all fours and turned his body to the north, striding unwaveringly in the direction of the carpentry building and as he rounded the weather beaten fence, he could see the low glow of torchlight radiating through the open door, bleeding out into the night and across the snow. Balto stepped into this light, cautiously approaching the building, but just before he entered the place in which he could be seen, he altered his course to the left where upon he arrived just to the right of the ajar door. For a moment, he paused through fear of being spotted, but after a moment, he worked up the courage to peek his head around the frame. He stepped forward and turned his eyes into the building.

There he found the carpenter steadily at work, hammering the final nails into… what was it that he was working on? The hybrid couldn't tell, for Mr. Johansson's arms still obstructed his view, but when his arm cleared his line of sight, it became apparent to the half wolf that Johansson had just finished building a small coffin. The initial realization shocked him, causing him to withdraw his head slightly, but he was drawn back into the scene when the old man began to carry the wooden object toward the back wall. Balto narrowed his eyes, watching the man, finding his deliberateness and lack of drive to be quite discontenting. It was, however, very soon afterward discover why, for as the hybrid followed the man with his eyes, they settled upon three coffins of which leaned up against the wall. There were two of similar sizes that disturbed him deeply, and the coffin that Johansson had just finished constructing conincided to such a size: children size.

Balto was completely taken aback by this, for it was not until now that the mortification of the current situation did finally find full purchase in his forethought. So great was the impact of this shock that the hybrid found himself short of breath, nearly knocked onto his haunches by such a crushing realization.

It was all over. Those children were-

No. They may have been ready to give up on those children, but he wasn't, not a chance in hell. He would be dammed before he let those children die. A sudden firmness became present on his features, one that quickly became dominant amongst the entirety of his body. He locked his jaw and turned his body away from the door, making haste toward his boat. He knew that Boris was going to throw a fit when he found out, but at the current moment, the hybrid couldn't care less. One way or another, those children were going to get the medicine that they needed; even if that meant going out there and finding the lost team himself.

Boris sat out on the bow of the boat silently, his old, beady eyes peering through the darkness toward the black silhouette of the town on the horizon, though he didn't know what good it would do- he wouldn't be able to see Balto against the inky blackness anyway. He sighed and shook his head in exasperation. Why didn't that boy ever listen to him?

He shook his head again and slowly pushed himself to his webbed feet, continuing to regard the town in the distance with heavy thoughts circulating through his mind. Though he was certain that Balto had gone into town (as he had snuck out without telling him where he was going) he still possessed a sense of doubt and foreboding, for, though his hybrid friend had seemed to be feeling better when he went to sleep earlier that evening, he knew that Balto was still reeling from all that had happened earlier and from everything that he had experienced earlier in his life, but what plagued the goose the most at the moment, was the lack of understanding as to why. He recalled finding the pup lost, alone, heartbroken, and half dead, muttering unintelligable nonsense, but the mystery of Balto's past still remained, for he never spoke of it, refused to give even a single hint even now, a whole four years later.

Though he knew not what his friend experienced in his past (and even respected his wish not to speak of it) he knew that it was a great cause of his anguish, even more so than his lack of placement in this world, and often times he wondered about Balto's mental stability. In the first year alone that the two knew each other, Balto had attempted or suicide three times, and contemplated it even more times than that, and, though he seemed to be coping better each day as time rolled past, the possibility of another emotional meltdown was never a thought that escaped the old goose's mind. For all he knew, his companion could have gone to the mountains, to the meadow, or he could have even gone into town in hopes to find a fight the likes of which he knew he could not win so as to make it appear as though his death was not of his own cause.

Or maybe he was worrying too much. Maybe his collective mind was playing with his emotions like it always did- but then again, what if it wasn't?

He sighed again and hung his head, compromising that he would not jump to conclusions as of yet, but would begin walking into town so that he could at least look for his friend. With this resolution reached, he spread his wings and leapt from the bow of the boat, flapping said appendages to slow his descent, and gently touched down in the snow. For a moment he stood and then turned toward the town, but as he turned, he saw a black figure moving steadily toward him. He swallowed his fear and his instinct to hide and squinted his eyes against the dark, finding the mysterious figure to possess the shape of a dog, and when he noticed the way in which such a dog-like figure walked, he knew it to be Balto.

Quickly, he began to waddle toward him, calling out his name.

Having heard his name, Balto lifted his eyes from the snow and turned them toward the near horizon where he found Boris to be approaching him, and when he saw said bird, he sighed.

"So much for leaving unnoticed," he grumbled bitterly under his breath and lifted his head.

"Yes, what is it?" Balto asked the goose impatiently as he came to a stop only a few feet in front of him, "I've gotta get moving on before this all gets any worse."

Boris, confused by the comment, arched an eyebrow.

"Vat are you talking about, boyo?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, "vat's going on?"

Balto rolled his eyes and turned his body around, but Boris hindered his progress by grabbing onto his tail.

Irritated by the interruption, Balto turned quickly to face Boris.

"Everybody else may be willing to sit down and give up," Balto stated firmly, pulling his tail free and continuing to walk, "but I'll be damned if I have to sit here and watch these people die, not when there's something that I can do about it."

Boris, concerned, ran out before him and turned.

"Balto please," he begged, back pedaling before the determined hybrid, of whom failed to even give him the benefit of recognition, "don't go crazy on me now!"

