The First Trappers and the Founding of Malad Valley : Fort Stuart. Written By Amy Kathryn Allen

Previously

…A hunter’s breath, a fleeting mist, Upon the frozen world he’s kissed. His eyes, like chips of obsidian gleam, Reflecting a forgotten dream. He stalks the elk, a shadow deep, While ancient mountains vigil keep. His traps lie hidden, cunningly set, A silent promise, a hunter’s debt. The valley sleeps, a world of white, Beneath the moon’s ethereal light. But in his heart, a primal fire, Fueled by want, by deep desire. He hears the cry, the whispered plea, Of hunger’s gnawing agony. Each snare he checks, each silent tread, A prayer for sustenance, softly said. For in this land, so wild and vast, Survival’s die is ever cast. His cry, a whisper on the breeze, Lost to the ancient, stoic trees.