Alaska's Frozen Heart
Copyright© 2026 by WittyUserName
Chapter 1: The Frozen Trail
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 1: The Frozen Trail - A legend waiting beneath the snow.
Caution: This Supernatural Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Paranormal Cream Pie Facial Oral Sex
Wednesday February 11, 2026
The sharp sting of February cold hit my face when I stepped outside to start my journey. Sunrise in Brevig Mission wasn’t until after 10:00AM, with our outside lamps and the bright green of the aurora borealis providing most of the light I needed. Kimi shifted impatiently on the fresh snow, her paws crunching as I checked the straps one final time. The food crates, emergency fuel cans, and boxes of replacement parts were firmly secured in place on the sled. I tugged at the harness while whispering a quick word to Kimi. She flicked her ears, alert and ready. The rest of the team shifted restlessly behind her, eager to get moving.
Grandma watched from the doorway; her hands folded over the thick wool of her parka and eyes sharp beneath the hood. Dad was already at the power plant keeping the generators alive, while Mom was at the clinic. My parents trusted me to be able to handle my responsibilities as an experienced musher.
“Remember, Alasie,” Grandma said, her voice quiet and steady, “the land does not belong to us; we belong to the land.”
I nodded in agreement, a small smile on my face as I heard one of Grandma’s favorite sayings. The dogs shifted, sniffing the wind that carried the scents of the day. The small coastal town was just beginning to wake, smoke curling from chimneys while the sounds of other runners and dogs interrupted the quiet.
Settling onto the sled runners, I placed my hands on the handlebars and rested my feet on the brake. Once I was ready, I lifted the snow anchor and hung it on the sled. Turning back for one last glance at my grandmother, I gave her a confident nod as she smiled at me and went back inside. Letting out a breath, I eagerly looked forward, ready for what I expected to be a quick and easy run.
“Hike!” I called out, causing the dogs to surge forward onto the Alaskan tundra.
The routine supply run had been scheduled for the end of next week, but the call came in yesterday to rush it. The remote monitoring station was staffed year-round, keeping an eye on the permafrost and the way the ground shifted beneath the surface. A fuse had burnt out, and the voltage regulator needed to be replaced. I didn’t know much about it, but I was told more fuses would keep going if the regulator wasn’t replaced.
It was a run I had done many times, so I wasn’t worried. I’d arrive the next day and drop off the supplies, and warm up with Doctor Fredricksen before heading back. My dogs easily handled the familiar terrain, despite the heavy load behind them. I had nine dogs with me to handle the weight at the price of speed. They had enough muscle, but there was little margin for error. The land felt steady beneath us, just as it always had.
Daylight came slowly, a deep red and orange sliver beneath the dark-blue sky. We ran through it, the dogs settling into a steady rhythm that barely needed words. I stopped twice: once to give the dogs a snack and relieve myself, once to check paws and adjust a slipping line. Nothing was wrong.
The land was familiar, the same land of Western Alaska that I had spent my entire life learning. The snow drifts, low hills, the lines frozen willows, and the wind blowing in off the Bering Sea; it was my life. I marked the miles without thinking, counting bends and rises the way I always had.
“Gee!” I called out, directing the dogs to the right where I saw a small outcropping of rock.
It was time for a brief rest, and the outcropping would provide a perfect shield from the brutal winds. I took off the dogs’ booties and applied some paw balm before turning my attention to a meal. Nearby kindling and a few branches were enough to get a small fire going, enabling me to melt snow in the large pot I always brought with me.
My meal consisted of frozen salmon I cooked in my portable stove. I also heated up kibble and mixed in some meat to create food for my dogs. They eagerly devoured it while I used my radio to contact the monitoring station and let them know I was on schedule. The voice that responded didn’t sound like Doctor Fredricksen, but I knew there were always at least two people at the station.
By mid-afternoon the sun was already starting to dip below the horizon, a dull orange that barely warmed the Alaskan tundra. Shadows stretched long and flat against the tundra as the wind picked up, carrying less scent than expected. I told myself it was nothing; just February on the Seward Peninsula.
“Easy!” I shouted, commanding the dogs to slow to a steady trot.
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