Balto only continued to walk failing to avert his eyes from their original forward position, even after Boris had so foolishly tripped over a discrepancy in the snow.

"This is foolishness!" the old goose continued, trying to speak some sense into the wolf-dog, but Balto only continued to walk.

Boris shouted something at him that he ignored, altering his direction to the left and beneath the immediate level of the snow where the humans excavated the ice so as to not allow it to interfere with the flow of oil lines that ran the length of the tundra and slid flawlessly down a slope of ice. Directly behind him, Boris plopped to the top of said slope after having fallen into one of the empty oil mains, continuing on with his rant; but this rant failed to find purchase in the hybrid's ears. It did, however, reach the ears of the two polar bear cubs, who as quickly and as unexpectedly as an earthquake, struck the old goose from behind and sent him sliding down the icy slope, the two of them following close behind.

The larger of the two uttered something in his unintelligable whimper as they came to a stop about twenty yards from a building and his brother was quick to translate.

"He said-"

"Where is he going?" Boris reiterated, in a flustered tone, interrupting the bear, "he is going out into freezing coldness to find a dog he doesn't like to bring medicine back to a town that doesn't like him!"

Having now realized what he had done after he finished, he threw his wing up in the air.

"Oh no!" he cried, "I am beginning to understand the bear!"

Pleased by this, and in need to catch up with their hybrid friend, the two threw Boris forward again, under a displeasured outcry from the goose, and once he had settled, he sat up.

"Bears! Dogs!" he voiced in frustration, but then was picked up by his head by Balto.

Balto ignored the displeasured grunts and groans that the goose made as he was carried toward the building and once he had hopped up on the stack of cut lumber, he released the goose.

"No brains at all!" Boris vented, wiping his face, "might as well be talking to hu-...mans."

The words were cut directly out of the old goose's mouth whenever his eyes settled upon the small child deteriorating slowly in her bed and his firm, scolding gaze immediately melted into one that was saddened and empathetic. The silence between Boris and Balto was now absolute, disturbed only by the sound of the wind that whipped intermittently between the buildings. Together, they stared through the glass at little Rosy. Her face was a sallow, sickly color and despite her layers of clothes and covers, she still shivered between her weakened fits of coughing. The sight was heartbreaking and very eye opening for Boris and it brought about an entirely new perspective to his mind. His eyes narrowed and he turned, folding his wings in to his sides.

"So, let's go get the medicine," he stated determinedly, hopping down less than gracefully from the pile of lumber on which he had once sat.

Balto followed him with his gaze, lifting a paw to his chest so that he could twist his body in a means suitable for keeping a visual on his friend and he scowled.

"Wait a minute…" he began scornfully, "now you're coming?"

Boris continued to walk without stopping, only lifted his wing in varying gestures.

"Spending days in bitter cold," he mused, then turned to face the hybrid and made a monsterish gesture, "facing vild animals, risking death from exposure!" he turned around and chuckled to himself, resurrecting an old memory from his home, "is like holiday in home country."

Balto couldn't help but smile and as he hopped down from the pile of wood to follow, he determined that he would return to town with the medicine in tow, or he would die trying, right along with Rosy and the other afflicted citizens of Nome.

She stared longingly into the window of the town's hospital, silently watching over her little girl as her life so steadily slipped away from her grasp. She felt as though she were staring at a candle whose wick was steadily growing shorter as the flame that was its life steadily withered it away, and knew that, like such a candle, the flickering flame that was Rosy's life was beginning to grow weaker as the wick which sustained it was devoured by her accursed affliction. She hoped and she prayed to whichever personal God she chose, hanging on so desperately to the faith that Steele, no matter how she despised him, and his team would pull through the storm and manage to find their way to town; but by now she was certain that it was already too late. Steele and his team would be lost until the storm cleared and by that time, she will have already watched her little girl die.

It truly was an awful speculation, but she could not deny the facts. Hoping was pointless, for once stricken by the diphtheria, there was no cure unless treated by an antitoxin, and hoping would only call for further disappointment and heartbreak when the inevitable finally came.

This was still, however, quite difficult to find herself thinking, for now she realized fully how dire the situation had become. If negative outlooks were all that could be seen in her mind, there truly was no hope left, and upon this realization, found as she stared so longingly at her little girl's deteriorating body, she found tears beginning to sting her eyes once again. With a quick, dejected and exhausted sniff- as she had not slept since the news of the team's disappearance- she laid her chin upon the windowsill, closed her eyes, and began to let the tears flow.

However, after a few moments spent in tears, something caught her attention, causing her to slowly open her eyes and lift her head so that she may further assess the situation. It was funny to her, the situation, for what had caught her attention was what appeared to be Balto's scent. She lifted her head to its max and then took a confirmatory sniff, finding that this indeed was the hybrid's scent. His scent being there made sense, for she knew that he, like the town's dark angel that he was, would have already made his rounds about the hospital and about the town so that he may keep an eye on its people, but what troubled her, was how fresh his scent was- about ten minutes old. Curious, she followed the scent and then found four sets of footprints the likes of which she had not seen upon her arrival, each of which leading in the same direction. Out of town.

Like a flower blossoming in the rays of the coming day, she felt hope begin to blossom in her once again, for there was somebody looking for the team after all, and, though still vaguely present, she had little doubt that he would find them and bring them home safely.

Thank you to my reviewers, those who favorited me as an author and my story, and to those who followed. I appreciate it guys.