It's an ordinary morning in Lesnaya Forest, located in the coldest part of Yakutsk.
A branch from a nearby tree breaks under the weight of the snow, sending a cascade of glistening flakes to the ground.
A snowy owl turns its head, its large round eyes fixed on the figures in the snow.
Windsong: Sofia!
Sofia: Shh!
Sofia: You've found them.
Windsong: The number of ovinniks in the area has reached the minimum viable population size you calculated.
Sofia: That was just a rough calculation. We didn't have enough data about them, so I used the data of a similar species. We'll need more information to run a more accurate calculation.
Windsong: It's already October. It's minus 30 degrees right now.
Sofia: sigh
Sofia blinks, her eyelashes coated with white frost.
Sofia: Even if you can make a fire through arcane skills to keep us warm, all the roads are still blocked.
As she speaks, her eyes are fixed on the ovinniks playing in the snow.
Windsong: I think they'll survive until May.
Sofia: How long have we been here?
Windsong: Three months.
Sofia: And in that time we've located their nests, investigated the surroundings, and had a model established. Thanks to your help, the project is progressing much faster than expected.
Startled by the sound, numerous birds take flight, and the ovinniks scramble back to their cave.
Windsong: Who's sawing wood in this weather?
Sofia: The local sawmill, of course.
Windsong: Umm. Oh!
Having suddenly thought of a new idea, Windsong starts scribbling on her map.
The forest falls into silence again.
But the silence comes too suddenly; they are immediately alert.
Not far from them, behind a pile of snow-covered branches, the head of a white wolf emerges.
Windsong: Sofia, look.
Sofia: Stay low.
The white wolf leaps over the wood pile. It is clearly starving. Each rib is visible beneath its fur.
The White Wolf: growl
It sniffs at the cave's opening, its tail gently brushing the ground.
Windsong: It's looking for food.
Sofia: It won't fit through the burrow's entrance.
They watch the white wolf in the distance, neither one daring to move.
The wolf continues to pace around the cave. It has caught the scent of the ovinniks within.
At its command, more wolves emerge through the snow.
They gather before the cave, and the white wolf starts digging.
The other wolves patrol the area, apparently looking for any other entrances to the burrow.
Sofia: Don't.
She pushes Windsong back down.
The white wolf has already made a hole the size of its upper body.
Sofia: No.
Once again, she places her hand on Windsong's shoulder.
Windsong: The wolves will get them!
A sudden commotion interrupts their hushed argument, an ovinnik dashes out of the burrow and springs onto the white wolf.
Ovinnik: roar
The white wolf howls in rage. It dives to avoid the hit and bites the ovinnik on the shoulder. The two roll over in the snow.
More wolves circle around, pushing and nipping at the ovinnik. Soon enough, it is dripping with blood.
Windsong: We can't just stay back and watch this happen!
Before Sofia can react, Windsong jumps up and charges toward the wolf pack.
Windsong: Природа это числа и черты.
Sofia: You're not helping, you know.
Sofia has also rushed over.
She walks straight past Windsong, kneels before the wounded ovinnik, and checks on its injuries.
Windsong: I didn't harm any of the wolves.
The worried look on Sofia's face makes her a little uneasy.
Sofia: We should head back. We really shouldn't leave any human scent here.
???: Coo-coo?
Windsong: ...?
They follow the gentle cooing to the burrow. A fluffy head pops out from the hole dug by the white wolf.
Windsong: Is that a cub?
Ovinnik Cub: Coo?
Enraptured, Windsong turns to Sofia, only to find tears in her eyes.
Sofia: Stop here.
She catches Windsong's coat, stopping her from moving any further.
Sofia: We can't go any closer. We mustn't cross the line.
Frightened by her gaze, the cub quickly dives back into the burrow and vanishes from their sight.
Windsong: Shall we go?
Sofia: Mm-hm.
She nods, casting one last glance at the burrow.
Sofia: Let's go home.
The cabin is warm and quiet. Only the crackling of the fire and the sound of Windsong's scribbling fill the air.
There is also the occasional sound of Sofia flipping through papers.
Windsong: Sofia, do we have any bear grease left? My fingers are horribly itchy.
Still caught up in the excitement of learning about the cub, she draws a tiny ovinnik on the map right next to where they found it.
Sofia puts down the papers and fetches her a jar of white salve.
Sofia: Don't you arcanists have some kind of magic ointment? You know, ones that heal frostbite and such within seconds?
Windsong: Hm, probably, but I don't know much about them, to be honest. Sometimes, human medicines are more effective.
Sofia: Can't ley lines make frostbite disappear?
Windsong: No. They can't change a fact.
Sofia: Then you really shouldn't have taken your gloves off out there.
She takes some grease from the jar and starts slathering it on the back of Windsong's frostbitten hands.
Windsong: Haha. Still trying to master the art of sketching with my gloves on. And let's face it, if we hadn't written down all the information on the spot, we'd still be clueless about their migration patterns.
She pushes a sketch over to Sofia.
Windsong: Here. This is the latest illustration depicting the ley energy of this group of ovinniks.
She takes out another piece of paper.
Windsong: And this is the graph we drew three months ago.
Windsong: As you can see, the population's significantly increased, and some of them have started breeding.
Windsong: We've made pretty significant progress in maintaining this sanctuary, but there's still a lot to be done.
She points at the map but quickly pulls back her finger, realizing there is still grease on it.
Windsong: The spot over there—yes, that's the lumberyard. It used to be part of the conservation area, but apparently not anymore.
Windsong: How long has the sawmill been there?
Sofia puts the newspaper down on the table.
Windsong: Umm. This newspaper's from last week. Where's the latest one?
Sofia: You can't be serious, Comrade Ekaterina. The ranger only goes to town once a week for supplies. All the newspapers we have are a week old.
Sofia: We've been here for months. Did you seriously not notice all this time?
She looks at Windsong with a hint of confusion.
Sofia: You do seem to care very little about the outside world. You've barely mentioned it since we entered the forest.
Windsong: Ahem. I was totally caught up with those ovinniks, so—
Sofia: They seem to be all you ever want to focus on.
Throughout this conversation, Windsong has been absent-mindedly drawing on the paper.
Windsong: It's already October, Sofia. How much longer do you plan to stay here?
Sofia: My work here isn't done yet. With the rate of human expansion in the area, it won't be long before they encroach on ovinnik territory. If I leave now, I'm worried the ovinniks here will be left vulnerable.
Sofia: I'm planning to set up a new conservation area in the spring—in a place where they and humans won't get in each other's way.
Sofia: Then I'll have to make sure they settle in well. So, that'll be about a year from now.
Sofia: What about you, Ekaterina?
Windsong rests her chin in her palm, falling silent.
Windsong: Hm. I'll have to go back to the institute once my paper's done.
Windsong: If it gets published, people will learn about the critters here, and maybe some will come lend a hand.
Windsong: Just like they did in Taryga.
Sofia: That would be just the help I need.
She walks to the window and looks at the snow outside.
Sofia: The ranger told us we had to leave in two days. They're closing off the area for the winter.
Windsong: Three months. I doubt much has changed back home.
Following Sofia's gaze, Windsong peers out the window and scans the distant mountains.
Windsong: I wonder if it's already started snowing at the institute.
